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Post by Breenhin Mhaoilan on Jan 26, 2017 16:25:53 GMT
He hadn't expected someone with the title of 'Woodcutter' to have such a keen sense of rationality, but perhaps he'd misjudged them. For the first time in years, he cracked a smile beneath his mask. "In fairness, The Spiritwood has never considered itself at war with you.
When travelers cross our borders, we don't know who they're from - we only know intention, the weight of their heart. Often, they're found wanting. The trees you are at war were with split from the Wood by a great war long before your nation was established.
The Fathertree has not truly heard from them, since. This was not uncommon at the time, in the same way members of a family may go years without speaking; the timeline for nature is merely longer. I want to find this Wayward Fathertree, and I want to speak with it, with the help of one of our Elder Oaks.
I would ask your permission - both Council and King - to have an Elder Oak and his escort come across your border to meet us outside the wood in question. If they're attacking you, they may just attack us on sight too, and I believe in being prepared, not dead."
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Post by Mirielle Merlon on Jan 27, 2017 12:03:01 GMT
Guildmaster Harryl grunted. "Then I got two questions. I've seen trees move and got a couple folks in here sneer at me for it. But that was root by root, in the dirt, and I'm guessing you're talking something faster. What's an Elder Oak that it can move that quick? Number two, tell us about the escort - how many there'd be, what route they'd take, and how hard they hit. Oh, three questions. Last one: you say you've been fighting bloodsuckers. What you been using?"
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Post by Breenhin Mhaoilan on Jan 27, 2017 16:07:58 GMT
"Is it faster to set an oak onto legs? I suppose it might be, though 'faster' is perhaps a misnomer." He says with a faint tilt of his head, as if acquiescing some point to the Guildmaster. "But I could no sooner explain a roaming tree to you than you would be able to explain the necessity of a 'Woodcutter's guild' to me."
And that was the Grove-blessed truth. "The escort would, of course, be Treemen. They're about the size of a person, their armor and weapons their bark. Probably close to thirty, just in case the forest isn't receptive. I imagine their closest equivalent among our human ranks would be..." a hand gestures vaguely to the Grove Warden behind him.
Finally, though, the Wardens behind him shifted at the mention of Vampires, then they sort of chuckled before Breenhin made them quiet. "We call them 'Dryads,' the spirits of the trees themselves. Nature, unsurprisingly, has a vast capability to detect corruption, because it's anathema to their very existence.
I've never quite understood how they do it, but I imagine it's often like looking at a dying flower - the edges have browned, flaked, started to fall apart. They just see that on people."
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Post by Mirielle Merlon on Jan 28, 2017 13:54:58 GMT
An impassioned debate ensued, much of it predictable, for a quarter of an hour. Chairs were provided the three emissaries, whether or not they opted to use them. In the end, Guildmaster Harryl and King Adalric carried the day with an impassioned argument for letting the situation play out. Clearly great things were afoot, and the potential gain of this agreement vastly outweighed the risk. As the speaker recorded the vote, Adalric shuffled from his gallery seat and came down to rejoin the three outlanders.
"The resolutions got complex there at the end. In plain language, your Elder Oak and escorts are invited to Ashdell's territory on the diplomatic errand you proposed, to speak with the local trees. The Guilds have mandated that you or the Elder Oak make a formal request if the party needs to approach or enter one of Ashdell's perimeter forts, settlements, or cities. That's for the safety of the errand: understand that the bulk of Ashdell would look on a walking tree with abject fear. There's a risk of accidental hostility." Your average Ashdeller, especially in the peripheral settlements, wore a straight blade as long as a forearm, for clearing brush and intrusive saplings. The last thing any of them needed was for some farming village to go chop down the mobile Elder Oak.
"There will also be an Ashdeller escort for as long as your party is within the circle of our forts, if their route takes them into that area. Woodsmen of a comparable number -- perhaps two or three dozen, escorted by Stormwall the Centaur, the bird-whisperer."
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Post by Breenhin Mhaoilan on Jan 29, 2017 20:34:49 GMT
The trio stood, despite the chairs, but Breen managed to thank whomever had brought them as cordially as was possible for him. He stood, hand on his sword, until such a time as they'd managed to verbally work out the dumbest among them, back this up with impassioned debate, and then cast aside the 'lesser' ideas into the proverbial circular file.
