May, in the Great Forest of Misriki

Well, journal. And so you find me a poor correspondent. So much has happened since last I wrote that it would be impossible, or at least the work of many days, to record all I have missed. I will consign all that to my memory, then, weak as it is, and aim to keep better records in the future. Today, I shall write only of what is recent, and relevant.

Having banished Azreoneous and Orzalon through the Ebon Gate, we followed Ferdinand across the sea, led by the White Ravens to the land of Vetus Mundi. There we learned, amidst the quarrels of the new land, of some sort of Keys which Ferdinand sought. We followed his path, his trail of vile corruption, to the Great Forest – so it is called by Ꝃthon, a druid who seeks to join our kindred. You will note I say sisterhood no longer – for many walk with us now. Brothers, sisters, kindred all. I shall speak to that later, for if I indulge myself now I will lose the trail of this narrative.

In the Great Forest, we faced many trials – though indeed, I felt myself more at home than I often do in Osterra. The Elves of Misriki, those we had saved from Ferdinand’s corruption, told us that their Council might be able to assist us, if we could pass the trials of the forest and make it to their fair city. Three guides helped us along the way. The first we met would not give his name, but asked what we would call him. His mother’s name was “I Don’t Recall”, and so I thought of him as Idrson as he would have been named in Verden. Others called him Fabulous, however, so perhaps that was his true name.

I know not.

The second guide we met was a satyr, Julius Gladiolus by name. He spoke much of debts and favours, and later I learned he had played a most unfortunate trick on Grayson the cleric and Warlord Nézmear. A necklace, cursed to make the wearer pliable to suggestion. I cannot think that Grayson deserved such a thing, but I will admit I though it no great trial for the warlord. Such an item could prove useful down the road, if it could be made to work on demons. I must remember to ask the High Venture what became of it.

But I was speaking of Julius, known sometimes as Swordlily. Despite his tricks, he was of great help to us as we sought the four Guardians of the Seasons. I cannot say he was on our side, as I will speak of later, but I liked him nonetheless. I would not frown to see him again.

Of the third guide, now. Hedera the Dryad. At her first appearance I was struck with awe. We were planning our initial venture into the woods. Three groups, led by Sir Xoticus, Sir Artorias, and myself, with a party each of warriors, rogues, healers, and mages. The Grove divided between them, as I thought it best to ensure someone would be on hand who would not disrespect the forest. Hedera was the guide of my contingent.

There are dryads near Aspen's Rest, of course, and we have spoken many times. It is difficult not to, with Hawthorne encamping with us whenever Riastrad might be present. But Hedera, I felt, was something else. On speaking with her she told me she speaks with all the trees of the Great Forest, a rare and precious gift indeed. I asked her if they contained the spirits of those before. She told me that some did, though not all. Perhaps because the elves live longer lives, there are not so many dead to inhabit the trees within their forest. All the same, Hedera is truly one blessed. Could I have spoken with my foremothers, what wisdom could be gained! Or with my father – though the souls of men are not believed to grow in trees, perhaps in the flowers, or the stones.

Though perhaps my people were wrong to believe only women lived on to guard the Woodlands. I am learning, far more slowly I think than I ought, that there are many things my people were wrong about. I have done my best to honour them, and our ways – but I am growing to realise that in doing so, I dishonour the brothers who shed their blood beside me.

But I said I would speak of this later, and so I shall. There is time enough later for my musings.

As we set out on our quest, the trees shifted around us. The paths changed, and even Hedera found the trees seemed to hide the way from her. But eventually, we united with another party – that of Sir Artorias, planning an assault on the fovolaka who blocked our way. Sir Xoticus, I learned, had turned on the rest of his party. The fovolaka are tiger-like creatures, I am told, though that description helped little. As easy to say a creature I had never heard of resembled another creature I had never heard of, but it mattered to Sir Xoticus. He was convinced the fovolaka were children of his god. He would not fight them. I did not wish to fight them either, as we had been told they were spirit of the forest.

I do not think The Lady looked like them, as I have no remnant stripes, but they were forest spirits all the same – and thus my kin, however far removed. I offered them peach wine, as The Grove often does, and their leader accepted it. She allowed me to pass, but would let the others no further. I tried to reason with her, to tell her we only wished to free the forest of Ferdinand’s corruption. But in vain. She and the others set upon my friends, and with that I could do nothing but join the fight. My sword lay discarded, and so only my shield I had with me.

Somehow, we were victorious. We healed the wounded, while my comrades upbraided Sir Xoticus for his betrayal. I understood, however. While I would not turn on my comrades for the fovolaka, who is to say if they were children of the Green Goddess, I would not do the same? We buried the creatures and planted a tree over their grave. Swordlily said this was the way of the forest, and I was pleased to see this habit was the same between our peoples. I hope the fovolaka may speak to Hedera in future, watching her forest still from strong roots and spreading branches.

