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1. |
The Birchwood Chapel
05:20
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01. The Birchwood Chapel
The cool autumnal wind danced through the leaves of the tall trees in the Grandwoods. Their shade provided much alleviation from the beating rays of the sun. Though it was the midway into fall, it had been a hot summer. Quaint as the Grandwoods are, the forest floor was bustling with commotion, the sounds of fyelingkind echoing off of the trees. Wagon wheels creaking as they passed along the soft forest road, coated in pine needles. Young fyelings squealing with glee in a game of rum-a-ring, dashing along side paths beside the houses. A bell chimes from a building made from a large birch tree at the heart of the town, and a small squirrel fyeling makes his way towards that chapel, walking with determination in each step of his fur covered feet.
The town of Nettlegrove was called this because of the vast amounts of nettle growing about the outskirts of the town. The banners that fly from the buildings being decorated with fabrics of green and yellow, and a nettle plant sewn into the center of the design. The town was located in the southern part of the Grandwoods, still deep enough to avoid the lands of the humans, but in close proximity to the elves of Midwood, as it was called in the common tongue.
The bell of the birchwood chapel let out its 12th cry as the squirrel fyeling entered into the building. The smells of incense swept away the crisp fragrance of autumn when he entered and the sounds of low hummed hymns of sanctity swirled into his ears. The walls of this chapel were made from the inside of the massive birch tree that was hollowed out to form it, the wood smooth as silk. In the center of the chapel was an altar to the elven goddess of nature and creation, Yimsalthfar, for whom the fyelings all accredited as their maker. The squirrel-kin made his way to the altar, kneeling in front of it and bowing his head in prayer.
“The smells and sounds in here present a hallowed environment to pray in.” He thought as he began to pray.
The chaplain, an older munk-kin fellow with a rather stout belly looked up from his reading in the back nook of the chapel and stood waddling over to greet the squirrel-kin.
“Welcome, child, welcome! Might I pray with you?” The munk-kin greets the squirrel-kin with a soft paw on his shoulder.
“Aye, you may.” The squirrel-kin said back in a calm tone.
“Might I ask what you are praying for?” The chaplain asked as he kneeled down beside the Squirrelkin, leaning hard on his shoulder as he did so.
“I am to go to war. As King Samuel commands us to defend, we must defend. I am to go north to fight that scourging rot, and now I come to ask for Yimsalthfar’s blessing.”
The old chaplain takes a deep breath in hearing these words.
“Threefold of thanks to you, child, your duty will serve to save us, this I know. We are all but children of Yimsalthfar and her blessings shall flow. What is your name child?”
“Qwingan, and yours?”
“ I am Saltho.”
And with that the two prayed.
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2. |
Qwingan
04:08
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02. Qwingan
Qwingan is a young fyeling, 7 years of age (which is around 20 in the ages of humans). His fur, a soft amber brown in color with white trails running down the sides of his body, rustled in the wind, now back outside of the chapel. He dug into the pouch tied around his cloak and retrieved a small gourd bottle, uncorking it and taking a drink. Returning the gourd back to the pouch, he raised one hand to blot out the patches of sunlight that still streamed through the trees. Scanning the edge of the town, his eyes settled on something in the distance. Dropping his hand back to his side, he began walking in the direction that he was staring. The streets of the town were now more calm, with the sound of metalwork coming from the right and the smells of bread being baked to the left behind him now. The pine needles carpeting the floor through the town made the walking pleasant, almost spongy under feet.
Qwingan was heading toward the northern edge of Nettlegrove. He pulled at the neck of his tunic, feeling it to be tight now. The tunic, decorated with a shield split into four blocks with the royal sigils in them. A pear on the bottom left block, a fallen maple leaf to the right, above the leaf a paw print and to the left a patch of mushroom. This was the standard tunic worn by the knights of the royal court, though Qwingan was only a squire. He and all other fyelingkin had been called to arms, for a threat now loomed in the northern parts of the Grandwoods. Those parts of the Grandwoods were close to the taint left by the Orcs during the fabled birthing pangs of the world, and that taint has been rumored to begin infecting the Grandwoods with a strange form of rot. The rot not only affected the plants and trees, but the creatures that live there as well. King Samuel had called every capibale fyeling in service to the front of the northern most city in fyeling territory, Willow’s Rest.
