As the morning began, the light from the sun peeked through the ceiling and drifted across The Marchioness’s eyes. She began to awake, rather slowly, and peered up at the ceiling. There appeared to be a collection of iridescent crystals, each one carrying the light from the sun outside, illuminating the surroundings. Silvae was beside his makeshift workshop staring at its surface, deeply in thought. He looked towards Tally and spoke with a quiet intensity, “When I was young, I as others like me, took an oath. My oath to the forest is to protect you, and others like you, to ensure a safe passage. We cannot go to The Court.” Silvae motioned towards The Marchioness’s head. “That wound was not from a fall but by a Triactural Scar. Its mark is distinct.”
Tally sat up and gently felt the back of her head. The pain was dull, far less than what it had been yesterday. Oddly, it was slightly cool to the touch. “A side effect of the ointment?” She pondered and then asked Silvae, “But who would try to hurt me?” She tried to recall any past event beyond the first awakening but all that came to her was an overload of fast-moving memories.
Silvae, sensing The Marchioness’s own frustrations, illuminated, “The Scar is known very well by our people. Many have fallen to its use in combat.” As he spoke, he visualized the great battles of his ancestors. Cries of suffering and war chants echoed through his mind. “Your people of The Garden used it on us in The Battle of Garnate, some millennia ago.” He walked to a wall nearby and started to draw a distinct shape. “It is not easily forgotten.”
“You appear to presume that one of my own people seeks my demise?”, asked Tally. Silvae paused and looked towards the markings. “I do not know for certain. Do you know anyone who may want to cause you harm?”, asked Silvae. “No. No one.” Tally responded. But internally she felt uncomfortable from that answer. Not only did she not know who she really was, now there was someone who might want her dead.
“Tally, we must proceed like pollen and carry ourselves quickly and carefully to the edge of the forest. Remnants of my people live near the water. I believe we can find a temporary sanctuary there.”
“But why not ask for the Lord’s help?” quizzed Tally.
“That man, or rather the mind of that man cannot be trusted. It has been twisted and churned towards the ambitions of his son.” Responded Silvae. Whilst true, he at that time did not feel comfortable sharing all his reasons. Any signature of the Scar on Forest territory could be used to stir up old tensions.
The Marchioness stood up for the first time. There was some slight dizziness but upon breathing carefully, she was able to regain her footing and the uneasy feelings faded. Not long after, they departed from their dwellings and proceeded towards the edge of the forest. Just out of sight of the travelers, a Filipa Bird landed on a perch nearby. It watched as they made their way through the forest.
The pair walked in single file through the dense forest. As they passed through a particularly thick area, they reached a clearing. Above them were an array of different colored trees. They stood quite tall compared to the other nearby trees. Each one shared a different color, some had bright red, others a dark green, and another with purple and yellow intertwined. “Arvorist Esplosisms”, pointed out Silvae.
As The Marchioness looked closer, it appeared that each branch contained an odd-looking ball of pine needles. “Bird nests?”, questioned Tally. “They truly look like that but alas no, watch what happens when they are agitated,” responded Silvae, who then reached downwards and picked up a small rock.
With one single action, he threw the rock at one of the pine balls. On impact, the ball exploded outwards with a sharp bang. Hundreds of pine needles flew out and collided with a nearby tree setting off a chain reaction of other sharp explosions. “Not very subtle, are they?”, commented The Marchioness. Silvae smiled, nodded, and motioned them to continue.
Whilst walking now side by side, Silvae explained, “Arvorists are like our people Tally. They live in a peaceful symbiosis with their neighbors. But there are some who wish to become dominant over those trees. Certain birds are not welcome visitors.”
Puzzled, The Marchioness sought to clarify with Silvae, “Birds? How can a bird be seen as a threat?”
“There is a specific bird to which we do not have a name, nor do our people grant one to it.” Answered Silvae, “They like to bore holes into the Arvorists and take out all the essence of what that tree was, leaving only a dry husk behind.”
“So, its recourse is to annihilate things that get too close?”, questioned Tally.
“Only when it is truly threatened, should the tree choose to act, and it does so in unison with its neighbors.” Silvae responded. There was for a moment a sense of fire in his eyes. It glimmered for a second and then returned to his curious, inquisitive nature.
“One last thing to note, Tally.” Silvae leaned in and warned, “If you spot feathers in The Forest proceed with caution.”
The Marchioness absorbed what was said. She looked up at one of the nearby trees and noticed it moving with the wind. Silvae proceeded to continue walking forward whilst Tally stayed behind for a moment. A needle from a neighboring tree had pierced this one and it was leaking some resin-like fluid. Without thinking, Tally retrieved a piece of cloth from her pocket, wiped the fluid from the tree and returned it to her pocket. She quickly caught up to Silvae and continued walking side by side.
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As the sun was moving towards the horizon, the pair saw a small stream of gray smoke moving its way into the sky. The Marchioness’s stomach was rumbling and admittedly she was eager to rest and enjoy the comforts of the tribe. The two of them crossed a small stream, which was dotted with fish traps and other tools. Yet there was no one to be seen. As they made their way closer to the villages, Tally could smell the most wonderful essences of cooking and there were some distant sounds of singing. Both Silvae and The Marchioness moved quicker towards the center of the village, excited by what was about to come.
The two turned a corner and saw some men standing around a large fire. Each was clad with light armor. Just as The Herbalist realized his mistake, he stopped and put his arm on The Marchioness’s shoulder to stop but it was too late. He turned quickly but there were now two soldiers behind him. He turned to face the fire once again.
A loud, excited voice echoed through the village center, “Silvae!” The tallest of the soldiers walked into view, “How nice of you to join us and look you have even brought some company.” The tall soldier beamed at the pair.
“Kipflix.” Breathed Silvae.
“It is good to see you, my old friend. It has been some time.” Declared Kiplix. “Still, I didn’t think it was in your nature to help the enemy?” He asserted.
Silvae quickly responded in a laconic tone, “I’m not the one selling my soul for the Dwellnar, Kiplix.”
The uneasy tension by the fire was met by silence by both parties. The Marchioness sensing an opportunity, proceeded to speak up for the first time. “Let me be the first to say” – she was quickly cut off by Kiplix, who raised his hand dismissively. Two soldiers moved towards Tally. One grabbed her arm whilst the other prepared some chains.
Silvae, alarmed by what was happening, had to decide. What was he to do?
Potential Decisions:
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Silvae lets the soldiers tie up The Marchioness. He is forced away from the village by the soldiers.
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Silvae grabs the weapon from a nearby soldier and fights to protect The Marchioness.
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Silvae takes the chains from the soldier nearby Tally and proceeds to tie her up.
Snapshot for voting: