HEROIC REALMS

((This is a post pertaining to where the character Laurelin has been for the last year or so. All of this has already occurred and thereby is not really an "In Character" thread. Im putting it here for those who might be interested and it picks up from the character's exit thread a stirring in the woods. Obviously this would be considered out of game knowledge))

Almost soundlessly in the grey of a misty morn a figure emerges from the trees. The features of the figures face remain shrouded by the shadows cast by its leafy hood. It walks with purpose down the path, its stride swift moving undeterred toward the druid circle. Its posture seem s angered as the clear ring of its sword being drawn sounds in the mist laden wood. The blade glints despite the lack of sunlight, its color black save for the glittering green of the hilt. As it steps over the fallen tree that guards the entrance to the druids circle its measured steps cease.

The figure stands motionless for a long time as it faces the stone pillar marked with mysterious symbols. Its head bows as its form shudders, weeping before bellowing o ut a loud and anguished scream.

As the scream fades into an echo, the figure falls silent once more. So still the forest seems in the figures presence, until the crackle of heavy feet over brush catches its attention. Sword still unsheathed, the figure draws its cloak around itself and resumes the stride it had taken to the circle, continuing in the same direction. The mist of the morning grows more dense and the figure once again in its leafy raiment melds into the foliage of the wood... and gone from sight.

The figure settles down heavily leaning its back against a tree, its20breath labored by its rage. The sky above darkens as if reacting to the anger of this person... the clouds swiftly blacken and rain begins to trickle down, dappling against the leaves of the trees. Its eyes peer from the respite of its leafy covering looking beyond the brush.

The figures grip on its sword remains tight, as if sensing some unseen threat but otherwise remains as still as the dead. Wacthing... waiting... searching...

Long moments pass as a stalemate between the figure and its unseen foe continue. Then suddenly, the figure drops low to the ground... crouching into a position of attack. With a whirl of its cloak it seems to meld with the brush as t he tension grows taught in the air.

As the leafy hooded individual walks past the druid circle, an unseen being begins to make an ambient noise...a deep chuckle. The chuckle turns to a louder more sinsiter laughter before speaking…

“You that carries their sword will see the same fate should you follow the beast and peruse vengeance of the fallen Awethorn! ”

A coldness settles in the air upon back of the threat. ...a shriek echoes throughout the surrounding area then fades as does the frost like air within the druid circle. That was all she needed to know.

The clouds above circle as the energy begins to surge and dark laughter echoes. Then suddenly the figure leaps from its hidden position raising its black blade to the sky to meet with lightning. The bright electrical tendrils curl around the sword as its wielder points it to the north, unleashing it into the forest... Bolts flare in a deadly blinding blaze...again and again... a nd again the figure aims and fires... til it falls to the ground in a heap of exhaustion.

Weakened from its exhertion, it knows its battle is done... for now. Crouching low it surveys the land around it... satisfied it is now alone, it sheaths its sword and utters something quietly... The brush upon the ground suddenly recedes revealing a path. The figure charges down it a bright flash of lightning strikes behind it and when it clears,=2 0the path and figure are nowhere to be found.
******

Sometime later, though how much had passed Laurelin could not be certain, she awoke to the smoldering pungent scent of incense all around her. As her eyes fluttered open, she winced. She had grown unused to the brightness of the sun and looking upon it now did little more than make her want to close them again. Before she could give into the thoughts of a llowing the deep slumber to reclaim her, a scaly finger trailed the side of her face.

She drew in a sharp breath, startled by the sudden and unexpected touch, but she could do little else. Her limbs had felt as heavy as boulders, and her strength all but gone. It was then the presence leaned forward to make itself known. Its wide hypnotic gaze found hers, easing her worry. Although its mouth never moved she could hear its hissing voice as clear as if she had spoken the words herself.

“You have szlept long young one. Your awakening isz met with great joy.”

Laurelin failed to find a voice for her words, but her mind reeled with questions. Who is he? Where am I? What happened?

The faint torchlight set aglow the shimmering green scales of its face as it sat gently beside her, taking her hand in its own. Somehow she managed a small smile, knowing her Awthorn friends had taken her into their care.

“You are szafe now little druid, you dwell in the szanctuary of the Awthornz.” It spoke to her thoughts again. “Here you will remain until szuch time you are ready to return to the Sztronghold.”