Sir Xoticus spoke over the grave, lauding us for besting the warriors of Tharros and proving our worth to the forest. I do not think the speech sat well with all.

From there, we found the first piece of the Waystone which would open the way to Misriki. Then the Guardians set us on another quest, to find and speak with each of the Seasons. This we did, as I have mentioned, with much help. And as we did so, the forest itself attacked us. I do not like to fight trees. It is unnatural, for a daughter of Verden to hack at branches. I heard a voice mention the Green Mother as I fought one of the great masses of the forest, as it called on us to leave this place or die. So I went, to Sylvia’s Sanctuary, to pray at the Altar of the Green Goddess. Trez gifted me a rare artefact, a goblet with the visage of the Green Goddess herself emblazoned on it, and this I focused on as I prayed.

She did not speak to me – she does not, so plainly as she does to Oonagh Cardot, but I felt my resolve strengthen. Ferdinand’s corruption must be cleansed, even if it meant some harm to nature in the interim. Only with Ferdinand destroyed could the Great Forest truly heal. And so we went on, communing with each of the seasons in turn.

Then, waiting. We helped the High Venture a small amount with gathering ingredients for his new potions against corruptions, but largely we sat, idle, until the seasons saw fit to grant Oonagh the capstone of the waystone. I do not recall how we obtained the final piece, which suggests a battle of some sort. Death is not permanent, but it does cloud the memory. With all pieces of the waystone gathered, then, the sentinels and mages assembled it. Many warriors stood ready lest demons should emerge as they did from the Ebon Gate, but we were more fortunate than that. We made it to Misriki, and had only to wait for the Council to convene. They would decide if we were worthy.

Hedera spoke for us. Swordlily against. They called many of us forward to bear witness of our deeds, that day and in the past, and Swordlily questioned us closely each time he found us wanting. The council spoke of our successes, our failings, and at last, one by one, they gave their judgements. Not all found us worthy. But the Moonblade elves, those we saved from Ferdinand’s corruption, all voted in our favour. Thus did their king decide to lead us to the heart of the forest, and there find the Celestial Key.

Here I must pause in my narrative, and discuss something else of importance not recorded. For some time now, I have been a knight. I first learned of this intention at the Rites of Spring, where I joined the Knights Council with Sirs Garon, Randy, Tanos, and Garyeth. Sirs Artorias and Xoticus were also knighted, though not admitted to the council yet. In truth, this is a rank I know little how to suit. We did not have such things in Verden, and I would have been last to receive it if there were. Even here, it is strange to me. My arm is not so strong nor swift as Ayla’s, my mind not so quick as Jay’s, and my temper certainly not so steady as Oonagh’s. I did not think myself ready.

But the elven king led us into the Heart of the Forest, where a great tree spoke to us. The venerable father called forward the followers of the Green Goddess. The Grove assembled before him. Then, he called me by name.

From the mists between time and space, the spirit of Sylvia appeared in golden armour. She spoke to me, pressing a green surcote into my hands and charging me to guard the forests, to act with honour, and to guard all of Osterra, for the Green Godess – and for all. She found me worthy, and her blessing I cannot doubt. I will not. Her words let me see my knighting for what it is: not empty honour or accolade, but a call to rise. To be better than I have been, and to truly live to the words I swore before her and all the assembled of Osterra.

Now, at last, I will speak on my scattered musings. I have dishonoured my brothers. When I reflect on words I have said, actions I have taken, I cannot square with the words spoken of me in trial. “I have nothing but kind words to speak of you,” he said, but I have many things besides. In Verden it is said that no man should ever hold a weapon. They are too quick to anger, too slow to think. It is bad for them, and leads to nothing but destruction. Unless taught and cared for, carefully, by women, they must give in to the savageness of their true nature. Unless made to hone their minds in constant, they will grow slow and dull, unseeing for the greed and prejudice that clouds their hearts. All this, and so many more things, were accepted as fact.

But can I believe that of my brothers? Is Sir Artorias, though he is fierce with a sword, not one of the most patient and gentle hearts I have ever known? Is Bryxal prone to rage or impulsive thinking? Is Dima, ever watchful, slow and dull, for all his armour and weaponry. No. No, they and many more cry out against me.

I love my people. I honour them and my home, and perhaps in our world our ways were right. Perhaps they were not. But they are wrong here beyond a shadow of a doubt, and in holding close to such beliefs I have been all that I claim to despise in others. Blinded by prejudice, irrational in face of reason, quick to anger at the smallest provocations.

It cannot hold. I must change or I must break, and either will be better for Osterra than I have been. But I will alter. By Sylvia, by my sword, and by the Lady’s blood within my veins, I swear this. Let both my goddesses strike me down if I should fail.

~Gwion Triarta