Amber Road Coach & Inn.
Seril stretched and cracked his shoulders as he awoke. He groaned and looked around at the elvish room in the inn he stayed in last night. He sighed as the morning light fell through the amber windows. He was looking forward to finally being back home after so long.
He got out of the comfortable bed, gathered his things, and left his room. He hummed an old tune as he walked along the warm honeywood halls of the inn. He ran a hand out and brushed against the familiar wood that left the entire building with a constant pleasantly sweet smell.
He walked down the wooden steps and down to the main floor of the building. The place was lively, as it could be for a wood elf inn far from most forms of civilization. Most travelers that stayed in such a place were either the odd trader coming, and failing, to open trade with the druid grove further on, or wood elves like himself. Those that had grown restless living in the druidic groves for so long and wanted to see the world for a time. Many were what he used to be some years ago. Bright and smiling and full of energy and nerves, dressed in the same garb he currently wore, the browns and greens outsiders consider typical for their branch of elf. Then there were those currently like him now. Their garb loose and worn, scars and weary eyes as they rest for the last trek of their journey home again.
He himself was looking forward to getting back into his normal attire befitting a Warden of the Amber Grove. He looked down at the bland, and rather uncomfortably tight fitting, clothes he still wore. Bland. Rubbed in the wrong places, and also didn't allow him to bend and move in the ways he was used to because non-elvish leather workers seem to think that all elves had the form of twigs, and those few elvish ones either refusing because he was a wood elf or asking a small fortune for a single piece of equipment!
He sighed as he made his way to the bar and ordered a glass of warm honeyed wine for the road. He glanced down at his bow with a less than pleased eye. While it served its purpose, it wasn't what he was used to. The wood wasn't as strong nor flexible as his old one, and the bow string would always snap when between uses regardless of the care he gave it.
But that was the price he paid for leaving. The druidic groves treasured their neutrality with the outside world and it wouldn't do if one of their own ran off dressed in their colors and returned with enemies they didn't want or knew they now had. Hence the bland uncomfortable leathers. He was looking forward to having some real protection again. The simple chainmail he's managed to get has been next to useless. He's had to pay too much to get it repaired too often for someone whose duty was to remain in the back of the party and harry with arrows. It got so bad that he had to invest in a short sword for WHEN he ended up in close combat!
He rubbed his cheek at the spot where a kobold came very close to ending his life. The thought of those ragged lizards made him hold his wine tighter. His pride still wounded from the encounter. They felled a dragon. An Elder dragon. Yet their victory was soured by the kobolds getting away.
He scoffed and sipped the warm sweet wine. He shouldn't care anymore, they were gone and he got what he wanted in the end. Some gold, fame, and a handful of scales from the elder dragon's tail that should make for some good arrowheads and trophies. At first he entertained the idea of potentially asking his grove for assistance in tracking them down. But he knew they would have no part in whatever vengeance he wanted regardless of who, or what, it was against. After travelling, his hatred died down. He was still embarrassed and his pride wounded. But it wasn't the burning hatred from before. He sighed and glanced at a group of elves that were collecting their gear and heading off on their own paths of exploration and adventure. If only they knew what was in store for them, he thought as ordered some glazed sweetbread for breakfast to go with his wine.
His pointed ears twitched as he recalled all the "wonderous" things he was subjected to from non-elves. He shuddered as he recalled the many, many, times he was propositioned by someone thinking him a woman! Or feminine enough that they didn't really care in their usually inebriated state. His kin that lived in the cities weren't any better as half were snobs that believed themselves better than a "fey-fiddler". Along with many other less-than-clever names. The other half were the reason for so many of the misunderstandings levied against elves. Debauched degenerates that used their long-lived youth to take and bed anyone they wanted, usually while practically suffocating on one of the many elvish plants that left non-elves in a state of complete bliss.
His skin crawled as he recalled one time he was missing home and was directed to a local grove just outside of a town. This "grove" turned out to be a seedy slum that amounted to elves living in ramshackle tents and hovels in a small meadow and preyed upon by the local townsfolk for anything. Cheap labor, pleasure, and even alchemical reagents.
