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Supernatural Wood - Last Updated September 17th
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<blockquote data-quote="GodOfCheese" data-source="post: 4635999" data-attributes="member: 19170"><p><strong>Nicholas</strong></p><p></p><p>The place was a dump.</p><p></p><p>Dorin’s eyes took it in with incredulity. His crinkled brow said his thoughts clearly enough: <em>I’m supposed to find help <u>here</u>? </em></p><p></p><p>Here in Millington, young Dorin expected to find plenty of inconsistency. Here was a city on the banks of the <em>T’yers</em> inhabited by both Dwarves and Men, living under the thumb of a faraway Elvish monarch. Here was a place that made its name milling the logs of trees harvested in distant mountains and floated hundreds of miles down the river, when a great forest with so much easily-obtained timber loomed, forbidden by Imperial Decree, right upon its Eastern doorstep.</p><p></p><p>And just outside the center of this city, with its many taverns and copious windmills, he had come to find the home of an avowed druid. It made him uncomfortable.</p><p></p><p>In his earlier days of searching, he had come to accept that he was to find help in this way. He had come to accept that it was a long shot, that there was not a high likelihood that Nicholas, Millington’s famous oddity of a druid, might help him or his people. He had internalized the concept that he would have to ask this <em>outsider </em>for help with a strictly internal matter. It shamed him, but he’d accepted it with the rest of the incongruity of this situation.</p><p></p><p>But the place was definitely a dump. Among Dorin’s people, if someone had been so pathetic in maintenance, his home would have collapsed in a heap within a month. And the clan would have laughed as the poor fool fought to rebuild as they rode past. It’s not so much that diligence was rewarded as laxity severely punished.</p><p></p><p>The druid’s shack was once a log hut of some kind; small, but sturdy. In the untold years since, brambles and creepers had intruded into the crevices betwixt the logs, spilling down the sides in a kind of hanging garden-shrine devoted only to noxious weeds. Where the weeds weren’t, the wooden trunks had been infiltrated by moss and lichen. </p><p></p><p>The walls didn’t appear quite vertical. Not that they had much to support. From what Dorin could tell, the shack’s roof was merely framing. He couldn’t see for certain, as it was above his head, but he knew he hadn’t seen any straw or roofing material sticking out. Whatever was up there couldn’t hope to be waterproof.</p><p></p><p>Dorin shook his head and reminded himself to be patient of the alien ways so far from his people. He took a deep breath and rapped sharply at the wooden door. Its surface yielded gently to his knocks. Not only was the door badly hung, but its material also felt slightly soft to his touch. <em>Ugh. More mildew. How hard would it have been for someone to scrape it clean once every few years? </em>Surprisingly though, the door felt almost welcoming to his knuckles as he rapped at it once more. Dorin tried to take this as a good omen.</p><p></p><p>Welcoming enough, for it sprung open when he reached out to knock a second time. Behind it stood a robed man with long, feral black hair and wide, busy green eyes that shined in the shade like lanterns. His circle-beard was thin and scraggly, in odd contrast to the man’s pronounced eyebrows. Dorin’s initial impression of him was that he must spend all his energy growing hair, but that energy ran out the further down his face it went.</p><p></p><p>The wild-haired man regarded Dorin briefly, then said, “You’re late, but I suppose you’ll do.”</p><p></p><p>Dorin had imagined many different directions that a conversation might go if and when he arrived here. This, however, was not among them.</p><p></p><p>“Excuse me? Are you--”</p><p></p><p>“—Nicholas, yes.” The Druid waved Dorin and his two companions inside hastily. He looked to be in his late thirties —<em>wait, no, with those eyes, he can’t be human, and with facial hair like that, he’s not a full elf either. Maybe sixty or seventy? </em>–and seemed to be in a hurry. When his arm waved wildly past, Dorin caught the scent of rosemary. “Come inside so I can explain.”</p><p></p><p>The way the Druid was acting, Dorin expected him to look both ways nervously before slamming the door shut when he got inside. He didn’t though—he just left the door open and stepped in thoughtlessly. </p><p></p><p>Nicholas’s brilliant eyes tracked across Wik and Jo on their way to the man. He opened his mouth to speak, but the traveler interrupted him.</p><p></p><p>“Dorin,” the clean-shaven man said, extending his hand as was the way here. “And this is Wikellawyn, a travelling friend, and… ummm… Jo.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. He’d studied local customs, but so far this hadn’t been in keeping with them. Also, he wasn’t quite sure what Jo was still doing here, having completed her escort task. </p><p></p><p>Nicholas reached out as if seeking to shake hands, but didn’t quite touch Dorin’s hand. His fingertips just hung there, inches away. “I see,” the druid said perfunctorily, clearly seeing nothing in particular. His eyes flicked back to rest upon the two women but soon resumed their seemingly-undirected movement. </p><p></p><p>Wik smiled brilliantly and fiddled with her silver unicorn conspicuously. If this was intended as a display, Nicholas took no obvious notice. He just looked at them, a blank expression on his face, as though he were trying to decide whether the three visitors were real. Dorin tried to think of what he should say.