Within the Wilds, somewhere north of the Garden
Beneath the seemingly endless canopy that spanned across the land, a group of peculiar creatures hid themselves within the exposed roots of a large tree. What made these creatures so peculiar in a land rife with the magical and fantastical was that they took the form of luminescent crystals with fluctuating colours that hovered just above the ground.
These crystalline creatures, known by the sapient races as Aethelii were pitiful things, victims of mortal greed. Because of their nature, being both magical and objectively beautiful, they were hunted the world over by wielders of magic for use in various constructs and spells, treated as reagents and materials rather than living beings. It had almost become impossible to live in the world as one of their race, without the need to constantly flee in fear. The very concept of safety was completely alien to them. If one were to look at things on a global scale, they would see a species that had once thrived being driven to the edge of extinction in less time than their own (admittedly significant) typical lifespans.
At present, these Aethelii were fleeing south, as were most creatures inhabiting this part of the wilds. The ever-present ash clouds to the north were approaching, and they did not wish to be caught up in what came with it. They had been moving south cautiously when they sensed a disturbance, a massive surge of magic followed by the earth trembling. While the event seemed to have occurred many kilometers away, between the tremors and the surge of energy, their small group had chosen to seek cover, fearing a disaster was about to occur.
As they hid, the surge of magical energies died down, but did not fade away completely. The epicentre of the event now shone like a beacon to those who could sense magic, and despite the previously terrifying occurrence, it felt… inviting. It didn’t take long for the Aethelii to begin moving in a new direction, heading towards the faint music that seemed to call out to them. It was a song that reminded them of something they had lost… of the home they had forgotten so long ago. For the first time in more than a millennium, these Aethelii felt hope.
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Within the wilds, south of the Garden
Milky white eyes stared into the smoke that rose from the brazier, the scent of burning incense and blood filled the shaman’s small hut as she performed the ritual magic. A member of the Fengal Tribes, this aged shaman was a troll, and one who happened to be getting on in her years at that. For as long as her people could remember, they had made the Wilds their home, and many different tribes inhabited it. Werecats, lizardfolk, or trolls like her own people, the tribes were many and diverse.
The shaman, like most of her people, stood over 1.5 meters tall. Her skin was an earthy brown, and her thick, ropey grey hair hung down her bent back to her waist. Her face was wizened and filled with wrinkles, and she bore a prominent nose and brow, as was typical of trolls, as well as a small pair of worn down tusks. She had large pointed ears adorned with many hoops and charms, but otherwise wore a plain robe that appeared to be made of moss as her only other adornment. As the smoke dissipated, her eyes cleared, her irises now slate grey, with a sharp look that belied her centuries of life.
Better days, her people had seen. Every time she looked into the smoke, what she saw caused her distress. A shadow fell over the Wilds, coming from the north. Few Fengal knew like she did, that the Wilds once spanned the whole continent. Indeed, her people were not always a mere tribe, but part of an empire now lost to time. More than three thousand years since her peoples’ empire collapsed, as to why? The memories told of a pillar and a mountain, when ash and fire rained from the skies, and of cities full of people turned to stone in an instant. They told of an enemy long forgotten that marched beneath skies of boiling black.
For months now, when the shaman gazed into the smoke, she did not see portents of weather or beast migrations, no. When she gazed into the smoke, what she saw could be mistaken for the memories she was given when she took up the mantle of shaman of her tribe, and she knew that they were coming. She had spoken to the chieftain already several times, told him the tribe must leave or face destruction, and for all her years of shepherding the tribe, protecting it from calamities that easily befell those who lived in such untamed lands, but her warning was dismissed. Dismissed. For weeks she’d been seeing it in the smoke, and in the dreams, but things had been unclear. Now she saw. Now, she could only hope it wasn’t too late to protect her people.