He grit his teeth at the thought that non-elves believed that there was something in them that would somehow pass along their long lasting youth or "unnatural" beauty. There wasn't. Though that doesn't stop "meat markets" from popping up around such elvish slums. Did such places exist for other races as well? Yes. But very few would kill a dwarf, and risk an eternal enemy, for a possibility at being a little hardier. But elvish beauty? Youth and grace? Turns out plenty of races would pay quite a hefty sum for just a vial of elf blood.
He shook his head to clear away the depressing thoughts, he was going home. He no longer had to deal with the prejudices of others. The non-elvish faces in this coach and inn would be the last he'd see, hopefully, he thought as he finished his honeyed wine and sweetbread. He threw some coins onto the countertop, and stood. Collecting his gear, he made his way out the door and breathed in the sweet air that signaled the inn's proximity to the Amber Grove.
He slung his supplies over his shoulder and started walking down the track, or road depending on how favorable the weather was. With life blooming anew, the day was refreshing and warm with small clouds that would give off a slight drizzle now and again before departing. Leaving the track fairly intact.
Then there were the woods themselves. Thick, wild, and dangerous. For most others that is, Seril thought as he spotted the more common inhabitants of the woods. Giant bees buzzing through gaps in the trees as they foraged for their monstrous hives deeper in the forest. If Seril was anyone else he'd be in a fight right about now, and against more than one of the hound-sized bees.
But he wasn't. He was a warden of the Amber Grove. The bee buzzed along, turning and giving him a curious look briefly before returning to its foraging. Seril was worried that his time away would make him an, albeit temporary, target to the local wildlife. But either he still smelled of the grove after all this time, or his breakfast was enough to convince them he wasn't an invader to their realm.
Either way, he decided to up his pace. The giant bees might not be looking for a fight, but there were other things in the woods that wouldn't hesitate to attack him. Warden or not, and he'd rather have his gear than what he currently had on.
Then through a gap in the canopy, he saw it. Home, he thought and rushed forwards until he neared the boundary between the grove and the woods. Which was pretty clear and obvious. About the only thing missing from the fifty step wide clearing was a large sign that said something like Druid Grove! Keep Out!
Well, unless one wanted to count the towering pale wood, yellow-leaved, tree lording above as enough of a sign that this was a druid grove. Most that knew of druid groves called them "World Trees". An apt name. But not necessarily for the reason one might think. They were world trees more in the sense that they were anchors between this world, and the Fey Wilds.
The grove was more than just an area for those trained in the way of the druidic arts to call home. It was just as much a hub for fae to enter and leave this world and enter their own. Even now, Seril saw lines of fae of all shapes and sizes streaming into the grove. Though popular among the fey, he noted that there were far more than usual.
As he crossed the physical, and magical, boundary between the grove and the rest of the woods, he saw small faeries buzzing in long lines through the air. Some wore the discarded parts of bees in mismatched dresses or suits of armor. Black, white, and yellow fuzz mixed with black chitin as well as dried leaves or flower petals. Even their mannerisms were different from one faery to the next. Some stood straight and rigid with the only thing moving was their wings, while others buzzing around frantically as they zipped this way and that.
He even spotted nature spirits among them. Honeywood dryads forming a protective ring around their heart-tress as the slow-moving arbors pulled themselves along closer to the heart of the grove. Towering yellow-barked treants groaned as their forms gently pushed aside their stationary kin while overseeing the migration from their giant-like height even as small nature spirits that took the shapes of mushrooms and small flowers, shrubs, or saplings skittered between their roots.
Along with the line of wood elves from outlying settlements were also beastkin. Verminkin, as some were known, darted between the slender legs of elves and others, some were bare as the day they were "blessed" with fae magic, while others wore clothes that fit their small frames. Seril spotted pond toads, badgers, moles, and other small animals rushing onwards while trying not to be squished underfoot. Some were obvious in being granted fae sparked intelligence while others were barely able to be told apart from the myriad of animals that fled with the others. Woodland centaurs, more noble and polite compared to their plain-dwelling kin mingled with forest satyrs that seemed unusually dour.
