Lifewells
"Survival demands death."
The Araen Wastes have been desolate for millennia, as if still in mourning for the grand civilisation that fell within it. But today, its ruin seems... indifferent, somehow. The harsh climate and the wandering beasts - for lack of a better expression - are deadly by accident more than anything else.
But when it first began to wither, the desert turned hostile towards its inhabitants.
The growth of the Lifewells seems to have been heaven's answer.
These massive trees sprouted to hold back the scorching weather and the lethal storms, bringing much-needed relief to the towns where they grew. In exchange, they needed constant nurturing to prevent themselves from burning through their lifespans.
Yet, for every life the Lifewells preserved, they doomed another.
In an era when even the stars were not safe, such costs were simply a fact of life.
In the Withering Shade
"The sun burns [...] why does Eochtal gaze upon [...] such disdain? Or [...] blind to our pain?"
The Lirustime was often described as the end of the world. And in all fairness, it was.
When the boundary between reality and the abyssal sea shattered, it sent shockwaves throughout the world. Perhaps the most terrifying change was... whatever happened to the sky. In the far north, the sun set and did not rise again, causing crops to wither and rivers to freeze.
But on the southern continent, the sun became an enemy.
Once, the nation of Ara had been a verdant paradise. But under the sun's scorching glare, lushness gave way to sand. The once-contained desert raced outward, encroaching on villages and cities alike. With the desert came sandstorms and rainless thunderstorms: devastating enough that even the massive, scaled beasts of the desert could be stripped to their bones.
Mortals cried desperately to the Wolflords for help, for mercy.
Then the first seeds took root.
The Gift of Survival
"No matter the cost it exacted from me, it still saved my village. I will not forget that."
Even today, when only dried husks remain, it is clear to see that Lifewells were unusually large and tall - easily overshadowing the towns they grew in. Buildings were simply pushed aside, as if new ground germinated along with the tree.
From descriptions, it would seem that the Lifewells were extremely specialised and powerful wyrflora. Their trunks pulsed with golden light, and the pools of water that gathered around their roots had a magical sheen to it - making it unsafe to drink, of course, but the pools were only ever meant to help sustain these giants.
Everything was.
Because the Lifewells were divine intervention, after all. How else could they lessen the sun's burning heat, draw water back into the empty wells, and part the ravaging storms? They saved countless lives, and prevented the desert civilisations from withering away.
If only that was all they did.
The Cost of Survival
"Death by the blazing sun, or death by the thing that sustains us. What a choice to make."
The cost that the Lifewells exacted was a simple one: vitality.
Today, most scholars believe that the Lifewells had a highly accelerated lifespan - this would explain why there are never any saplings described. But this meant that they aged rapidly as well, and were vulnerable to a strange creeping corruption. If a Lifewell died, its settlement would die with it.
So villages and cities had no other choice but to dedicate as many mages as possible to keeping their Lifewells alive. Earth and ocean mages could heal the damage and corruption in both root and water, but eventually these trees needed pure energy just to postpone their deaths.
The simple truth was this. Once a Lifewell's needs outpaced the capabilities of the civilisation's mages, both the tree and the town were doomed. Some trees died slower than others, but others simply did not have enough mages to survive.
One life for another. Even these divine "blessings" were not immune to the devastation of the Long Night.
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