SoO 3 - War of Talons - Chapter 4

War of Talons: Tales of the Wylde

Chapter 4 - Into the Fray

Aurelion's eyes widened as he made his first steps out of the portal. The natural corridor was in complete ruin. Where once great trees stood and intertwined overhead in a lush, green canopy, was now a column of bare, blackened trunks. As the group made its way further into the Sea of Oak, the wylder found themselves in a sprawling wasteland of scorched wilderness that used to be an expanse of wild growth. The satyr thought of the phoenix, and the flames that rose from it just as the gate was sealed during the attack. He surmised that the forest must have been compromised by the encroaching shadowfowl, and the only way to halt their advance was to purge the Sea of Oak entirely. Some of the wylder that had joined him were visibly overwhelmed as they continued to travel, the reality of the devastation shaking their initial fervor. Aurelion brought the march to a halt and called for a young elf named Gregorra. She was a greenwarden, adept in magicks that enhanced the yield of wylder crops. She came forward after being found among the crowd and approached the satyr. Despite the despair and desolation around them, she had a calm smile as she gave a polite curtsy in greeting him. Aurelion returned the smile and asked, "Is there anything you can do to help this forest, young one?".

Gregorra looked about, almost whimsically, then replied, "All forests have fires sometimes, sir. It is part of a cycle. The spirit of this forest is still here, so the trees and the animals will come back. It just needs time."

"That's nice to know," the satyr said with a pleased chuckle,"but the way to Wyldewood needs to stay hidden. We mustn't let the shadowfoul find their way to the gate again. Do you suppose you could help things along?"

The young elf simply widened her smile, then walked a few steps away. She reached into one the pouches of her tender's satchel and produced a small handful of various seeds and acorns. The elf hummed to herself innocently and went about the nearby area, drawing a trowel from her satchel and turning the scorched soil in random places, interring a seed or acorn as she saw fit. Those who could see her watched her work, muttering with confusion and speculation. Some even wondered if she might have gone mad. Her humming continued, and Aurelion recognized its pleasing harmony as a song of summoning. He had heard her many times as he worked in the fields of Wyldewood. A calm spring breeze made its way through the dead forest and swirled around the wylder as they stood and watched. Then there was a creature in the distance, hard to see at first, then increasingly tangible as though it had just come into being. It was a tall beast that walked upright... definitely animal in nature, but nothing familiar as a whole, though parts of it were. It was great in size, as tall as the lowest remaining branches of the burnt trees, with grey fur. It lumbered like a bear on hind legs, with a fox-like face and ears. Its head bore the impressive antlers of a stag. This unknown beast approached Gregorra, who simply stood before it, her warm smile beaming at the thing as it towered over her. Many of the wylder took on a cautious stance, some wanting to pull Gregorra away from the monstrosity, a few grasping the handles of their weapons. Aurelion remained calm and raised a hand for them to be still. The beast looked around, blinking. It took it a deep, protracted breath and opened its large mouth. An unsettling roar erupted from the thing, vibrating through the satyr and his followers, and resonating through the wasteland around them. The wylderfolk as a whole trembled, shaken by the noise. After a moment or two, came the green. The ground around them gave way to sprouts of different plants. Aurelion stared in amazement as Gregorra curtsied before the beast, which curiously enough, responded with a gentle bow before it began to fade from visiblity. The satyr marveled to himself as the young elf approached him, still smiling in a way that only children know how. She spoke to him after a nod, "The Sea of Oak will return, my lord. It was burned with the flames of the phoenix, and its power of rebirth is in the soil and the air."

"You are a splendid warden, Gregorra. I can feel the very essence of the new life that springs forth here."

"The plants and animals here will need my attention," she added, "My family and I will need to stay."

Aurelion nodded, "Very well, young one. I leave the Sea of Oak in your capable hands."