Then there was the apir. Seril couldn't help letting out an involuntary shiver as he saw the faux giant bees hovering unnaturally along the lines of woodland beings. Their wings beat slowly, far too slowly to still be hovering yet they still did so. But what made Seril shudder were their mask-like faces. One turned to peer at him with hollow black eyes, its "face" being where a bee's would be. The mask barely conveyed emotions except for the minute of changes along the line that appeared to be a mouth or the slightest shift where the holes of its eyes were supposedly.
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"Seril." The apir sang in a monotone voice in his mind as it peered at him.
"Seril. Seril. Seril." Came the echoing replies of the others as they registered his arrival.
Seril shivered and walked a little faster, the apir keeping their hollow eyes on him as he made his way along the line of fae. He never cared much for the creepy bee fae. It was mostly the druids themselves that dealt with them and other fae. The wardens, the protectors and peace-keepers of the grove, had closer interactions with the wildlife than the fae or nature spirits.
Though it was looking like he might have to, Seril thought as the line of fae and nature spirits eventually coalesced into a massive gathering that looked more like a refugee camp. Tree spirits mixed with fae who mixed with elves were all gathered. As Seril marched onwards he picked up bits and pieces of conversation. Some of it was Elvish and he could make it out easily, but there were also the mix of Woadspeek and Faeish. The latter he could get bits and pieces of now and again, but the former he never had the ambition to learn.
"-becoming too dangerous, almost didn't make it." He heard an elf mutter as she carried supplies on her back as she stood with her family, some were covered in dirt and what looked like blood.
"-lost contact with another. The Arch-Druid and the Amber Council are concerned." He heard one of his fellow wardens whisper to one another as he walked past.
"Trees. Gone. Ground. Swallowed." He heard a treant speak slowly in simple Elvish to a warden.
"It just appeared out of nowhere! One minute the clearing is... well, clear! The next everything is upside down and inside out!" He heard a frantic elf declare.
Seril picked up his pace. Each conversation was more and more worrying. Quakes swallowing forests, magical wastelands appearing suddenly, outlying settlements under attack, and something that has the Amber Council and the Arch-Druid concerned?! The Arch-Druid of a druidic grove was either a minor god or demi-god, depending on who was asked. Their powers over not only nature magic, but even fae magic, made them powerful beings whose very presence meant the groves rarely, if ever, faced attack.
"Seril?!" A voice called out from the mass of bodies.
Seril turned and looked towards the voice and saw a tanned, by elvish standards though still fair to anyone else, face running up to him. The elf's shaggy sandy blond hair bounded as his rich soil eyes were wide.
"I can't believe it's you!"
"Anar?! What are you doing here?!" Seril asked and embraced his friend.
"The same as everyone else!" Anar stated and looked at Seril like he wasn't sure he was even there.
"What does that mean? What's going on?" Seril asked.
"You mean you haven't heard?" Anar asked.
"No. I just got back."
Anar shook his head tiredly.
"Where to start? Quakes have hit several areas of the forest. Entire groves of trees lost in an instant, even some settlements. The magical wastelands are getting worse too. It's getting harder for the druids and even the fae to tell when they'll hit now. Not only that, but the herd vanished. Beasts from the Umberdwell have been coming out of the ground from the quakes while other creatures, beasts, and people have begun pushing deeper into the forest to escape... something. We don't know what but it has them scared enough to risk the wrath of nature spirits and the whims of the fae."
It was alot to take in, Seril thought. Some of it he'll learn when he got inside and heard from his leaders, but one thing was something Anar could better answer.
"The amber stags vanished? But aren't you supposed to be watching over them?"
"Hard to do that when they disappear out of thin air! Me and another were watching the herd while the other tenders went for water, turned our heads away for a second and when we looked back they were gone! Tried to follow their tracks but they just vanished!" Anar explained in exasperation.
"Did any of you tell the council?!"
"Of course not!"
