Many years ago, where the hares run wild and the birds flock in the colder seasons, there lived an Old Man.
The man did not possess great wealth, nor was he large in stature; in fact, there was nothing extraordinary about the man at first glance. The only great title the man held was that of Caretaker. Waking before the sun, the Old Man put his long, gray hair up, grabbed his rucksack and staff, and made his way out the door of his modest cottage. Built with much care, the cottage stood about 14 skot to the peak, 12 skot wide, and roughly the same longwise. The Old Man did not care much for possessions outside of his tools and his garden, neither of which were notably fantastical to the normal eye.
However, to the trained eye, the stones were carefully stacked, the roof painstakingly woven, the glass carefully cut, his rucksack carefully sewn. The Old Man had a great deal of care for his goods, for he could trust the handiwork of his own hands. Time seemed to slow when the Old Man was working.
The Old Man, walking in the clearing roundabout the cottage whistled gently to the birdsong of the quablers high in the trees. Wandering into the wood, the Old Man looked at every tree as if it were a familiar being. Running his staff against the bark of the trunks, the trees moaned and breathed softly in the wind, knowing their master was at hand. The brass-hares hopped curiously at a distance behind him. Their shimmering hair in the morning sun blended with the straw knee-height grass surrounding the Old Man.
“Caretaker, are you well today?”, a small voice called out.
“Well, I am upright and moving, so I suppose I shan’t complain, yes I am quite well! Thank you”, the Old Man replied.
“Caretaker, will we be checking on the wood to the north today?”, another small voice called out, “Or maybe a cave to the south!”, yet another voice excitedly exclaimed. “Heheh, we’ll see about the caves another day; perhaps we’ll stick to the more northern wood for now.”, the Old man replied.
“Maybe we could find some fresher berries, Caretaker?”, an even smaller, more timid voice squeaked out.
The Old Man paused mid-step, turned around, and kneeled down to the three brass-hares, his face waxing serious, “You should know as much as my heart yearns for adventures and caves and the high rocks of the mountains to the east”, the Old Man said, ”...good food and fresh berries will always be a priority!” The Old Man’s face grinned as he said this to the 3 hares, now excitedly squeaking joyous sounds. Penny, Alto, and Ita followed the Old Man deeper into the wood.
With many fresh berry patches and clear streams, the land was plentiful and lush. Ita, the smallest, had a particular fondness for berries, while Alto loved the leaves of flowering plants. Penny preferred the herbs and roots, full of rich nutrients. The three of them pranced around their Caretaker as they wandered the winding paths and game-trails carved by the others who lived in that land. While the Old Man was the only human there, he was far from alone. The brass-hares, while only looking but a few months old, had been by his side for many years.
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Penny, Ita, and Alto, being born from the same litter, spent the early days of their lives in their mother’s care. The warmth of the land was wonderful for such peaceful creatures. Life was simpler back then. Then the cold came. Tomba, their mother, woke them one morning, earlier than the sun. “Wake up my littles, wake up!”, she squeaked, “What’s goin’ on, Mama?”, Ita replied.
“Nothin’ darling, I just think we ought to get a move on with our day, a little earlier than usual, that's all.” “But Mamaaa-” “That’s all”, Tomba sternly replied. Ita could tell something was wrong, “Mama don’t normally get stern like this unless we’ve done somethin’ wrong”, Ita thought. “Or maybe someone else is doin’ something wrong.” Ita helped wake the others to start them moving north. Hopping quickly, Ita took the lead while Tomba kept up the rear, watching her little ones with readiness. Tomba knew there was something out there. The damp, dank smell was closing in on them, getting stronger somehow, as if it were catching up from behind.
“Go, my littles, no matter what happens, don’t look back, just keep goin’ till you don’t go no further.”