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“We be Stoneblood, elder. Remember this. These lands be we’s, and you say we must run away? Why!? Because of ashes? I do not believe it!” The chieftain had said. “And how you think we come to these lands, little chief?” She replied, exasperated and annoyed. “You think we come this land because it rich? Because we people wanted to? No. We be Stoneblood, and we ran like the rest. They who did not be gone, chieftain. Gone like we be if we do not go now. If we go south, we meet the sea, and then go west to the mountains. We lose some people, yes. But we will survive. Nobody survive in the ash. I been watching over we Stoneblood too many years, chieftain. I… We not about to fail we people now.”
The chief snarled and stomped his feet as she lectured him, shaking his head. He was a hunter, and he believed his people were strong. Who among the tribes didn’t know the might of the Stoneblood? And now this old woman wanted their people to run away instead of fighting for what was theirs!? The chief’s only reply was to spit on the ground before stomping away, frustrated at the choice before him.
The shaman had protected the tribe for longer than he’d been alive, he knew this and he could not ignore her words, no matter how he felt. Running did not sit well with him, especially running without even trying to face what was coming. The chief was not a fool, no matter how much he wished to argue with the shaman. If she said their people must run, he knew it to be so, because she was Stoneblood too. Ashes come to kill we all? Pah!
Chiefs did not inherit the memories like the shamans did, so he could not know of the things the shaman spoke. Thinking for a bit, the chief made a decision, and gathered three skilled hunters from his tribesmen. “Boys, we shaman say that bad times come from the north, and if we not go, we Stoneblood finished.” He paused and sighed, then looked at the men before him with determination. “She say we go south, so we go. I need you go north, she say the skies are boiling black. You go for four days, you see what you see, then you come back. We tribe be ready to leave by then. You see the ash, you come back quick quick. Stonebloods need you, nobody gonna let to stay behind.”
The chief looked each hunter sternly in the eye; and receiving a nod from each, he nodded in return. “Go. And when you pass other tribe, you say them we heed we shaman. We Stonebloods be leaving south. Some chiefs got hard heads, not listen them that know better.” He said with a dry chuckle, thinking of the shaman, before moving off to gather his tribe to prepare them to leave the only home they had ever known.
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Not two days later, one of the hunters the chief had sent north returned to the tribe. He called the chief, and together, they went to see the shaman. As they settled within the Shaman’s hut, the chief was the first to speak. “Elder, you know that I think on what you say, and get we people ready to move. I sent this one and two more north to see what they see, just in case.” The chief paused, nodding to the hunter. “Go on, tell we what you see.”
The hunter took a deep breath before speaking. “Not a day gone from we tribe, the grounds shake, and the Wilds go quiet. Boys and me, we look out for the clouds and the ash like you say. When the earth was still we find a tree. Big big tree you ever see, come outta nowhere! We not sure what it mean, so I come back quick quick to tell you’s. Maybe spirits say more than me.” The hunter finished with a shrug, his gaze shifting between the chief and the shaman. The chief looked to the shaman for a moment, before looking back to the hunter. “You done good, man. Go on rest you bones a while, then help we tribesmen getting ready.” Said the chief.
After the hunter left, the shaman grabbed a bowl of ritual herbs and moved towards the brazier. Tossing them in, she deeply inhaled of the smoke, and her eyes went from a dark grey to a milky white. For a short time, she swayed back and forth in a trance as she underwent the ritual. When her eyes cleared, she looked at the chief. “Aye, I see the tree, big like a mountain. The ash will come, and the tree will delay it. We must go.” She said, conviction in her voice. The chief sighed and shook his head. “We heed the shaman. We must go.” He replied, melancholy present in his voice.
That night, the shaman did not sleep. She spent the hours consulting the spirits and the ancestors about what she’d seen in the smoke. The truth was, she now saw two paths that things could take if her people remained here. On the first path, the lands were swallowed by the ash. On the second, the lands were swallowed by a garden of thorns. We must go. She thought, hoping it wasn’t too late for her people.