The caravan soon regrouped, and continued its trek through the scorched, yet steadily changing landscape. Two days passed as they marched, stopping in the evenings to rest, yet keeping an urgent pace. Once the group was a few hours from Bredldem, the nearest human town, Aurelion sent word through his followers that he needed a couple volunteers on horseback to act as scouts. Before too long, a pair of able riders galloped to the front of the caravan. The satyr directed them to ride on ahead and assess the situation, yet remain careful enough to avoid any shadowfowl that might be about. The riders raced along the path on their mission. A tension began to grow among the group as an hour passed, and then another, as the scouts were away. The satyr and several others in the lead froze in place as they heard the rhythm of desperate hooves approaching them. "Steady...," Aurelion muttered as many wylder drew their weapons. Two horses galloped into view on the path, bearing the scouts, as well as a third person with one of the riders. The scouts approached Aurelion, who stepped forward to look at the additional passenger. He was human, what looked to be a simple, bearded man. He was cut, bruised and dirty, panting with an exhaustion that hinted at impending mortality. The man slumped over as the scout and Aurelion carefully helped him off of the horse. The satyr called for a healer as others came forth to help the injured stranger lay down. An elven woman was close by with water, and dampened a cloth to clean the wounds on his face and head. The satyr felt a turn in his stomach as he noticed scarred, recently burnt flesh on the stranger's arm. It looked to be a mark, branded into his flesh, in the shape of an old glyph. It belonged to a language that hadn't been used in centuries. The satyr spoke, "What is your name, stranger?"

"Berun," he sputtered.

"You are among friends, Berun," the satyr assured him. A troll in monk's robes stood over them, uttering a prayer. "Tell me, Berun. What happened to you?"

"I...," he began, grunting as the prayers of the troll began to mend his deepest wounds, "I was cast out. Out of my town. The Emperor's creatures... they caught me delivering food to a house that harbors those who fight against the empire.."

"And the branding?," the satyr asked.

"The Demonlord... realized that we were passing messages written in the runes of the ancients. He called those he found to be in the resistance 'anarchs'... said we were destroying the very order he has brought to Orlandia. He ordered us to be branded with an 'A' from the runes... not only to mock us for using the old runes, but so that those loyal to him could identify us. He kept us alive just so we could be beaten and stoned, or driven out of the cities by his subjects. I ran.. thought I had escaped, until the shadowfowl patrol caught up with me. I awoke in a ditch, with your men standing over me,". The beaten man's eyes fluttered as he coughed and continued to breathe with effort. The prayers of the troll were keeping him alive, but barely.

"Rest now, friend," the satyr said calmy, then stood and faced the riders. "Were you able to scout out Bredldem?," he queried.

One of the riders spoke after they both nodded, "We did, sir. The town looks lightly fortified, more than usual. It seems the empire's troops are using it as an outpost, not quite a garrison. I don't think they are expecting us."

"Then we must act quickly...," the satyr replied.

Hedstrum Balan, a sturdy-looking orc clad in ranger's gear, stepped forward and offered advice," My lord, if we can take Bedldem, it would grant us an excellent foothold. From there we could strengthen our resouces..."

"And free those good people," Aurelion added, gripping the orc's pauldron with assurance,"... as well as find resistance fighters and help their cause, and continue our search for the Sacred Ten,". The satyr mounted his horse and turned to his followers, speaking to them in a confident voice, "People of the Wyldewood, brave souls who have left their home to help Orlandia. The time has come to ask you for more than sentiment or support, more than your resourcefulness, or your craftsmanship, or you friendship. The enemy lies a short march up this road... and they will not grant you mercy. Blood will be shed, some of it our own. Those that follow me to Bredldem must know what we risk, and remember who we risk it for. Not just for ourselves, but anyone beyond who might suffer if we should fail here...,". Aurelion raised his right arm, clenching his fist high in the air. The markings glimmered in the air as he commanded his followers, "Those who would fight and die for the freedom of this realm, come forth... come forth and let the shadow know it has a light to fear again!,". All within the range of the satyr's voice raised their weapons and cheered into a cacaphony that grew louder as it made its way through the caravan. The throng of travelers was in motion, falling into an assumed, unspoken rank behind Aurelion as he turned his horse and commenced the march.