Many miles from where they should be, two elves picked through the overgrown and abandoned remnant of what was once a picturesque village, nestled among the branches of the trees around them. They quietly made their way across the strangely wide and flat branches that had grown together to connect each tree’s group of structures with the next.
The homes and shops were long abandoned, caked in layers of dead leaves and wind-blown detritus, and nearly all of the goods and items left as the village was abandoned had been ruined by the passage of time. These things were not, however, what the older of the two elves sought in this forbidden place.
“We shouldn’t be here, Thalios. You know what they say,” the younger whispered.
“Nonsense. We’ll search a few villages, and if what they say about the Forest God is true, then surely we’ll find some gold. We’ll be rich, Illyas,” the older responded. “And if it’s not true, then we’ll find something among the ruins to sell in the marketplace.”
Thalios opened another door, disappointed to find another dilapidated hovel devoid of anything valuable, until the wind gently shook the tops of the trees, causing the dappled light to waver slightly and reveal a single glint.
“Look, there!” he shouted to Illyas.
He ran into the dwelling, falling to his knees and excitedly rummaging through the piled leaves and rotted furnishings. His hand shot up and he spun to face his companion, a nugget of gold the size of a finger clasped in his hand.
“It’s... “ Illyas looked on in horror. “Thalios, it’s a finger. Oh, stars, it’s true,” he whispered.
“What? What are you…” his gaze fell on the object in his hand.
A perfectly sculpted elven finger, forged of gold, every detail rendered in minute perfection, down to the creases in the knuckles, the whorled fingerprints, and a tiny scar running across the pad of the fingertip.
He dropped the gold and bolted upright, gaining his feet and stumbling toward the door. He turned to Illyas, but the younger brother watched as the fear and panic died on Thalios’ lips, replaced by a strange, frantic expression. The older elf slowly turned back to the hovel and scooped up the finger, cradling it next to his breast.
“We can eat like kings for weeks on this. We can’t just leave it,” he explained feverishly. “We’ll just hammer it out, so no one will know,” he nodded vigorously.
“Do you hear that?” Illyas turned to look out the door.
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The sound came again, a hollow rattle like bones being tossed down stone steps.
“Signs preserve us. Thalios… it’s here. We have to run. RUN!” Illyas whispered fiercely and pushed his brother out the door of the hovel, sprinting past him across the narrow bridges between the boughs. The rattle echoed again, striking a primal fear deep within him.
They ran for what seemed like hours, and Illyas thanked his stars they never so much as caught sight of the creature. They ran and ran, until they could no longer even walk.
“Rest. Rest, Illyas. Can’t… run… anymore. We’re safe,” the elder brother gasped.
They collapsed in a hollow among the roots of one of the great trees, panting great lungfuls of air, until eventually, a fitful sleep found them. Illyas awoke not long after and shook his brother awake, daring to peek over the massive roots.
“Thalios, I think you were right. I think we made it. It’s only a few miles to the edge of the Godswood. We’ll be there just after sunset, and tomorrow morning we can sell the gold,” he smiled, relief written on his face.
“My gold, Illyas? You want to sell my gold,” his brother’s voice was twisted, a hollow rasp of pain.
“What-” the younger brother turned, then looked down at the short blade stuck between his ribs.
He coughed, a fleck of blood emerging on his lips, “Th-thal… what have you done?”
A tear rolled down the young elf’s face. His brother’s eyes had turned a livid, sickly yellow, and he clutched the golden finger tightly in a wretched grip that caused the muscles and tendons of his hand to stand out like corded rope.
“My gold, Illyas. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine,” the mantra repeated, dying to a maddening whisper as he sawed the blade back and forth in his brother’s chest. Finally, his brother lay still, and the madness that possessed him seemed to evaporate.
He cried out and flung the golden finger away from him, staring down at his baby brother’s open eyes. Above him, a bone rattle sounded, so very close, so very quiet.
He looked up, and what filled his vision was the empty, naked skull of a great reptile, seemingly forged all of gold and surrounded by a great frill of rainbowed feathers that shook and quivered. Behind the frill, a great white rattle like the tail of a viper shook once, a sound like the clattering bones of a thousand doomed souls thrown down steps of stone.
The creature’s skull suddenly shone with a sickly yellow light, and as Thalios stared into that light, hopeless and helpless, his arms and legs grew strangely stiff. He looked down at his hands and saw that his fingers had been transformed into cold, metallic gold. The transformation crept up his hands, then his arms, and he felt his heart grow slow as the change wrought his flesh into precious metal.
The cruel metamorphosis took his eyes last, so that the last thing he saw was the expressionless golden skull of the God of the Forest, punishing him for his greed. Thalios’ last thought was a prayer that his brother might forgive him as the creature descended and opened it’s massive jaws to feast upon his glittering flesh.