The three of them did as their mother demanded and did not look back. They ran for an eternity through the cover of night. The dank, rotten smell still looming over them, ducking under branches and through thickets, they continued at an astounding pace. “What is to happen to us? What is that wretched smell? I’ve never seen Mama this upset or stern over anything. The occasional wolves were a threat but this was nothing like that. Wolves don’t often come around these parts, no, this was something entirely different. This was something that we truly need be afraid of. Be brave. Be
quick. Be cunning.” These last words Ita told herself while becoming further engrossed in her own thoughts. She reminded herself that everything will be ok, as her mother often reminded her in moments of crisis.
Penny, knowing this part of the wood extremely well due to her having ventured often and far against the wishes of Tomba, took the lead and guided the others deeper and further from their home. “Look! Over there!” Penny darted for the base of a tree, wherein lay a small borough. She dove in, her sisters in close succession. They turned to wait for Tomba, but there was no sign of her. The three of them fell completely silent.
Small tears welled up in their eyes. Their little hearts were pumping so fast and hard it shook their bodies. They waited for an eternity.
“Is Mama gonna make it?”
Tomba never made it into the borough.
A dark shadow crept over the entrance.
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A man with a walking stick was journeying through the land. He was displeased with the smell of agony in the air. Seeking to find what treachery was at the root of this chilling ache, the man quickened his pace. He felt as if he were being drawn toward something, no, rather he felt as if something was pushing him forward. His walking stick stabbed the ground with power and haste, propelling him forward. The trees moaned softly in despair. “You are needed”, they seemed to whisper to him. “Hurry onwards, there’s not much time”, his pace quickened as these words came to him.
Coming into a small clearing, he saw some sort of cloaked figure looming just ahead. Ice pierced his very soul as his knees tried to buckle beneath him. “This is evil”, he whispered to himself, “I don’t know who you are or whence you came but there is not a morsel of goodness or light in your being. You have no place in this world, Beast.”
“Who are you to call me beast?” The looming figure turned away from the tree it was at the base of to look at the newcomer. “You have no knowledge of the fate you tempt, lad. Foolish, foolish, as if a young babe had just been babbling before me, here you stand,” the voice came from behind the metal mask that concealed its face. Having thought this was the creature’s full height, the man judged him to be about 10 skot tall. He judged wrongly. The creature stood to its full height of 14 or 15 skot, much taller than the 12 skot man.
“I can smell your fear. It is pungent in the air around me. I have just absorbed the fear from 4 souls, but I always thirst for more. Come now, let me attempt to satiate my thirst with yours next, lad.” The man took a single step back but raised his stick to prepare to fight.
“I will not back down.”
“What is this? Courage? Fool, you know not what I am”
“I know you are my enemy and that is enough for me. If you say you have already taken four souls, then I shall die avenging them.” There was no fear in his voice.
“You are a strange one. You know not what I am and yet you still have courage. Strange, foolish, weak. I shall grant your wish and make you a martyr!”
The beast lashed forward with extreme speed, but the man held still and prepared to strike.
The two seconds it took for the beast to cross the clearing, the man had crouched down in anticipation. The beast was upon him. Lunging forward, springing upward into him, the man plunged the foot of his staff into the inky flesh of the beast beneath the cloak.
The beast fell with a tremendous thud.
“W-what?! What is this courage? Where is the fear? Where is my strength?! Have you not an ounce of fear in your body?”
“I do not fear you, Beast. I pity you.” The man looked at the poor, deranged creature before him. The upheavals of its chest were labored and without rhythm. “Beast, why do you hunt? For pleasure? Out of requirement? Why do you live? Out of necessity or spite for things more happy than yourself?”
The man’s words fell on deaf ears. “No… no, this cannot be.” The beast, albeit looking weak, used all his remaining energy to dash away from the man, into the shadows, not to be seen again any time soon.
Coming down from his alert, the man spotted the borough at the base of the tree, seeing the claw marks from the beast which was in the process of feeding. 3 little hares lay there, motionless.