"The Oak will be proceeding straight towards the source of the Grove." He says flatly, looking upon Adalric with his stern, sunken gaze. "I am unsure as to where this falls in the scheme of the military planning for your people's defense, but my suggestion is to meet them by the Willow and escort them from there."
The willow, of course, had been planted generations before - it was the only willow in the wood, and marked the boundary between 'safe' and 'you may not return.' A border no one had realized existed beyond the Spiritwood, at least in practical political application. "I suppose we should all meat the Elder Oak there, shouldn't we." Not a question.
A statement; they would have to, of course.
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Post by Stormwall on Jan 29, 2017 23:35:19 GMT
*** 'The willow' was not a landmark known to your average Ashdeller, but a good portion of the escort force hailed from Harryl's guild, and they knew their trees. The old willow hung weeping over a bend in a creek, deep in the forest to the northeast of Ashdell. Though the Woodcutters and Woodworkers represented a significant fraction of the party, the unquestioned leader was Old Tholomew, a hardbitten halfling crew chief from the coal mines. Recently, he'd led an ill-fated but ultimately successful expedition to the ruin of Voek Kal, and proved his wit by hammering out a bargain with the Maesters of Elbion. The grizzled halfling, upon arrival, sprawled on the willow's roots and lit up a pipe as he waited. The others either sat down or spread out in a loose perimeter. They'd brought axes for practicality's sake, but at Old Tholomew's instruction they kept those at their belts. If the trees were alive, there was no telling who was watching, or for how long now. Stormwall, who'd come as a guide, kept an ear out for the language of birds and small beasts. But they were attuned to the abnormal, and the trees of this wood -- resident or transient, sentient or not -- were normal to them. He couldn't glean much from their conversations. Neither His Majesty nor the Guildmasters were in attendance. Stormwall and Old Tholomew were the ranking emissaries, both decidedly blue-collar.
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Post by Breenhin Mhaoilan on Jan 29, 2017 23:51:40 GMT
Breen and his Wardens stood by the creek looking into the woods, and then, finally, Breen marched across it and disappeared into the treeline. He was gone a half hour, perhaps longer, it was hard to say, but he returned to trudge through the water yet again before shaking his legs out as he rose onto dry land again.
They'd been joined by a centaur, it seemed, and the usual assortment of Ashdell citizens. Looking to his Wardens, he gave a nod as the sound of snapping branches could be heard. There was a great groaning sound that echoed from deep in the wood, like the mast of a merchant ship swinging around in heavy wind.
Smaller cracks, like bark splitting asunder, briefly shattered the air, but no birds or animals seemed in a hurry to depart from the epicenter of disturbance.
Before long, ripples became visible in the flow of the creek, becoming far more noticeable as the ground began to tremble. From out of the woods came what was clearly an Elder Oak, a crown of branches erupting from a distinctly angular face. Dangerous like a dagger, the trees elongated arms swung ponderously, roots gnarled into claws at the end of it's hands.
Thick trunks made up it's legs, and it took a step into the creek with a groan that sounded like a pleased sigh. Standing nearly four times the height of a man, Breen had to stretch his head back to get a look up at it. Behind it came an assortment of smaller trees, far more narrow at the waist but broad at the shoulders.
They sported no crown, their roots less immediately deadly - and they were only the size of a person. "Elder." He greets happily, bowing his head, "So nice of you to join us."
"A discordant song grinds at our ears," the oak begins, lilting voice deep like the shifting of plates far below the earth, "let us pray it is not as we fear."
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Post by Stormwall on Jan 30, 2017 0:14:58 GMT
Stormwall and Old Tholomew shared a glance that said the axes might do against the rest of them in an emergency, but not the big one, not a chance. One more argument in favour of peace, in case common sense and the Guildmasters' resolution weren't enough. The gray-haired halfling pulled his feet out of the water and stood. He came out from under the willow's hanging fronds, pipe in hand.
"So you're the Elder Oak," he said. "I'm called Tholomew. Old Tholomew to most, but not to an old tree, not by a long shot. I'm a coal miner by trade. The Guilds of Ashdell sent me to talk with you 'bout what I'm guessing you're calling that song. If it's a song, it's an ugly one. Dead folk. Vampires, lots of them. Your man here, the Knight-Captain, he says you and your dryads have a knack for sniffing them out and redeadening them. All that to say: we want peace, and we want to help."
