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The Miraculous Bloom


champ

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fantasy-forest-wallpapers-28145-4385574.

 

Amidst the natural chirping of the Grove, a few voices shone; from feminine, to masculine, to juvenile, all debating over what would unfold.

 

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"Don't you think the pond over yonder was too small? - All of us, cramped there like soldiers inside trenches. Who could we possibly heal, with such a little thing?"

 

"What's going through your head, exactly?"

 

"All it takes is one of these. - Who pitches in first? There's many a place left. We should be using them sparingly."

 

"Me, me! I want to! Me!"

 

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The buzzing of mosquitoes and insects alike fought against the monotony of their voices, and the leaves complained against the wind that blew against their leaves, letting the droplets of glistening water tap against the soil beneath them to feed their roots and the greenery that took refuge beneath their colossal shade. Four figures with eyes of amethyst each stood at the edge of the pond with their boots and sandals pressing against the Mother Grove's sand, all as the body of water threw itself against their feet meekly, as if beckoning them to melt in it's humidity and pass the time in glee. Three of them held set of purple seeds, hard against their revitalized skin and dispelled scars from a water too close to a miracle to be true. - A child, amidst them. Her tiny palm reeled back with a handful of seeds, and with a bracing foot, they launch forwards and land upon the pond's center, little droplets of water rising up upon contact, and joining the mass once more.

 

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"We only needed one, you know?"

 

"Let her have her fun. It'll bear more fruits, and from there, we'll bring this to the rest."

 

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It bubbled. The water's reflected blue from the sky became a soft pink and purple from effects only known to it, and those who were conjuring it's birth. The Patron of Mana that stood at their side, sporting purple veins along his chiseled form and a mask forged from Oakwood, slipped beneath the surface with finesse like no other.  The ground rumbled against the smoldering pressure put upon them, and from the waters began to emerge at a rapid pace the branches and roots of a birch tree. They twined and rose without pause, creaking away at the air as finally, they rose as high as to caress the clouds. A scent doused those below; sweet, like hazelnut, and the winds that brushed by the trees previous found the sudden sprouting of pink leaves on the white oak pleasant to dance through.

 

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tree-ring-arch-pink-leaves-rocks-girl-ar

 

One of the various trees formed along the land, formed like a ring and cascading blessed waters onto the floor beneath it.

 

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Her hand bled once she cut at the inside of her palm, a wound made by a dagger in faith that this miracle would hold it's fruits as it had once before. The youth, older than the child but not quite the elder like the Elf beside her and the Paragon that had sunk beneath the waves to beckon the tree forth, sunk the hand beneath the calm waters. A glow from the pond where her hand sat, a warmth upon the wound, the supple stitching of whatever lay within upon the skin to seal her wound. She lofts it once more and peers at it with her amethyst-glowing gaze, purple as the tree itself. The lips on all their mouths showed their delight, and the Paragon rose from the waters, giving a nonchalant nod of his head to gesture to the finished product.


 

"They really are a handful of blessings."


 

Delight. Glee. Joy. The splashing of water, the mending of wounds, the calm of mind; celebration for their accomplished feat. Beyond the rooted walls of the Mother Grove, the wonder could be seen piercing the heavens and forcing clouds to shape around it like an angelic halo. Sparkling, even from afar,  beckons those who agonize from wounds, from pains, from angst on the mind to submerge themselves in the heavenly waters now conjured; Mages could feel a strangely tame presence of Mana, booming at a constant and steady pace from the area, much unlike the chaos the Void normally provided.

 

Long gone are the times of strife. 

 

Atlas has finally begun to heal.

 

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Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it. 

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