Green Warders

These massive, moss-covered monoliths loom 50 or more feet tall, peeking their bald stone heads up from the trees around them. Now covered by thick moss and vines, the stones were erected by elven might in a great ritual that lasted a full year.   Early in the eighth century I.R., humanoid incursions across the Crynnomar Gap threatened the Green Realm, which then extended nearly to the gap. The wild elves began a defense there that lasted until 725 I.R. When at last the humanoids were forced back into the steppes, the elves discovered that Reme had settled much of the northeastern part of their forest. Exhausted and tired of ongoing threats from their neighbors, the elves vowed to create a barrier across which none could pass. They withdrew farther west in what became known as the Third Exodus of the Elves.   The elves set a new border of seven great monoliths in a line across the northern part of the Green Realm and began a ritual that took an entire year to complete. Feeding into the ritual was the power of an ancient ley line linking the Impossible Peaks with the Hellsgate Peaks to the south. To complete the ritual, a powerful spellcaster was required to merge permanently with each of the seven monoliths and leave behind their elven selves forever. For this reason, each of the stones has its own name — the name of the elf whose spirit forever inhabits and empowers it. Three druids and four other casters volunteered for this eternal duty. In order from the Impossible Peaks to the Hellsgates, the stones are named Tyriem the Bard, Lysseia the Shapeshifter, Cryssien the Sorcerer, Piriel the Wizard, Meniera the Plant-Speaker, Kemmel the Healer, and Shinaia the Storm-Lord.   It is said that when the final climax of the year-long ritual spell was cast, every enemy of the elves or the forest within a hundred miles of any of the Green Warders was struck instantly dead. And thereafter, any who would wish harm to the Akadonian Forest or its wild elven inhabitants were said to fall violently ill when they stepped within the bounds of the legendary rite’s range. If they retreated, they might recover, or they might not. But if they advanced despite their illness, death was said to almost certainly follow.   Despite what some histories claim, the ritual was not targeted against humans or any specific species. The power of the rite could even harm wild elves, should they approach the Warders with a wish to harm the forest or its wild elven inhabitants. Green Realm histories even record one instance where this power of the Warders is suspected to be the true cause of death of one notoriously wicked elven warrior.   It is unknown to what extent the Warders still retain the ability to sense the ill intent of the intelligent minds around them. It is not impossible that as the stones age they may have grown to see even humanoid creatures as simple animals, acting only on instinct. Cases of illness near the Warders are rarely recorded in current times, and no known recent cases have led to death. That being said, no ill-wishers in living memory have pressed on once ill, so perhaps the stones have not grown weaker but merely more merciful. It is difficult to say, and few with ill intent desire to approach the stones close enough to test them.   Those who do approach the monoliths — especially those who step close enough to see the deep-etched ancient runes buried beneath the millennia of moss and vines — can feel their thrum of power. No intelligent creature, to this day, can sleep restfully within miles of the Green Warders. The histories say that, in the early days, the stones’ chosen Warders could project emotions to those around them and even send messages in dreams. Now, after nearly 3,000 years, it seems that the minds of these ancient elves-turned-monoliths have grown too vast and alien for the comfort of an ordinary consciousness, such that communion with the stones can cause outbursts of uncontrollable emotion, unshakable trances, and incomprehensible nightmares.   Each of the stones also seems to affect the area around it in ways that differ among the monoliths. Around Shinaia, the weather can be unpredictable or seem almost sentient. Near Kemmel, any who do manage to fall asleep may not awaken for days or weeks, though they will awaken in perfect health once they do, assuming nothing kills them in their sleep in the meantime. In the area about Meniera, the plants can all move of their own accord and exhibit animal-like intelligence. Piriel’s monolith can drive visitors permanently mad without warning or apparent pattern, and Cryssien’s is shrouded constantly in shadow and mist that interferes with magic cast in its vicinity and weakens most spells but rarely strengthens them beyond all control or causes the opposite of their intended effect. And around Lysseia, some unknown percentage of the otherwise-ordinary forest creatures are able to speak several languages and sometimes cast spells.   Tyriem’s patch of forest was once full of haunting and sad melodies, woven into the breeze, the movement of leaves, the birdsong, and the babbling of every stream. However, many centuries ago, Tyriem’s monolith was broken and thrown down — although no one knows how. As if still in mourning after all this time, the forest around his ruined monolith is eerily, uncomfortably silent.   All seven Warders are sites of wild elven spiritual pilgrimage, though few pilgrims can stand to remain in their presence for long. Kemmel, Meniara, and Lysseia are the most commonly visited Warders, while Piriel is treated most warily, and Tyriem is only accessible to those able to survive and defend themselves in deadly Eloitan territory.   Ever since Tyriem’s destruction, the might of the Green Warders has lessened. Malevolent creatures have become emboldened within Eloitan, the northwestern region of the forest, and the wild elves of the Green Warden Nations grow ever more concerned that, any year now, the other six Warders will begin to fail. Wild elven magical scholars are researching what little record remains of the original ritual, both to ascertain the extent of the danger and to learn if it might be possible to restore Tyriem or — if the need grew sufficiently dire — to choose a new volunteer to stand with the other six as Warders of the forest.   Of course, since most threats to the forest now come from the Xha’en wilderness or the Crescent Sea, the relative tactical utility of fully restoring the Green Warders is debated. As is particularly obvious to those wild elven nations living closest to the Tycho Free States, the Green Warders' magic can extend only so far. It cannot protect the forest from every angle.