“Oh no, no, no… These souls have left too early”, the man implored into the wood around him. He turned to his satchel and dug deeper than should’ve been possible with the size of the small bag. Pulling out several draughts and tinctures, the man vigorously mixed them together in a bowl. The warm colors, hues of orange, then green, then yellow, glowed from the salve he produced. Taking much care, he covered the 3 small hares in the solution and began to focus all his thoughts and energy into their healing. The salve was absorbed into their bodies and their fur hardened and became like unto brass. Their skin and complexion shone like polished metal. Their eyes were black with shimmers of light in them.
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The first to awake, he named Ita, the second was Penny, and the last was Alto. They looked at themselves and each other with much curiosity and care. Their eyes began to swell with tears; tears of relief and tears of pain. They knew they had died and were not truly back, but they knew they could now be at peace. “I have brought you back that you three might watch over the wood with me. There is a Darkness that dwells here, a Darkness that took your lives before. You will never succumb to the Darkness again while in the semi-mortal form.” The three of them expressed much thanks to the man, cuddling up against him. “The Beast, it said four souls, but I count only three here amongst you. Tell me, where is the fourth?”
“I don’t know”, Ida squeaked sorrowfully, “It's our Mama, she told us to keep running and to not look back. We ran for what felt like hours. She’s gone and I don’t know where she went.” The man’s face grew stricken with sorrow, having been given the knowledge that the Darkness was successful in taking another soul. The man did not say a word; his heart was too heavy to grant them an optimistic thought.
“Someone will have to look over these poor creatures”, the man thought to himself. “Follow me home and I’ll see about getting you lot rested up.” The three of them happily obliged and followed along behind the man.
The man, or “Caretaker”, as the hares had taken to calling him, made themselves at home right away. His simple cottage was surrounded by a small garden; quite a lovely sight. Herbs, roots, fresh fruits, all in the sweet blooming springtime riddled the air with wondrous scents. Chicken and geese roamed free around the yard, while fengils watched over the garden.
“Caretaker, what are the strange little men?”, Penny asked. “Oh, those are the fengils. Wonderful lil’ creatures, they are. I saved a family of them from… well it's an awfully similar story to yours so I ought to spare you the details, but after I saved them, they decided to stick around the garden. You see, I love the woods roundabout and will do everything I can for it. All the lil’ creatures deserve a fair chance at a peaceful life, so I do my best to grant it. In turn, they all learn to protect each other, much like you and your sisters. Do you think you’d protect these strangers like you sisters protect yourselves?” “Oh yes, if you say these friends need us, then we will gladly take much care!” At these words, the sisters hopped roundabout their new companions. The fengils, while short and stoic in nature, broke into small smiles upon seeing the joy which the brass hares had. The fengils wielded small pikes and rectangle shields, mostly made of wood and what little brass was supplied by the Caretaker. Fending off foxes and falcons, the fengils watched over the rest of the farm folk.
Many days, many weeks, many months passed by. The seasons changed with unrelenting succession. The man saw many more summers than he had upon his first meeting with the hares. The man, once brown-haired and young, became graying and worn. The brass-hares, having not aged a day, had become so attached to him that they hardly did anything without each other. A little family of sorts, the four of them spent their days watching over the wood and cottage.
“Caretaker”, Ida asked, “does it ever get lonely being the only one of your kind?”
“I daresay it does”, said a much more aged and experienced voice than when we first met him. “My people are a hard-minded people. They care little for the gentle things in life and put more stock in their own industry. Productivity for the sake of a beautiful life is not vain. Productivity that swallows your passion whole with no signs of relenting is indeed vain. The folks I come from do not share the same values of a slow and beautiful life with me. They do not understand that the product of passion is worth more than the product of coin. Please take heed: I am not like my kin. They seek to grow only themselves and rebuke me for my love of the wild.”
“Why would anyone dislike you, Caretaker? You show us so much love and care, how is it possible to have any disdain toward you?”