Qwingan had grown up in Nettlegrove and this would be his first time going so far from his home. At King Samuel’s coronation he was there and was met by king Samuel face to face. It was from that day that Qwingan decided that he would become a knight of the royal court, but first he must have to start somewhere and a squire to a knight is where it begins. The knight that Qwingan was serving as squire to was a middle-aged rabbitkin named Dolbin, who’s heathered grey fur was streaked with white where battle scars were. Qwingan was going to meet Dolbin at the edge of Nettlegrove for something important, but what exactly he was told not. As he rounded the corner of one of the last houses on the outskirts of town, he saw Dolbin waiting at the edge of the forest.
“Come along lad, we’ve not to keep them waiting.” Said Dolbin, starting off on a less than well traveled path into the surrounding green.
“Who’s they?” Qwingan asked, quickening his pace to keep up with the rabbitkin, who was strikingly quick despite his age.
Dolbin, just raised a gloved paw to his mouth in a hushing motion as to say, “You’ll see, lad.”
Qwingan had known Dolbin for a long time, with Dolbin being a close friend to his father. When Qwingan’s father was slain in a war of attrition after King Samuel came into power, Dolbin came back to Nettlegrove in order to take Qwingan as his squire when he became of age.
Qwingan let out a huff and put speed into his step as the two of them went down the forest path.
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3. |
Flail in the Woods
06:36
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03. Flail in the Woods
The part of the woods that Dolbin was leading them to was somewhere that Qwingan had never ventured into. Qwingan remained silent as they walked, paying attention to the quiet that Dolbin was assuming himself. The undergrowth grew thick here, crowding into the path that they were walking on, barely a path itself. Ahead a short distance, Qwingan noticed something constructed out of wood, almost like an altar of some sort.
“How curious of a thing to be out here.” He thought to himself.
Soon they came upon the wooden thing and it became more clear. It was an altar of sorts, with intricate carvings into the base of the altar showing a tree with a face in it.
“What is this place?” Qwingan asked Dolbin as he looked around the woods.
“It is a meeting place, and now we are to wait for the one we are meeting. This is something that your father had set apart for you for when the time was right. And I believe that now is the right time.”
This perked up Qwingan’s ears, something from his father he thought. His heart beat fast with excitement.
Dolbin sat down on a large rock, his armor clanking as he situated himself.
“Who is it that we are to meet?” Qwingan asked excitedly.
“As curious as you’ve always been” Dolbin said with a chuckle, “but sometimes curiosity is sometimes best satisfied by the experience!”
Dolbin motioned for Qwingan to sit down beside him, and so he did, deciding to drink in the sounds of the woods.
There were birds chirping all about. A raven’s call from deep in the woods was answered by another from a different direction. The sounds of Mockingbirds and Whippoorwills, and Greening Sky Pearls all seasoned the forest lively. Qwingan adored the birdsongs, for some older fyelings still had the gift to understand birdspeech, which was claimed to hold some of the secrets of life. The wind was dancing through the leaves as well, making a symphony of rustling and lush sounds. The rustlings leaves reminded him of the stories of the elves he had grown up hearing. He had seldom seen elves though they lived in the same Grandwoods. It was then that he heard a new sound, a creaking and cracking sound as though a tree was starting to fall.
“Sounds as though they’ve come.” Said Dolbin, standing from the rock and walking to the altar.
Qwingan stood and followed, his fur bristling at the thought of what might be moving the trees, for the trees were moving in the distance. One tree seemed to be closer than before and then that tree lifted from the ground and moved closer. Following the tree up, he noticed a face in the bark, closed eyes and a slight smile across its mouth. Qwingan’s mouth dropped but he did not make a sound as the thing moved in closer, kneeling down next to the altar.
“This is the Keeper of the Grandwoods, they speak rarely, but they hear everything that happens in this woods, and are amazing craftskin. Your father had asked for something to be made for you, knowing that you’d most likely having a taking to be a knight. The seedling sprouts close”. Dolbin said with a chuckle, and then turned to face the Keeper, bowing onto one knee. Qwingan did the same, still in shock of what they were witnessing.
“What wonders lie in this Grandwoods!” Qwingan thought.