</p><p></p><p>In the end, it was Jo who spoke. “Why are you here?” she asked, facing the group ambiguously as a whole.</p><p></p><p>Nicholas smiled. “I’ve been waiting for someone. He’s several years overdue but evidently well worth the wait.”</p><p></p><p>Jo scowled. “I meant <u>him</u>.” Her head turned minimally toward Dorin.</p><p></p><p>“I’ve come to ask for your help.” Dorin began. He hadn’t exactly memorized what he was going to say but he had rehearsed it in his mind. It’s just that the words changed every time. <em>This all seemed so much easier at home</em>, he thought as he drew breath. </p><p></p><p>“I can’t help you,” Nicholas said abruptly. </p><p></p><p><em>What? But I’ve come so far! </em>“You… can’t?” His brows contorted in confusion and anxiety. “But you haven’t even heard--”</p><p></p><p>“Right,” came the Druid’s bizarre interruption.</p><p></p><p>Dorin’s eyes blazed frustratedly at the half-elf. He gaped silently, trying to think of what to say. </p><p></p><p>Wik watched this exchange thoughtfully.</p><p></p><p>The silence seemed to spur the Druid to speak more plainly. “I have bigger problems than helping you. You’ll have to help me instead.” There was a thick sack hanging by a heavy stake pounded into the wall. Nicholas began fiddling with the sack as he spoke. “I must leave Millington to deliver spectacular news.”</p><p></p><p>Dorin could not react intelligently to this, but merely stared at the man in silence.</p><p>Jo appeared not to care significantly one way or another.</p><p></p><p>Wik’s eyes glittered. After a second, she said, “Well? Go on!”</p><p></p><p>“I’ve been waiting for an initiate of my faith to arrive, but I can wait no longer. I must entrust you with a secret.”</p><p></p><p>Dorin wasn’t sure if his eyes could get any larger. He was familiar with the ways of many peoples, and was certain that this behavior was highly extraordinary, if not outright rude. At the mention of the last word, however, he found himself listening silently again. Secrets were interesting.</p><p></p><p>Nicholas leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered. “Deep in the forest,” he turned his head to indicate the forbidden woods to the east of the city. “…dwell a great many trees. <u>Special </u>trees; darkwood treants, they are. But they…” he seemed to grope for words. “They sleep, and I keep watch on them.”</p><p></p><p>His voice rose substantially. “Someone has cut one down.” His eyes narrowed angrily and flicked in that instant from amusingly crazy to dangerously vindictive. “The other Druids must know what I do.”</p><p></p><p>“But I have nowhere else to go!” Dorin blurted at last. </p><p></p><p>“Then wait here,” Nicholas answered unhelpfully. “Perhaps my would-be apprentice will have something to offer you in my stead.” He winked and smiled as he hoisted the thick sack. “I think his name is Asherandil.” Without another word, he stepped out the door.</p><p></p><p><em>I can’t believe this! </em>“Wait!” Dorin called and rushed out the door after him.</p><p></p><p>But the Druid was nowhere to be seen.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="GodOfCheese, post: 4635999, member: 19170"] [b]Nicholas[/b] The place was a dump. Dorin’s eyes took it in with incredulity. His crinkled brow said his thoughts clearly enough: [I]I’m supposed to find help [U]here[/U]? [/I] Here in Millington, young Dorin expected to find plenty of inconsistency. Here was a city on the banks of the [I]T’yers[/I] inhabited by both Dwarves and Men, living under the thumb of a faraway Elvish monarch. Here was a place that made its name milling the logs of trees harvested in distant mountains and floated hundreds of miles down the river, when a great forest with so much easily-obtained timber loomed, forbidden by Imperial Decree, right upon its Eastern doorstep. And just outside the center of this city, with its many taverns and copious windmills, he had come to find the home of an avowed druid. It made him uncomfortable. In his earlier days of searching, he had come to accept that he was to find help in this way. He had come to accept that it was a long shot, that there was not a high likelihood that Nicholas, Millington’s famous oddity of a druid, might help him or his people. He had internalized the concept that he would have to ask this [I]outsider [/I]for help with a strictly internal matter. It shamed him, but he’d accepted it with the rest of the incongruity of this situation. But the place was definitely a dump. Among Dorin’s people, if someone had been so pathetic in maintenance, his home would have collapsed in a heap within a month. And the clan would have laughed as the poor fool fought to rebuild as they rode past. It’s not so much that diligence was rewarded as laxity severely punished. The druid’s shack was once a log hut of some kind; small, but sturdy. In the untold years since, brambles and creepers had intruded into the crevices betwixt the logs, spilling down the sides in a kind of hanging garden-shrine devoted only to noxious weeds. Where the weeds weren’t, the wooden trunks had been infiltrated by moss and lichen. The walls didn’t appear quite vertical. Not that they had much to support. From what Dorin could tell, the shack’s roof was merely framing. He couldn’t see for certain, as it was above his head, but he knew he hadn’t seen any straw or roofing material sticking out. Whatever was up there couldn’t hope to be waterproof. Dorin shook his head and reminded himself to be patient of the alien ways so far from his people. He took a deep breath and rapped sharply at