A Step Beyond The Ice. A Sanctuary Left To Die.

[Wretched 2075]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RNLhgbWNz4Y

 

Like a plague did they crawl from the vast expanse of the North, chattering and hissing through twisted, crooked jaws. The deformities stalked down like insects, insects of the hive they so blindly, yet  so fiercely lived to serve. They did dart across the water's edge, eyes wide with a hunger like no other hunger before, a hunger of the very mind. The creatures stormed the druid's grove, slashing and stabbing with arms moulded into sadistic weapons, followed closely by the immolated ones.

 

The Hiishtgul calmly trailed behind, incapable of showing any expression, any pity, any satisfaction or remorse. Their dark figures drifted silently across the ground, black, smouldering blades hung loosely from their gauntlets as their minions unleashed their crazed fury upon all that lived and breathed inside that tomb of a tree. One of these dark figures led the rest, blasting commands to the minions, his voice resonating within their corrupted skulls.

 

One by one, did they fall, the druids. Their only hope was those that had escaped, those that had fled into the city in search of aid. And so aid did come, but yet, it wasn't enough. The dark forces of the North took them all, one group at a time. The sons and daughters of Malin and Urguan threw themselves into this threat with great courage and bravery, yet, it wasn't enough. Now their bodies lay strewn about the dying tree, its trunk blackening, leaves wilting, deformities growing...

 

 

The sickly creatures toyed with the bodies, handing them from the corrupted branches of the tree they so desperately tried to protect. Corpses were mangled, consumed, burnt and forgotten. There was no honour here, there was nothing but the bestial desire to obey. And obey they did. The Hiishtgul returned with their minions, robes stained with streaks of red as they dispersed back into the eternal wasteland of the North, their mission a success this time.

 

One thing remains certain, this would not be the last tree to die in these woods...

[Old-Rattlesnake 1534]

Sunshine Druid Verden hears word of recent events from traveling passersby. He sits alone at the tavern bar, staring at the table as he orders a large bottle of wine.

[Shadeleaf 1022]

Arzota sits within a small tavern in Gallamore, casually setting a candle on fire, extinguishing it, and repeating as he receives word of this... travesty.
 

"Well... this is why we have an ocean separating us isn't it?"

 

he says to no one in particular, reaching over the counter and pouring himself a drink, downing it quickly as he continues to practice.

[Volutional 935]

The Dedicant whom sounded the horn. The Dedicant who left all his treasures in that one place that he thought he was safe. Unsettled. Shaken. Old he may be, and Elf was he. Age takes it's toll on the ancient, and not the elderly. He walked around the Grove like it was a happy place, peaceful and tranquil. Water drips and a nice dense fog to it, like a cave well-lit, but a tree. But the shadow crept in, and corrupted the fog, and turned it into a haze.

 

Suddenly, Celthorn was surrounded by Shadow. They appeared in a flash, like lightning but silent. The Aspects were nowhere to be heard, even though this Dedicant had never heard their whispers. The Shadow's whispers were vile, horrid and disgusting. Plagued with his past, plagued with the screams of Aegis and Asulon, Elysium and Kalos. Celthorn stood resilient, though. He stood in the face of the darkness, the haze. Sudden was the strike that knocked him. The water that made the river had burst it's banks, and gushed onto the grass, soil and haze-filled mess on the floor. The Grove had perished into a wroth-filled nightmare.

 

The Monks, though. The REAL Sanctuary, was untouched. And so seemed his body.

 

He remembered the fog, the drips and the sound of birds. But because the sudden attack was such, he had no nightmares that night.

[Fid 566]

Arch Druid Gavin stands, tall and proud, gazing at the destroyed and immolated Druidic Grove. His expression is inscrutable, though his fists are clenched in what can only be identified as fury. Around him are some of the scattered remnants of his brethren, the Druids. With an audible snarl, he turns, raising his arms.

 

"Pick up your heads, Brothers and Sisters, and hold them high! Our Order is not bound to a tree in a vast forest, no more than it is bound to a rock or a shrub. Our Order, my brethren, lives on in the heart of each of us who survived this day... and above all our Order lives on in the Aspects. We are not beaten, and we are not gone from the face of Anthos."

 

He turns back towards the ruins of the tree, allowing his arms to return to his sides. 

 

"...and though the world is undoubtedly a poorer place... this is not over."

[Evilbanana5757 154]

The Bird Druids gazes upon the immolated grove in sadness, then walks away, forcing himself to not shed a tear.

[Jexdane 213]

Cael'Que hears of the news down the grapevine, though it is his informant who eventually runs up to him in a rush as he drinks a cup of tea at his tea franchise Saladway . He raises an eyebrow in disbelief before slowly lowering his gaze back to the cup, swirling the contents within as he sits in contemplation.

 

"Though I have little love for the groups and nations of the world..", he mutters to his informant, "..I would be ignorant to pretend that the Druids did not help me retain my sanity in Aegis. Without their grove and help, I would have lost my mind decades ago. This loss hurts me in a way little else has before."

 

He stands up and goes behind the counter, quietly washing the cup before summoning his informant closer to him.

 

"Youngling..", he starts, looking up. "..go to the Druids, and extend to them an offer for communication. In five elven days, I wish to meet with them here at Saladway ."

 

Cael sits down behind the counter as he watches his informant leave, a content sigh escaping his lips before he curses, realizing he just sent away his only employee for an unknown amount of time.

 

"Bloody Nether..."

[Song Druid 1486]

The Elf grips the Wilting Staff in his hand as he observes the festering land that was once En'leawyn.  Still, even as the corruption ate away at the land around her, the Druid could feel the faint presence within her, still pulling through, life still flowing.

 

 

"She should be dead...how does she persist?"  He ponders thoughtfully, scratching his chin as he watches bitterly. Suddenly it dawns upon him, "The Stones, the Aspect stones tether her to life!  They are uncorruptable, they serve as a way to save this grove!"

 

He turns, and strides off down the mountain pass, towards the ocean, raising his voice to song.

[Amorphbutt 199]

Well, here he was again, in the center of a disaster. How did trouble follow this poor dark elf child, why did he have to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? These were things, minuscule things, that he was thinking about. The biggest thing on his mind would be his guardian, his new father. He couldn't think of Celthorn to be such a thing, not in a thousand years. But he could see him as a .. guide? Was that the word? Alas, Olritaril continued to stare at the bodies of the fallen strung among the trees like some sick... decrepit... decorations! He hoped, no he prayed to the Aspects that his guardian was alright, and turned to join the druids in their exile from what used to be their home. 

 

[[This, Bias, is what I thought Arik was doing when you said 'raising his voice into song':

 

 

Fabulous.]]

[DruinsBane 240]

Ear's that flickered and did pray tale of the beasts coming listened and watched in sanctuary of bone, safe from their wrath for there knowledge didn't pass onto thee.

 

A darkened figure in outlandish clothing sits upon a darkened throne over looking a delightful scene of a banquet, his face puzzled unsure of what to make of things that have transpired.

 

Snapping his finger's with a echoing "Click!" His facial feature's twisting in fiendish joy, his voice singing out with the same if not more fiendish glee. "So does the performance reach a new height in the show? I wonder if these actors will finally read their lines!"

 

Letting out a whooping cackle that echos through the gloom. "Gahahah!! Gahahahah!! Gahahahah!!"

[Moot 1719]

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