The tree bade them rise with a gesture of what Qwingan assumed to be a hand, and so rise they did. The tree then reached out a branch from its twisted body, knotted and gnarled as a tree but still resembling that of a body, and placed something onto the altar. Once the branch retracted Qwingan saw what was left. A handle of wonderfully carved wood led to a chain of thorny vines, and at the end of the chain was a spiked ball of a large sweet gum fruit. Qwingan’s eyes widened at the weapon in front of him.
“Well, go ahead and take it.” Said Dolbin, giving Qwingan a nudge in the ribs with his elbow.
Qwingan reached out and retrieved the flail from the altar, careful not to get pricked by the thorns. It was a sturdy weapon, made with masterful craft. Qwingan bowed again to the creature.
“Many thanks to you, this gift shall be used for good!” Said Qwingan to the Keeper.
The Keeper nodded its head and turned to leave. As it was leaving, Qwingan noticed another face on its back, eyes closed and a smile across its lips same as the first one, except the face had different features.
“Two faces, that must be why Dolbin referred to them as they.” Thought Qwingan, rising back to his feet.
“Time to go now lad, the king awaits us.” Dolbin said and turned to go back the way they came.
Qwingan gave one last look to the Keeper and then down at the flail. Closing his eyes, he whispered a thanks to his father and the Keeper before scurrying to catch up with Dolbin.
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4. |
Tree-bound Squirrels
02:50
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04. Tree-bound Squirrels
It had been three days of travel to get to Willow’s Rest from Nettlegrove. Being a squirrelkin, Qwingan would have preferred to travel by tree but since Dolbin could not climb like a squirrel, they travelled by walking. Now on the outskirts of Willow’s Rest, the trees start to turn from coniferous to that of willows from which the town was so aptly named. As they were walking, Qwingan noticed eyes in the trees, not angry ones fill with malice, but eyes looking with curiosity and hope. Groups of squirrelkin came running to meet the them, singing and dancing songs of welcome to the two travelers. There were many houses built in the trees for the squirrelkin and many houses and other buildings on the ground. This was Willow’s Rest and it’s people, the most of who were squirrelkin,it seemed.
“Look there lad. That is where we’re headed.” Dolbin said as he pointed to a taller building built of stone and displaying the King’s royal flags.
“That there is the stronghold where the King has set up court to discuss business. We must make hast, ‘fore were too late.” Dolbin quickened his pace and made for the stronghold, with Qwingan following, breaking away from the crown now gathered in their welcoming.
After a short trek through the town, they found the gate into the stronghold with two guards, stout mousekin in their helmets and armor, clutching their halberds. They recognized Dolbin and let the two of them through without any trouble. Inside, the halls were lit by small candles resting in elegant sconces made from braided willow branches. Carpets of woven pine needles draped the floors, intricate in their designs with flowers and branches twisting together in their woven artistry.
“A fancy version of the streets of Nettlegrove.” Thought Qwingan as he and Dolbin made their way to the court, where King Samuel would be holding his meetings. Other knight and squires were walking in the same direction as them, seeming that this was the day that they were to all finish arriving. The stronghold was bustling with fyelings hauling boxes of supplies around. Weapons were being stockpiled and potions brewed by fyeling alchemists in the private rooms of the stronghold. Another two guards stood at the doors to the court, but they also recognized Dolbin and allowed them through without issue. As the doors to the court creaked open, they were greeted to a great number of knights in their armor. There were Mousekin, Squirrelkin, Rabbitkin, and many others huddled around a large table in the center of the room. A few Foxkin were seated towards the back of the room, larger than the most of the other fyelings. The discussion was loud and many were pointing at a map on the table, pointing out positions for tactical advantage, planning strategies and general discussion of what to do. Dolbin led the way to the table with Qwingan close beside him. Scanning the faces at the table, his eyes settled on a figure facing away from him, a golden crown resting on his head.
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5. |
Face to Face
03:33
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05. Face to Face
Dolbin made his way to the table, finding a place between two mousekin and greeting them with a hearty slap on the shoulders.
“Hails my brothers!” He said.
The table all welcomed him and sucked him into the conversation. Qwingan found a spot at the table close to Dolbin and observed the goings on. There was a large map of the fyeling territories in the Grandwoods and all of the men were pointing to a specific black patch in the north above Willow’s Rest.