Her brows furrowed as she attempted to speak once more, but again she was rendered silent. Being incapacitated angered her, but all her fury brought with it was pain. Blinding flashes of light seemed to streak across her vision, accompanied by searing pain in her head. The Awthorn swiftly laid its hand over her face, gingerly dragging its fingertips over her eyelids bidding them to close.

“Szleep young one… you muszt reszt now… when you awake again we szhall begin your training.”

*******
Winter had turned to Spring, and Spring nearly summer when she finally emerged from the hollowed out tree she had lay sleeping in this long while. She had awoken days before, but regaining the use of her limb s took time. How she came to be so gravely ill or injured she still did not know, nor did it matter just yet. All that did matter was recovering her strength as quickly as possible so she could resume her protection of those she came to think of as family.

It was not until several weeks had passed that she recovered enough to train, but when she began, it was with a sense of urgency she pushed herself to excel. The memory of the strange beast that stalked the woodlands had begun to creep into20the edges of her mind and although not all of it had revealed itself in her thoughts, she knew the Awthorns were in danger. They had bestowed so much upon her, kindness, faith, their treasured blade… but more importantly, in a land so far from home… theygave her a sense of kinship. Vaguely she recalled the story of how they had come to be, but with perfect clarity she remembered they were once the same as she… a high elf.

The term high elf unnerved her, she had long harbored a hatred for the recklessness in which her kind had selfishly attempted to harness immortality. Thinking themselves equals of gods and nearly unraveling the very threads of existence in their wake. Learning the origins of her heritage and that she herself remained one of so few did little to set her at ease. Even though she had avowed never to use unnatural magics and devoted herself to the woodlands and dominion of the goddess Laroon, she could not help but carry the guilt of thousands of years for what her ancestors had done.

Even her friends here… the Awthorns, a constant reminder of the consequences unleashed by such foolish notions. Yet she had been given a chance. A chance to see the harsh twisting of her kin undone, to carry their blade as their champion and see them restored to their true selves. It was a number of years before it would all finally be done…the last orb would not appear for quite some time… but she would see it done. A few years of her life bent upon the restoration of those who have suffered, was nothing in comparison to the countless many they endured. As she watched her mentor move up the path toward her, the one who had stood vigil ant over her long slumber she sighed heavily as her thoughts concluded, it was the very least she could do.

*****
“Focusz child!” the master hissed, “Your rage doesz not szerve you! You muszt let it go or you will become loszt in itsz szhadow!”

Laurelin dropped her sword to her side, taking a deep breath, she did her best to push the lingering image of the beast aside. She set her sights on the practice target once more, her gaze focused… her form rigid. Lifting her arm she pointed her blade at the carved rock. The thunder clouds swirled over head… raging with ferocity. The winds roared in her ears as she called lightning down from the sky… her blade igniting with white fire sending a stream of energy toward the boulder…only for it to spark and fizzle out, a tiny scorch mark the only evidence of her efforts.

“You are calling the lightning to you child… but you are not commanding it!” The awthorn’s voice had seemed to transcend its normal hiss into commanding authority. Harnessz it Laurelin…take itsz power in you…and bid it to szhatter your foe!”

“Its impossible!” Laurelin insisted. “We have been at this for days… and every time it is the same thing! It does little more than tickle the surface.”

Sitting down upon an old stump in a heap, the druid sighed in frustration. “If it were some other substance it would work… but lightning is not the tool of nature against earth.”

The awthorn listened to all she had to say and quietly stood beside her. “That isz what you want the enemy to believe… but that isz not szo.”

Staring up at her instructor she shook her head. “I want more than anything to be able to do what you ask of me… but honestly, I have never heard of lightning ever splitting a rock.”

The creatures serpent like features seemed to brighten with amusement. “If a tree fallsz in the foreszt and nobody hearsz it… doesz it make a szound?”

Nodding her head, she agreed, “Of course master.”

Scooping a hand full of pebbles from the ground he unfurled his long thin fingers in front of her, “Then… maybe thatsz where little rocksz come from…” he paused for a moment spilling the bits of gravel through his fingers, “Or maybe they come from your head?”

The druid could not help but laugh, “I have heard such references before.”

Nodding his head slowly, “Yesz… I can szee that. But what you muszt szee my noble druid isz that not everything isz asz it szeemsz…but thosze with the szight to szee beyond what isz expected… can do szo much more than any foe might ever guessz.”