"Why?!"
"Because it's our one duty! And we don't even know what happened to them!"
"But they have to know!"
"And they will! Just... not now." Anar said in a pleading voice.
"How long have they been gone?"
"A few... weeks." Anar mumbled.
"Weeks?!"
"We wanted to make sure they were still in the grove or at least nearby!"
"For several weeks?!"
"Look, we have a couple of places we haven't checked yet. Give us a little longer before we officially report that they're gone." Anar now outright pleaded.
Seril sighed.
"Fine. Two days. If by then you still haven't found them, I'M telling the council!"
"Thanks!" Anar exclaimed and started rushing off again.
Seril shook his head. On top of everything else, now the amber stags were missing. Gifts from the fae for the druids' care of the groves, and a great source of wealth for the grove and a sign of cooperation between the two groups. Gone. Vanished into thin air if Anar was to be believed, Seril thought. Though his friend did have a habit of embellishing, his eyes told him all he needed to.
He turned and made to make his way further in when he spotted yet another of his friends making her way towards him. Unlike him, she was still dressed in her warden attire. Thick black chitin with bee fuzz accents along the cuffs and collar. Amber crystals as reinforcement dotting along the glossy armor. Slung over her shoulder was something he greatly missed! A elven honeywood bow, reinforced with amber crystal all along the bow. Reliable, sturdy, and just as good in melee as a sword was! Yet at her hip was a simple amber dagger. He himself owned a short sword made of the sharp, and surprisingly strong, material.
"Seril?!"
"Kerin!" Seril cheered and hugged his friend and fellow warden.
The two embraced, and held each other a little longer than he did with Anar. When they pulled away from one another, the tension was thick between the two of them. Seril made to speak first before Kerin interrupted.
"No time for getting familiar. The Arch-Druid and the Council know of your return."
"Stupid bees." Seril muttered as he eyed a floating apir nearby.
"Hey!" Kerin chided him as a ball of black fluff buzzed out from behind her and just over her shoulder.
Seril sighed and rolled his eyes.
"You know what I mean."
Kerin smirked and slugged his shoulder before grabbing her bee companion and stroking the creature's black fuzz.
"I know. Speaking of, when are you going to get your own?"
"I'm not, they're too noisy. And fuzzy." Seril stated.
Kerin started to speak when Seril held up a hand.
"The Arch-Druid?"
"Oh!? Yeah, they wanted you to get geared up and report to them."
"What's going on?" Seril asked and gestured around.
"Alot. The Arch-Druid and the Amber Council will explain more. But we gotta go, we have to get everyone ready for the migration."
"What?! What migration?!" Seril asked.
"You'll learn more later! But for now, just know that we're not staying in this world! We're opening the fae portal and leaving!" Kerin called out as the mass of bodies swallowed her and her bee companion up.
Leaving Seril standing there with a look of shock on his face. They were leaving? The entire grove? Leaving where? All these questions and more raced through his mind as he shouldered his pack and made his way through the bodies and towards the heart of the grove, located under and through the roots of the great pale-barked world tree.
-----
Petty Dwarven Kingdom of Khazar-Nogrun.
"WATCH OUT!!!" The dwarven foreman called out as yet another tunnel collapsed around him.
Him and the rest of his team rushed away and out of the collapsing tunnel as fast as their legs could take them. A cloud of dust and debris followed those who made it along with coughing as the foreman dragged himself to his feet and looked back at the collapsed tunnel.
Another one, he cursed and spat out a glob of dusty spit. He stared at a unmoving arm trapped between the rubble, and yet more dead, he thought as he helped those still alive to their feet and handing them off to the team of rune priests for healing.
"This can't keep up." He declared to the leader of this little venture of theirs.
"It has ta. The Princess commands it." The lead rune priest said in a voice mixed with tired concern and resignation.
"At this rate, there wont be anyone left!" The foreman declared, his voice echoing down the shaft.
"Then I'll get more." Came a cold reply from the shadows.