“Unfortunately, my little one, I do not know what festers in their hearts toward me.” His heart grew heavy, as it had been many, many years since he had seen his kin.
The old man’s mind became weary with the thoughts of many years. Attempts to negotiate with the Darkness had been utterly unsuccessful. The few which he was able to talk to had always seemed wroth with the world. The Old Man never did find the true source of the Darkness. He fought many of these creatures over the years, becoming very skilled with his staff. He carried journals with him everywhere he went, sketching the different beings he came across. Insects, gentle beasts, fowl, fish, both day and night he studies these things. There was none other like him in the land, as he had come away to this land alone. He traveled a great distance, over land and sea.
He had grown accustomed to the herbology of the land, studying the flora with great interest. Identifying the poisonous ones against the useful ones was a bit of a dangerous process, but he felt dedicated enough to his work to suffer through. Using small, shaved spots on his arms and legs, he checked for irritations or afflictions caused by the different berries and leaves he scavenged. Eventually through this process, he had made note of several extremely useful and healing plants. Already being attuned to alchemical skills, the man dedicated most of his life to those studies and how it connected him to the world around him.
His staff, carved from an ancient tree from a much older land, was dark and worn with care. Runes were engraved into it; wards and nurturing runes which aided in his duty as Caretaker. He was not only Caretaker to the Brass-Hares, but to all life around him. At a young age, he had studied forms of sorcery with his kinfolk, some of which was retained through constant practice and the notes of his many journals. He had been in the land some 600 years, not having encountered another one of his kind. He knew every nook and cranny, every root and trunk, every rock and mineral. He nurtured every meadow in every corner of his land. Constantly fighting the Darkness back, his power was cast and amplified roundabout the region. He had not again after the incident with the Brass-Hares encountered the Beast again, nor any creature of Darkness to that extreme level or intelligence.
Most of the Darkness he fought were smaller, less substantial enemies. Amalgamations of dark, rotting matter clamber violently through the woods, seeping their poisonous rot to the life around them. Infestations spread which the Caretaker fought back earnestly. Constantly concocting alleviating solutions, the Old Man cured many scars on the land.
Albeit the Old Man was mostly content with life, he occasionally missed the companionship of society. These fits of loneliness were not well-managed. Being surrounded by familiarity and yet longing for something unfamiliar to himself terrified him, even in his old age. “While I know I have found my purpose in this life,” he thought to himself, “what if there were someone out there that needs me?” The lonely feelings were grating on his very being to the point of agony. The Brass-Hares could sense this and would try to console him, but to no avail.
The only thing that brought him peace at this time was a long hike out to the sea. About a 2 day’s journey by horse, he would travel directly west. The coast was tall and rocky; cliffs ascended 100 skot out of the rough waters. The Old Man would sit for hours and ponder on the purposes of his life. He had protected this land for many a year, yet each winter came with increasing bitterness. His soul was tired. He yearned for rest, but who would watch over the wild and pure things of the wood if he passed on? Every winter, he came out to the cliffs and prayed these things, his words being carried on the salty ocean breeze.
The Brass-Hares did not accompany him on these journeys, as he preferred to feel the total weight of his mind alone, (at least, this is what he told himself, that being lonely alone was more healing than being lonely among familiar faces). The Old Man would make camp for days at a time on the coast. Occasionally, he would spot a school of konder, a kind of large fish known for leaping to great heights out of the water, along with the graceful sea-birds, striking precisely into the water. The ocean is a lively place, seemingly free of the Darkness, as its waters wash away all filth.
The Old Man sat silently through the night, still watching over the icy cold waves crash against the rocks. The moon was full and colored everything a cool blue. In the quiet of the night, the Old Man heard a soft swoosh of a large wing. His head turned to see an owl perched on a fallen tree hanging from the edge of the cliff. The owl stared, its large eyes glinting in the moonlight. Very shortly thereafter more wings were heard. The owl paid no heed to the large corvid that had landed next to it on the branch. “Quite peculiar indeed!”, the old man thought to himself. “A pretty picture you lot are!”, he exclaimed in wonder at the pair. He got no response. The three sat in suspense for quite some time before the owl took flight. The corvid stayed behind.