“The are closing in on us my King! The rot creeps closer and closer!” One of the Fyelings said sternly. The others mumbled in agreement.
“If we fortify everything here in Willow’s Rest, that leaves other towns in the wake. Wether we think we can cull it here at once or not, it is better to be safe than sorry!” Another shouted. Temperaments ran hot as the threat of the rot closed in around them.
A silence grew around the table as King Samuel raised is paw. Qwingan looked at him wistfully. The King’s damaged limb hung at his side, a nub just below the bending point. A scar across his left eye made the silver-blue fur thin around that eye. His golden crown caught the light of the candles, making it glow ever so slightly.
“My men, we must remain calm as we think. Hot heads may lead to hasty actions, and we cannot afford to be hasty in folly.” The king adjusted himself at the table.
“Ser Melmly has a strong point.” the king said as he pointed to the rabbitkin.
“If we were to pull everyone here, we shall surly expose ourselves to other forms of attack. The main focus should be evacuating everyone who cannot fight to the capital. I have come here to provide that strength and support to all kin. We must make sure they all have time to evacuate.” The king turned to Dolbin as he finished saying this and then said to him.
“Dolbin, come with me.”
“Yes my king.” he replied turning with the king and walking towards a door on the other side of the room.
Qwingan followed the two of them, coming up alongside of Dolbin.
“Who is this young one?” Asked King Samuel in a kind way.
“This is my squire, Qwingan, son of Harfel.”
The king stopped in his walk to face Qwingan, looking at him in the eyes.
“Ahhh yes, I should have known. You’ve your fathers patterns, young Qwingan. Welcome.” The king said, returning to his walking, the sound of his cane clicking on the stone floors.
“Look, Ser Dolbin.” The king said has he swung open the door. Outside was a balcony looking out to the edge of the town.
“The rot has spread so close. Thorns and briers have come to choke up this town.”
Dolbin looked out, and so did Qwingan. The usual foliage that sprouted at the edge of the town was replace by masses of thorns and briers, leaving almost nowhere to walk comfortably.
“In Yimsalthfar’s name, this is dreadful. What shall we do my king?” Asked Dolbin, hands leaning on the railing around the balcony.
As the king and Dolbin carried on talking, Qwingan noticed a shift in the trees beyond the rot. It looked as though something was creeping among those branches. The thought made Qwingan’s fur stand on end. He had almost shook off the feeling when he saw it. There in the tree branches, hidden by leaves, was a glint of steel, flashing out from the tree line.
“Get down!” Qwingan yelled as he tackled the the other two to the ground. It was just in the nick of time, for a hard thunk sound slammed into the door behind them all. There, still shaking from the impact, was a spear thrown from somewhere in the trees. The sound of fyelings rushing to the door could be heard from inside the stronghold, but not before a figure came and leaped down from the trees, landing below the balcony. A black squirrelkin stood there, covered in scars and armor of strange leather and metals. A rigid helmet rest atop his head.
“Oh great King I come to speak!” The black squirrelkin’s voice dripping with sarcasm and vehemence.
“More than talk you have done.” Spat back Dolbin, still ducking on the ground.
King Samuel slowly stood from the ground and met the black squirrelkin’s burning gaze.
“What have you to say, Darkoak Brier?” The king said through gritted teeth.
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6. |
Darkoak Brier
04:27
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06. Darkoak Brier
The black squirrelkin grinned a nasty smile from below.
“I’ve come to challenge your your crown. You seek to dispose of the rot, but that is weak. I have allied myself with the rot and with it, I am stronger than you’d ever hope to be! Look in the trees!” The squirrelkin spun around, arms outstretched, pointing to the trees, now occupied by a multitude of mangy creature with bows and spears in hand.
“You are outnumbered and vulnerable. There are still civilians in the town.” The black squirrelkin turns to the army of creatures behind him, rousing them into a cheer of vicious nature. Turning back to the three fyelings on the balcony, he halts the cry with a sharp movement of his paws and addresses the king once more.
“I give you two options Samuel; you either surrender your crown or meet me and my kin in battle.” The squirrelkin’s voice trailed off in a growl.
By this time fyelings with shields and with bows with arrows nocked had come out to cover King Samuel, Dolbin and Qwingan, guarding them from any shots that the creatures in the trees might take.