The group went quiet and still as the figure of Princess Moira emerged from the shadows. Her runic plate armor seeming to hiss and sizzle as her eyes bore into the lot of them as she hefted her ram-headed maul over her shoulder. She slammed the heavy weapon into the stone and seemed to stalk towards the foreman.
"You'll disobey an order from yer princess?" She growled.
The foreman swallowed and cowered before the dwarven woman.
"No, yer majesty. I-"
His voice was cut off as Moira grabbed the dwarf by the throat and held him up. His feet barely scraping against the ground as he tried to breath.
"I don't suffer traitors."
With a snarl she slammed the dwarf into the nearby stone wall of the shaft. Cracks spread from the impact and those gathered were worried the shaft itself would fall on them as the area shook from the impact. Moira snarled and brought her face closer to the dwarf.
"Tha lot o' you have one duty. Follow. Mah. Command. If you can't do that, I'll tie yer beard ta yer balls and hang you out for tha deepstalkers!"
The foreman groaned and Moira let go of him, letting gravity bring his dazed body crashing to the ground, and a patch of blood on the shaft wall where he was slammed. Moira turned to the assembled dwarves.
"I have been WRONGED!!! Those filthy, mangy, lizards embarrassed yer princess! They vanished into solid stone! As dwarves, we should be foamin' at tha mouth ta find 'em! Yet not only do I not have those worthless lizards in mah hands, but now I'm hearin' dwarves questionin' MAH authority!?"
"No princess! We're not!" The lead rune priest stated quickly.
Moira rounded on the wizened old dwarf.
"Are you callin' me a liar then?"
The dwarf ceased talking and swallowed.
"No. I was-"
He stopped when Moira stalked towards him.
"You were just... what?"
"Nothin'. Nothin', yer majesty." The rune priest whispered.
Moira glared at the rune priest with crazed manic eyes before turning her mad glare around at the other dwarves.
"You'll work! You'll keep workin' until you find out how those lil bastards got away!"
"Aye yer majesty!" They all called out.
Moira rumbled and turned around, retrieved her maul, and headed back down the shaft. Nursing her anger and hatred as she stomped away. Even by dwarven standards, she was wrathful and vindictive. Yet she didn't care. She was to be the next ruler of a dwarven kingdom and she wouldn't dare let a single one of her future subjects even utter a thought that she was too weak or soft to rule!
That was why she went out adventuring in the first place. To prove to them all that she was fit to rule. That no matter what came their way that their future runic warrior queen would squash any threat beneath her plated boot! No threat to her would go unmet! Be they surface dweller or those that lurked in the Umberdwell, or even deeper than that!
But the kobolds were a threat to that. They got away. They challenged her might and instead of having the decency of dying, they ran! She didn't know what power it was. Draconic, elvish, dwarven, fucking fae, she didn't know or care. But she would find them. She would make sure that ANY living breathing challenge to her rule was met with her complete wrath!
She snarled as she left the shaft and entered the runery proper. As she stomped by, all her subjects bowed before her. Or got out of her way. She didn't care either way. The visage of the Stone Father peering down at her back as the memorials/shrines to their ancestors lined the walls as she marched on.
With a shove she forced open the stone doors wider and glanced down at her kingdom. Her father ruled, but it was obvious who had real power. Her father could sign and pass laws and decrees, but it was her that enforced them. Sometimes it was something she made up on the spot just because she could. Yet none dared question the wrathful princess.
Even now the dwarven kingdom was alive with activity as it bent to her will. When she returned she called for a Righting. A mustering of an entire dwarven stronghold to enact justice in the name of a serious grudge done against them. Well, against her.
Her father didn't have the strength, or sheer will, to resist her. Neither did the rest of the city. The mines pumped out ore, the foundries bellowed with the smoke of industry. Every member of the stronghold was put to work. Old, young, male, female. It didn't matter as the entire place was marshalled to settle the princess's grudge.
Even the rune priests, sacred members of dwarven society, bowed to her command. It was they that she believed could lead her to wherever the kobolds scampered off to. If not? Then she'd hollow the entire planet searching for them, she thought as she stomped back towards the palace.