He took a long drag on his pipe. Smoke trickled from the corner of his mouth. Through the plume, he glanced at Stormwall, the kind of look that shared a total lack of sure knowledge of what might happen next.
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Post by Breenhin Mhaoilan on Jan 30, 2017 0:32:59 GMT
The tree stood in the creek, it's escort dawdling on the other bank. They said little, their sharply angled eyes glowing with an iridescent emerald hue. They were as still as the forest behind them, only the barest of leaves sprouting from their shoulders rustling in the light winter breeze.
With a shake, the Elder cast his gaze down to Tholomew. "Such a curious little thing, though to my lips no answers cling." It eases itself down to a knee, like a loving father speaking to his youngest child. "Tell me, Tholomew, and make it true, do the undead worry and gnaw at you?
I dare not say who leads the chorus, yet still it echoes from that forest.
A discordant note is often struck, when those corrupted run amok. This is to say, without delay, that we should be on our way." It pauses, motioning for the Treemen to cross, and they do, carefully, enjoying the current around their calves.
"May the answer we seek not yet be bleak, though there's no redemption for the wood oblique."
Breen turns to Stormwall and Tholomew, "I'm sure you can follow what he's saying, but in in the interest of brevity, he's worried something corrupted the Grove, thus why it didn't try to communicate with you.
Shall we get going?"
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Post by Stormwall on Jan 30, 2017 4:37:50 GMT
As it happened, the translation had been necessary. Even after it was provided, Stormwall had trouble looking back and seeing that in the Elder's words. Trees, it seemed, had little use for specificity. He and Old Tholomew shared another glance, and the halfling whistled hard enough to stir the leaves on the Elder Oak. The woodsmen began to pull in and congregate.
"Aye, there's trouble with the undead," the halfling said grimly. "The vampires in the north have taken half Silverclaw Valley in the east. More vampires in the northwest. More in the south. Popping up like daisies, they are. I've lost good men finding answers to them." He turned to the nearest mass of his gathering woodsmen, both halfling and human. "Let's move."
There was no nonsense about going ahead or behind or to either side of the walking trees for some tactical reason, for suspicion's sake. With a handful of barked, straightforward orders, Old Tholomew got the Ashdellers going. They'd need to stick relatively close to Breenhin and the walking trees, mostly because only the outsiders knew where the grove was. There were grumblings about all of the above -- Stormwall's long ears twitched more than once -- but Tholomew was quick with a glare, and things moved along well enough.
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Post by Breenhin Mhaoilan on Feb 1, 2017 19:34:33 GMT
The childish rhyming of the Elder Oak suitably explained, the great tree stepped from the creek to cross the metaphorical threshold of Ashdell. It was an area he'd not been in for many centuries, but it felt good to get out of the Spiritwood and into the relatively unknown.
"Peace is ephemeral, Tholomew." Breen says, "But my hope is that we may yet find you a measure of safety in handling this wayward grove." As soon as the tree angled towards the south, so too did the Treemen follow in their stead, forming a crescent shaped cordon around the sides and rear of the traveling Oak.
Breen and his silent companions walked alongside them, apparently separate entities from the trees. "How long have you had this tree problem?" He asks, to either Tholomew or Stormwall; whomever had the answer.
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Post by Stormwall on Feb 1, 2017 19:47:07 GMT
"Centuries," said Stormwall. "The first settlers of Ashdell staked modest homesteads and cleared some ground as needed, but there were local groups -- elvish druids who ranked the needs of the trees above the needs of the people. Or perhaps they were simply disdainful of humans." The centaur's tail flicked, as if irritated by a fly.
"The records hold that the druids spurred the trees into aggressive growth and turned the forest against the settlers. Looking back, I'm certain there was more to it than that, a series of incremental escalations. For every farmer lured into the woods and never seen again, a son or daughter grew up determined to hold their land and increase it as needed. Maintain the roads against encroachment. That kind of thing. The druids are only rarely a problem in this day and age, but I think the forest remembers them, or is still compelled by the memory of their persuasion."
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