Registered Member #25414
Joined: 5:49:38 am GMT 02/06/20
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Centuries she had lived her life in the Feywood Hold, staying in the forest and following every command the elders gave. Yet – her time living only in the wood neared an ending, no – she looked toward an open door, a beginning to find her life’s path. She approached the elders and made a request for a trial to prove herself. Should she complete their task, she would beg for lenience in her life, and allow her to see the island. The younger races lived in other places, but she had never once seen how they lived, where they lived… Her thoughts grew clouded for but moments before she focused herself – and listened to the task she would be set toward to prove herself.
The task was set, a hunt to prove her worth as an archer – and as a protector of not just the forest, but her own self. Seventeen moons passed before her mark was found, another thirteen before she could track down the creature to a place where she could send an arrow into the wolf’s heart. No longer would this creature plague the budding animals of spring winds… There was a powerful sense of sorrow for the creature that hung on her heart – though it was the way of nature, in some ways. The beast had grown too large to be left to its own path and hunting such a creature would finally allow her to break free – and learn. To never hunt for sport, but only to ensure a balance can be kept… she felt this was within such a path, such a rule. Perhaps in time, her heart would match her mind whenever she had to ensure the cycle was maintained.
She returned, and the trophy – a set of fangs from the creature - was presented to prove herself. There was a time before any would speak – before the wind howled. Not a cold wind, but a warm inviting wind out of the chamber… She had taken it in stride as her eyes blossomed toward those who would decide her fate. There were no words, but only a nod to her desire of travel.
That day, she went to the garden of the waterfall her family watched over. She sang to the water as she prepared arrows for her travels out of the woods. She spoke to herself of finding the fey who had shown her the art of mastering her own body’s ability, training her mind’s speed, and honing her eyes to better see those she met.
Was the dryad a vision? Was she that which had once looked over the waterfall – before it was passed down to her family? There were questions in her mind that raced as the bees do through a field of flowers. To learn of where the spirits had gone, to better protect the forest – she knew she could not wait her life away within the hold. Though it was safe, though it was home… To stay endlessly in one place - is to never learn of what or who she truly was.
Sylmare pulled her journal from her side, and wrote…
To find the fey and bring them home – is to know where they have gone. Finlossen spoke of a place somewhere in the south, far away through the gate to the Greenwood. If I was to ever understand what had happened – I would see it for myself. He claimed it the last true home to the fey on these lands, though I fear what would happen should the darkness find them there as well… My heart raced at the idea of finally seeing beyond, meeting new faces – and learning what the world holds beyond this solitary wood.
I know not if I will be brave enough, I even fear I would not be strong enough, but it will not stop me trying to save this forest and return the creatures who once lived within its domain. My hands shake as I write this day, but the full moon comes, and I will find my peace. Keeping my mind focused on this new travel is my priority from here forward. I will find the answers the Feywood needs, and I will show the elders what I have managed to learn.
She pulls herself from looking at the journal, glancing at a deer skipping through the nearby underbrush. It was time to prove herself once more, and start her journey in full.
Registered Member #25414
Joined: 5:49:38 am GMT 02/06/20
The Call to Shores, Ventured Before
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Along the coast south of the hold, a cave festered with darkness. She had heard stories of her grandfather’s time as a hunter, and the beast he had seen slain in the name of keeping peace through the woods years ago. The same darkness seemed to fester; a beast that once claimed shadow was rumored by the elves – a beast with pelt black as night and claws sharp as the blades the elves wielded. Eyes unforgiving, and fangs prepared to cut through the toughest chain that would block their path.
The beast of shadow was a creature her family had seen struck down once, but with rumors of its return, she had stopped her travels to return home. Weeks she spent hunting and tracking led her to the domain it held. The creature was everything the stories claimed and more, to lose sight of the creature for a moment would certainly be one’s end if they dared to enter the domain of such a beast. Sylmare had no time to show her own weakness and set forward to bring back the pelt of the creature.
The hunt ended as the two moons above lit a grove just beyond the cave that she had finally tracked the magnificent beast toward. The creature was Unseelie, shadow looming over the creature made her reel back in disgust yet busied herself to nock her arrow. She took a single deep breath in; her shot would not miss this beast’s vitals. The young Lanthir made one mistake, one more than she could have been allowed. She closed her eyes to calm her nerves, and as she opened them the beast had lunged directly toward her. Nearly destroying the bow and her leathers the panther’s massive claw was suspended but inches from her face. The two shared a gaze of prey and hunter, but the elf was certainly far from a hunter at this moment.
Where she had expected the creature to end her life quickly as once the witch had tried, the panther ceased and took two steps left of Sylmare. Her family treasure, a belt made from the hide of the previous shadow scourge kept the gaze of this creature. There was tension as she stood and readied her blade. She spoke calmly to the creature – for it was not hatred that brought her here, but a desire only to see the woods protected.
“Your time in these woods, or mine, will end this day – Lavanduath.”
The dark eyes of the creature met her emerald glare and perhaps it felt as if it was truly speaking to her.
“No, not this day Lanthir. You are yet strong enough to entertain a hunt against my shadow. You will grow, and I will ensure it is so.”
The panther seemingly melded to shadow, but she could feel it close still. She had made her way from the domain of such as the shadow beast, yet no matter where she had traveled – she felt the eyes of the beast nearby. A bond was formed if nothing more than to ensure they would be able to fight as equals in that same grove on a moon to come.
She had not been looked down on in such a way by any other than the elves of Greenvale, a beast that was so certain of its strength it would guide her forward only to fight when she had grown strong enough. Sylmare accepted a challenge this day and would not fall until such a time came. If she could tame such a creature – learn from even an ounce of the shadow it controlled, perhaps she would be strong enough to grab the darkness that haunted the rest of the Feywood. Power was perhaps the answer, and perhaps the Witch of the North did not lie about such as this fate to grow.