The Old Man spent the next day gathering herbs and fishing, along with gathering firewood. He managed to snag 2 rather thin beanfish, which he coated in herbs and roasted over the fire. The corvid watched him do all these things, never too far away or completely out of sight. Gliding down from the trees around the Old Man, the corvid looked curiously between the former and the fish he was holding. “Y’know, I’ve been watchin’ you all day and I think I may know you’re up to something. You must be hungry from waiting around all day. Here, take it.” He reached out with half the fish and the corvid carefully and slowly approached his hand. The corvid pinched the fish in its beak, and without eating it, flew off. “Strange…”, he muttered to himself. “Corvids have quite the personality but the way it looked at me was strange.” That was the only word he could produce to relay the feeling he got from the corvid. There was a certain smell about it that was somewhat familiar. Several minutes after the corvid flew back out to sea, the Old Man’s gaze focused on something in the water. A shimmer caught his eyes. No, not just a shimmer, but a flame.
The feelings hit him all at once. He is no longer alone. Someone has found him and his beloved land. What would this mean for him and his creatures? Who were these mysterious strangers coming by way of sea? “Oh… oh I know that smell.” He had made the connection in his mind between the odd behaviors and smell of the bird. “It was trained by elves. Quite interesting. I suppose a few hundred years is a bit of a long time without a visit.”
He was more nervous than he knew. His body, although strong, was shaking at the thought of conversing with someone other than the woodland creatures. He built his fire slightly larger so that they might be able to see it more clearly. An hour went by, then two, then three. The fair sized vessel, not much larger than a fishing boat, finally got within a few hundred skot of the cliffs. The old man trekked down a trail he had made previously through the brush and rocks, down to a small shore, where he then built a new fire to signal to the boat where to land.
The old man concealed himself in a cloak, standing away from the shore at the base of the path up the cliffs.
“Ahoy there!”, cried a young voice from the boat.
No answer was given from the Old Man.
The boat pushed into the shore, safely landing.
The Old Man kept his distance.
“Permission to come onto land? We don’t mean to intrude but we’ve been many days at sea and have never been up this way. Dare I say, I didn't think anyone had ever ventured this far north of Jovinscarr.” The Old Man stood there in complete and utter shock.
A few moments of silence passed before the young man slid over the gunnel and fell gracefully to the beach. Both of the birds from earlier were perched atop the bow of the boat, looking on with much curiosity. The Old Man kept his hood lowered so as to not reveal himself, but the young man was completely visible to him. “Am I intruding?”, the young man asked with much concern.
The Old Man remained silent and still. “This can’t be…”, he thought to himself. “Out of all the people to have found me after all this time… this young man shows himself in the splitting image of… no. I refuse to believe it.”
Standing on opposite sides of the fire, an eternity seemed to have passed. “I seem to have landed on a shore I shouldn't have; I’ll leave you be-”
“Don’t go.”
“So he speaks!” exclaimed the young man to much astonishment.
“You may be welcome here, but not without spending some time in my care, that I might hear some news of Jovin.”
“What interest do you have in Jovin?”, the young man asked, lowering his hood. His silver hair poured out in long locks.
“It is of no coincidence that the land you hail from is named Jovinscarr, after Jovin Ithin, correct?”
“Yes, that is correct, did you know him?”
The Old Man paused for a second. “Yes, I knew him very well. I had no clue he had come to this new land.”
Those words struck the young man with a great sense of outlandish shock and surprise! “This ‘New Land’? Good sir, how long have you lived here? Since before the founding of our empire? Who are you?”
There was another long pause.
“Jovin’s name is one I haven't heard in quite a time. In fact, it’s one of the only names that come to mind from the old land. You see, Jovin is my brother.