The Coward's Folly - Elysium's Ulcer

[TwilightWolf 883]

 

Coward.

Spineless.

 

The words never even reached the ears of the Archdruid. The Fallen Monarch Druid spat these insults to his beloved wife, instead of facing him. He thought, for a brief moment, that he might be right. Perhaps there was something in him that was afraid. Afraid to fail. Afraid to bring shame to the name of the Order. Then, as the news of terror and blight came upon the voice of the Epiphyte Waystalker, a primal, druidic rage sparked within the soul of the TimberWolf.

 

How dare you?

The Archdruid thought, as he saddles the shimmering flanks of his steed, glimmering like diamonds under the light of the moon. Long had the Mother Circle slumbered, fearful of others' thoughts on their methods of fulfilling the duties. As the five rode deep into Elysium territory, his apprehension melted. Fear held no grip on the TimerWolf's heart, but the talons of righteous fury carried his burning spirit to wild flight over the land. The gates were opened with welcome greetings to the druids. As they ascended to the heart of the city, the ugly truth sprawled before him. The glade in which aspiring youth placed hope into was rotten, leeched of life and hope, all because of the relentless games of a coward.

 

But it wasn't the coward that was going to fix it.

 

 

The Spirit of the Hinterland rose high into the thick smog of rot and wither, calling upon the dedication of the four druids. With it came a rain of cleansing fire on the heels of a ghostly howl; the moonsong of a wolven Luonto. Where there was blackened dirt, sapped of natural life, the rain came and poured a hailstorm of druidic fury, chasing the blight away like a thick black smoke on the wind. The firestorm left a thick fog of pure light over the glade, washing the earth of lingering impurities and banishing taint into harmless smoke that rose high into the sky and disappeared. With a final push from the four, the clouds of druidic energy, rich with life and righteous purpose, arise like a massive tidal wave to crash down the hill and lap calming waves at the feet of the druids. Exhausted, the Mother's Favored quietly departed...

 

Upon the hill of the now cleansed glade rested a simple note.

It bore no name nor signature.

 

It simply read;

 

"I am still watching."