“You are full of cowardice, Briar, I would rather to meet you on the field of death than give you what you ask for so easily.” King Samuel said, gripping his cane tightly.
“So be it. Kin! Attack!” Darkoak Brier screamed to the army in the trees, from which they promptly began loosing their arrows.
Hurrying back into the stronghold, the fyelings began firing back until everyone was safe inside.
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7. |
Battle in the Thorns
03:00
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07. Battle in the Thorns
“Ser Tront!” yelled the king as he entered back into the building.
An older mousekin knight came running over, in response to the kings call.
“Yes my king!”
“Bring me my armor and weapon. Ser Melmly, call all kin to evacuate the townsfolk, lady and children kin first!”
Ser Tront and Ser Melmly ran off to do as they were commanded.
“All kin at arms! We are under attack!” King Samuel shouted.
The sound of horns blew and the town of Willow’s Rest became a battle field.
After donning armor, King Samuel organized a force of kin to march and meet Darkoak Brier in the field of thorns, among them was Dolbin and Qwingan. The battle had already been raging for 20 minutes when the main army of King Samuel arrived to the battlefield. Slain fyelings from both sides were laying scattered across the forest floor. King Samuel walked at the front of the army, with a shield attached to his missing limb and a sword in his other paw. A row of fyelings carrying shields marched along, blocking the rain of arrows from the main force. Ahead stood Darkoak Brier, awaiting Samuel in battle. It was then that the battle fully started.
King Samuel charged to meet Darkoak Brier, swinging swords at each other with intent to kill. The other fyelings joined the battle, clashing against the other side. Ser Tront, with his warhammer, caved in the chest plate of a mangy ratkin and took out two others with the strength of his swing. Ser Melmly hacked and slashed with his long sword through the crowd, lopping free life and limb. Qwingan had bloodied his new weapon for the first time. A stoatkin came slithering up, reaching out with a rusty pointed dagger. The stoatkin was not quick enough though, and Qwingan swung his flail in time to knock the stoatkin to the ground, ending its attack. Qwingan looked around for anyone he knew, the king, Dolbin, Melmly , but they were all swallowed up in the battle.
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8. |
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08. The Battle is Done, The Thorn has Stung
The clashing of swords against metal rang throughout the forest for two hours when the first cries of retreat came from the leaders of rot. King Samuel had forced Darkoak Brier back and the rest of his kin were not able to fend off the king’s army.
“You slimy bastard. This is not the end of this. I shall return, with more fury than the first time. The rot will consume you all!” screamed the black squirrelkin as he and all his kin retreated into the depths of the thorns.
Qwingan had only then realized the places on his legs where the thorns had pierced him. He was bruised and battered and all around tired, but still alive. His eyes searched the battlefield, moving from fallen soldier to fallen soldier until his eyes found the King. Despite being splotched with blood the king was fine and calling all his captains to him. Qwingan continued his search. Many Fyelings that he had seen inside the stronghold were now dead in the thorns. Finally, his eyes rested upon the body of Dolbin. Quickly he ran over, ignoring the pain of the thorns, and fell to the side of Dolbin.
“Dolbin!” He cried.
“Don’t tell me you are finished!”
“Rest your voice, lad.” The fallen fyeling’s voice croaked hoarsely.
“I am not finished yet.”
Qwingan squeaked in relief.
“Oh, thank Yimsalthfar! I feared you had fallen.”
Qwingan helped the rabbitkin to his feet. Once he was standing, he lurched forward, clutching a splotch of red appearing under his tunic.
“Damned manged one got me a bit, not enough to keel me over though.”
Qwingan helped Dolbin to the King, now surrounded by all of his remaining captains.
“My kin, we have survived this assault, but the time will come for us to take arms again. Get the wounded back to safety and help to fortify the stronghold. We will be ready the next time.”
And so the fyelings all returned to the stronghold, some carrying the wounded and some carrying the dead, but none in service to the King were left to the thorns. The northern territories of the fyelings retreated to the capital as King Samuel had commanded, and many more patrols were stationed along the northern territories in preparation for the next attack.
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9. |
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Spife Tennessee
I am Spife, I make music through many different personalities, Enjoy!
Everything Moves In Circles
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