With that, the awthorn held his staff high as lightning came at his command. It curled and licked as it crackled around the orb at the top of the large stave waiting to be unleashed… and when the master finally granted its release…the large rock shattered into millions of tiny bits.

Laurelin watched in utter amazement, never had she seen such masterful command, but her hands confirmed what her eyes witnessed gathering the still smoldering little chips of rock that had fo rmed at her feet.

Looking up briefly at her master in awe, she finally found her voice. “I will never question you again.”

The Awthorn made a clicking sound as he shook his head. “It isz alwaysz prudent to question young one, for that isz how we learn. That isz not your trouble child. What harrowsz you isz your rage… and until you learn to overcome szuch… you will never szucczeed in your journey asz a druid.”

“Rage is power master… it can overcome fear and adversity.” She argued.

“It isz but one forcze in a world of many. Nature doesz not rely upon only one element… it achievesz and maintainsz balancze of them all to enforcze itsz command.” Leaning on his staff he tapped his chest with his finger, “Our heart isz our nature child… and we muszt not rely upon a szingle emotion to empower usz… we muszt harnessz the power of them all.”

*****

More than a year had passed since the elven druid of Evermore entered the sacred groves the Awthorn’s called home. Hidden deep in the forest, somewhere in the long shadows of the ancient trees, this home of the accursed creatures had been a safe haven for their kind. The woodlands themselves shielded them from unwelcomed eyes, much like those of her home lands. Quietly she sat in meditation, focusing her thoughts, attuning herself to the natural world. It had become a daily ritual, something Heeskesh, her Awthorn mentor, had encouraged in her.

A series of hisses and clicks drew her attention, a smile gracing her expression as she recognized the Awthorn who had taken her under his care. Rising briefly she took a knee and bowed before the elder.

“Elder Heeskesh… you honor me with your presence ..” The druid’s voice came quietly, though sounding strange in this environment.

With a wave of his scaled hand he bid her to stand, “It isssh good to sszeee you embraaazing my teachingsssz young one.”

“You have taught me a great deal.” She smiled warmly, “I only hope that I live up to the expectations of so great a teacher.”

The Awthorn lightly set his hand upon her shoulder, the perch of its mouth moving into what she had come to know as their smile. “In time… you szhall be teszted… and if your heart sztaysz true, then you child will szurpaszz the eggszpectationsz of all. My time isz not waszted on the one who carriesz our blade.”

Laurelin’s fingers trailed lightly over the glittering green hilt of the sword that hung from her belt. “Thus far, I have not lived up to my own expectations. Szzarnaz fell in the circle… I failed to protect one, how can I hope to safeguard all?”

“Even the greateszt of druidszz can not be everywhere at onzze. Laroon called Szzarnaz home, to sszerve beszide her… hisz mortal death child wasz not in vane.” The elder Awthorn imparted as he set himself down upon a sun warmed rock. “Your burden issz great enough without carrying the weight of the dead.”

Laurelin shook her head, “I should have been here… the circle was in peril and I left it in search of a friend.”

“You did what the fateszz wanted you to do. Bardin issz a keeper of thesze woodsz… hisz return was imperative, and Szzarnaz knew thisz…”

The druid let go a heavy sigh, “The creature is still at large… I was not strong enough to defeat it.”

The awthorn shook his serpent like head, "There are few that are Laurelin, but being a druid iszz not about the powerssz you wield… but gaining the truszt and reszpect of the natural world around you…szo that it heedsz your call to risze up against the dark forces in thisz world.”

“Your wisdom makes things ever clearer, as always Master.” She uttered as she b owed her head in show of her great reverence for her teacher.

The Awthorn clutched his staff in his hand as he rose to a standing position. At his full height he towered above her, his dark gaze regarding her with a measure of pride. “Your time with usz young one, drawsz to a closze. In the spring, you muszt return to the sztronghold and apply what you have learned here in the waiting world… and grow sztronger sztill. The daysz to come will not be easzy o nesz… but you carry the hope and faith of the Awthornsz with you alwaysz.”

Taking a deep breath, she attempted to hide the mounting dread in her heart. “As you wish Elder Heeskesh.”

The Awthorn turned to depart pausing a moment in his stride. Without turning about to look at her, he spoke to her thoughts. “Your next journey will begin in the czircle…have ritual robesz prepared. I will szee to the reszt.”

A nice bridge to the ongoing history of Laurelin; very well said!!!
Can’t wait to see you in-game!