Exodus of the Woaedel - pt 1.

The crust of the earth was filled with decay. The stench of death looming close by would not go unnoticed, as a man cloaked in a green robe of leaves and the feathers of birds entwined by their bones brushed past.   His steps were firm, though his features were painted aught with smile or frown. Fair but wizened features, of scars and wrinkles weathered from more than one lifetime of experience. He was like the eye of the storm through the panicked voices of his fellow elven kin.   As he approached a large balcony, shaped like a dewdrop on a leaf, overlooking a vast and once glorious tree, its green shrubbery now painted in colours of blood and gore. The last days of autumn and the coming of a harsh winter.   The clicking sounds of his carved wooden staff, entangled by threads with fetishes made from bone, carapace and wicker, made his presence well known to the pale faced woman in front.   “The mother, she… she is dying.” A gasp left the fair haired young maiden. Centuries old, but still a mere child compared to him.   Straightening his back, the elder drew in a deep breath as he saw her teary eyes and trembling hands.   “All is as it should be. Life begets decay. Death gives sustenance and reasoning to that which may be.” Clutching his staff in both hands. He dipped his chin in silent respect to the dying tree.   “Have the gods truly abandoned us?” The young elf gasped out, nearly stuttering on her breath.   “You should know better than to utter such blasphemy, Myrwineth. The gods gave us a second chance, they chose you to deliver us from a broken equilibrium to one we may yet protect. Will you squander this gift?”   There was a blaze lit in Myrwineth’s odd eyes, as she bit her lips and her face malformed into a twisted grin. “How can you act so coldly, when the one being to ever love us, the one being that has always protected us, is dying before us. And nothing, nothing we do can help. How cruel can you Tîrnaern swine be!?”   She frothed almost like a rabid dog. Clearly lost in the moment by the grief to overcome her. Overcome like so many plagued by the chains of mortality.   Settling down his staff against the engraved and curved wooden railing, the old one folded his hands. Averting his gaze as he settled it unto those scarlet leaves, as they slowly breathed their last. “I grieve not, because I know her life was fulfilled. I weep not, for those children she cared for.” His gaze once more settled on Myrwineth. White eyes not many years from being denied their sight, still pierced her soul better than any marksman could ever dream to. “The dead do not abandon us. They return as they once were, so those they love can carry on living. Ever watching over us from the realm of spirits. Their task is over and they have more than deserved to rest. No, it falls to us, especially you, to guide us from now on.”   Myrwineth clenched her fists. Her eyes closed as he drew in a deep breath. What could be felt like an hour passed, but aught but a few ticks from a distant clock had gone by.   She parted her lips again, no word as her gaze met the cold oaken floor. Finally, words once more left the woman. “Then, then help me. I have no idea what to do.”   A soft snicker left the man, as he took up the staff again. “Our people are plagued by hunger, sickness, an isle once abundant with resources won't sustain us no more without the Mothertree. Hence, we need to leave this cradle of safety. Search for the bounty of distant shores.”   “The creatures of this world are nothing like those from the Fay!” Myrwineth now roared. “The beasts here lack reasoning, dusk and dawn at war rather than harmony, not to mention we know little of what inhabits these planes!” Her lips trembled again, as she stared up to the man. “Fharôn, I-... I don’t want to lose you too.”   Fharôn laid his hand on Myrwineth’s shoulder. Shining at the young elf with a bright smile. “Tîr Vorlac has already called out for my name. I am afraid my years are numbered and if there has to be a sacrifice… Live, learn, prosper. Weather this long winter and honour our memories with the next generations to come. It is through them that our spirits are forever entwined.”   “I think I understand.” She whispered. Staring out like an entrance to the tree. Watching as one of the brown leaves fell to the ground. Breaking down to become rich soil. “It won't be easy. But I need to be the mother now. Somehow, I… I must be the queen they need. No, the queen they deserve. I just don’t understand how.”   “That you can listen to reason, is already a good start. An open heart will get you far, but be weary of what forces you let whisper into your ears, my young queen. Let time and the spirits around you, be your guide.”   The young woman tried to speak, though a long crooked finger swiftly silenced her. Pulling his necklace off, he offered the trinket to her. A fine piece of craftsmanship forged from pure silver, decorated with a halo of pure white feathers around ivory shaped like the skull of a hart.   “That, and listen to your elders. We are not always as dumb as we seem.” He scoffed, as he took his leave. She tried to protest, but like the autumn winds to a dried up leaf, he disappeared without a trail.