the wooden door. Its surface yielded gently to his knocks. Not only was the door badly hung, but its material also felt slightly soft to his touch. [I]Ugh. More mildew. How hard would it have been for someone to scrape it clean once every few years? [/I]Surprisingly though, the door felt almost welcoming to his knuckles as he rapped at it once more. Dorin tried to take this as a good omen. Welcoming enough, for it sprung open when he reached out to knock a second time. Behind it stood a robed man with long, feral black hair and wide, busy green eyes that shined in the shade like lanterns. His circle-beard was thin and scraggly, in odd contrast to the man’s pronounced eyebrows. Dorin’s initial impression of him was that he must spend all his energy growing hair, but that energy ran out the further down his face it went. The wild-haired man regarded Dorin briefly, then said, “You’re late, but I suppose you’ll do.” Dorin had imagined many different directions that a conversation might go if and when he arrived here. This, however, was not among them. “Excuse me? Are you--” “—Nicholas, yes.” The Druid waved Dorin and his two companions inside hastily. He looked to be in his late thirties —[I]wait, no, with those eyes, he can’t be human, and with facial hair like that, he’s not a full elf either. Maybe sixty or seventy? [/I]–and seemed to be in a hurry. When his arm waved wildly past, Dorin caught the scent of rosemary. “Come inside so I can explain.” The way the Druid was acting, Dorin expected him to look both ways nervously before slamming the door shut when he got inside. He didn’t though—he just left the door open and stepped in thoughtlessly. Nicholas’s brilliant eyes tracked across Wik and Jo on their way to the man. He opened his mouth to speak, but the traveler interrupted him. “Dorin,” the clean-shaven man said, extending his hand as was the way here. “And this is Wikellawyn, a travelling friend, and… ummm… Jo.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. He’d studied local customs, but so far this hadn’t been in keeping with them. Also, he wasn’t quite sure what Jo was still doing here, having completed her escort task. Nicholas reached out as if seeking to shake hands, but didn’t quite touch Dorin’s hand. His fingertips just hung there, inches away. “I see,” the druid said perfunctorily, clearly seeing nothing in particular. His eyes flicked back to rest upon the two women but soon resumed their seemingly-undirected movement. Wik smiled brilliantly and fiddled with her silver unicorn conspicuously. If this was intended as a display, Nicholas took no obvious notice. He just looked at them, a blank expression on his face, as though he were trying to decide whether the three visitors were real. Dorin tried to think of what he should say. In the end, it was Jo who spoke. “Why are you here?” she asked, facing the group ambiguously as a whole. Nicholas smiled. “I’ve been waiting for someone. He’s several years overdue but evidently well worth the wait.” Jo scowled. “I meant [U]him[/U].” Her head turned minimally toward Dorin. “I’ve come to ask for your help.” Dorin began. He hadn’t exactly memorized what he was going to say but he had rehearsed it in his mind. It’s just that the words changed every time. [I]This all seemed so much easier at home[/I], he thought as he drew breath. “I can’t help you,” Nicholas said abruptly. [I]What? But I’ve come so far! [/I]“You… can’t?” His brows contorted in confusion and anxiety. “But you haven’t even heard--” “Right,” came the Druid’s bizarre interruption. Dorin’s eyes blazed frustratedly at the half-elf. He gaped silently, trying to think of what to say. Wik watched this exchange thoughtfully. The silence seemed to spur the Druid to speak more plainly. “I have bigger problems than helping you. You’ll have to help me instead.” There was a thick sack hanging by a heavy stake pounded into the wall. Nicholas began fiddling with the sack as he spoke. “I must leave Millington to deliver spectacular news.” Dorin could not react intelligently to this, but merely stared at the man in silence. Jo appeared not to care significantly one way or another. Wik’s eyes glittered. After a second, she said, “Well? Go on!” “I’ve been waiting for an initiate of my faith to arrive, but I can wait no longer. I must entrust you with a secret.” Dorin wasn’t sure if his eyes could get any larger. He was familiar with the ways of many peoples, and was certain that this behavior was highly extraordinary, if not outright rude. At the mention of the last word, however, he found himself listening silently again. Secrets were interesting. Nicholas leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered. “Deep in the forest,” he turned his head to indicate the forbidden woods to the east of the city. “…dwell a great many trees. [U]Special [/U]trees; darkwood treants, they are. But they…” he seemed to grope for words. “They sleep, and I keep watch on them.” His voice rose substantially. “Someone has cut one down.” His eyes narrowed angrily and flicked in that instant from amusingly crazy to dangerously vindictive. “The other Druids must know what I do.” “But I have nowhere else to go!” Dorin blurted at last. “Then wait here,” Nicholas answered unhelpfully. “Perhaps my would-be apprentice will have something to offer you in my stead.” He winked and smiled as he hoisted the thick sack. “I think his name is Asherandil.” Without another word, he stepped out the door. [I]I can’t believe this! [/I]“Wait!” Dorin called and rushed out the door after him. But the Druid was nowhere to be seen. [/QUOTE]
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