Northern Forest of Tob
Two hundred years before Ainz Ooal Gown
Frode silently stalked through the forest, crouching along the brush as he stalked his prey of the day: a fully mature elk.
His bow was at the ready, an arrow knocked into place and ready to be fired once he got into position and took aim at the animal's heart.
For about three days and two nights, he was after this particular specimen. The people of his camp eagerly awaited his return with fresh meat, for their supplies were running out.
Their camp was closer to the border of the forest, aptly named the "Forest of Tob", which he and the other refugees learned passing through some unnamed town on their way there.
The younger man frowned, recalling the sequence of events that led him and his family to the forest, and all the sorrow and anguish that encompassed.
Previously, Frode and his family, which included his mother, father, and younger sister, had lived on the outskirts of a prosperous and fertile batch of countries, the most prominent known as Inveria, located near the center of the continent that housed other kingdoms like Re-Ruth and the Slane Theocracy.
Their village rested on that border between the two superpowers and the collection of countries around Inveria, serving as a marker for travelers. A fair amount of people passed through, bringing prosperity to Frode's home.
On the maps they were able to look at during their journey, however, this meant that Inveria was closer to the bottom of the map, or not on the map at all, since the locals primarily focused on the two kingdoms native to the region.
That was not to say the continent itself was small, but rather that the mapmakers of the kingdoms had a rather narrow view of the world around them, in more ways than one.
A majority of Inveria's population, a modest five million, were of a special collection of people known simply as the "Rainbow-Eyed People", known best for their superb magical and elemental affinity, as well as for their namesake: their uniquely-colored eyes. That did not necessarily mean all rainbow-eyed people lived in Inveria, for they were spread out across the surrounding countries immediately around Inveria.
Just about everyone who fell under this category was gifted in the ways of the arcane, their abilities taking closely after whatever element they were most attuned to. Those elements could further diversify into more niche categories that were related to their primary elemental affinity.
A rainbow-eyed caster might have an affinity for earth, but be able to cast spells that more closely resembled crystals or gems, or another with an affinity for fire might be able to cast magic that was closer to smoke.
Robes of certain colors would be worn to denote these affinities, to better understand the abilities of a rainbow-eyed mage. Whether it was Fate itself intervening or just plain coincidence, about half of Frode's group were brown, with the other black.
Brown was used for earth, just as blue would be used for water, red for fire, and white for air. Those same colors would be used for the other specialities of magic. Black, on the other hand, was usually used to denote a mage who fell outside of the elemental affinities, or for someone who practiced…darker arts, like necromancy.
Necromancers were not unheard of, and given how magical the rainbow-eyed people were, it was expected a few might specialize in it. That didn't mean that certain stigmas against necromancy went away, and in the countries around Inveria, necromancers were frowned upon and their existence a product of the eccentricities of outside forces.
Regardless, King Invern and Queen Annie Fasris Invern, the royal couple, did well in governing the nation of Inveria, ensuring the people were well-educated, able to pursue their goals and ambitions, and that trade relations with nearby nations were flourishing.
Indeed, it seemed as if their smaller but developed country would be fit to rival even the juggernauts of the continent, eventually rising to become a superpower in politics and expansion.
At least, it was supposed to be, until the day everyone in the nation of Inveria, and the countries surrounding them, was excruciatingly transformed into the undead.
Only those on the very outskirts like Frode's village were spared, the effects widespread and devastatingly equal up to the three superpowers.
Sallensburg served as a safe haven for those fortunate enough to be present there, whether on business or just passing through. They were unable to confirm what exactly caused such a tidal wave of undead, but what they could confirm from the few who braved passage back into those lands was that there were no other survivors.
Eventually, even Sallensburg fell as the onslaught of undead grew too great, and the survivors made an attempt to escape with their lives. The journey took nearly a year, due to the fact they had a limited amount of horses and constantly having to make stops along the way to camp and rest.
Of those who lived to see the end of their exodus, there were some odd one-hundred and fifty, though they began the journey with around two hundred people.
In this new land, they were looked upon with skepticism and hostility. Not many knew of their rainbow-eyed heritage, and it was likely best that it remained that way. Should the wrong parties learn of Frode's background, they could invite the wrath or sadistic curiosity of those unsavory enough to pursue them.
Not to mention that, from the tales Frode and his people heard, individuals not truly regarded as "human" from countries like the Slane Theocracy would likely be discriminated against and hunted down as a rule. There were very few they could trust.
Frankly, it was disgusting behavior through and through, and it was the primary basis as to why he and the others chose such an isolated area like the Forest of Tob.
Which brought him back to the present.
The elk stopped in a small clearing with an ample amount of sunshine, lowering its head to begin feeding. The younger man crouched behind a nearby bush, settling into position and getting ready to make his move.
"[Eyes of the Eagle], [Ears of the Wolf], [Tongue of the Snake]," he whispered under his breath, feeling the magic flow through him and take effect.
His vision was enhanced, so that if he missed the deer he wouldn't lose sight of it. His ears got the same treatment, so if somehow he couldn't see the elk, he could hear its footsteps.
The last spell, [Tongue of the Snake], would seem strange to an outside view, but it was one that Frode felt was important for his hunt.
Frode stuck part of his tongue out while he concentrated, carefully eyeing the elk grazing on grass and moss. Its ears were laid against its head, indicating that it was relaxed and felt safe.
He pulled back on the drawstring, his muscles and bowstring growing taunt. His breath stilled, and the world seemed to slow around him as he truly focused.
Breath in. Breath out. Breath in. Breath out.
Fingers loosened, beginning to slide off the string and unleash the arrow. Fresh meat would be a welcome addition to their food stores, especially after all the setbacks he and his family suffered.
"Hey, are you going to shoot that elk?"
The sudden voice startled Frode so much his fingers slipped and sent the arrow hurtling completely off the mark he planned. The light whistling the arrow made as it sailed through the air caught the attention of the elk, whose ears perked up.
It bolted off between the trees, Frode's enhanced ears hearing every "clop" of its hooves as it got further and further away. His mind was elsewhere at the moment, so really it served as background noise for the young man.
"Who said that?" he asked, whirling all around to find the source of the voice. "I don't want no trouble. I'm just trying to feed my family and friends, I promise."
His bow already had another arrow knocked in, but he kept it lowered into a defensive position. If he could talk his way out of a potential confrontation, that would be the best course of action.
"You have friends and family here? Are they like you?" the voice sounded again, not really having a direction to it. "I heard you using magic, are you a mage?"
"Well...yes, I suppose I am. Though I'm not as adept at magic as I would like to be, since I'm still learning the specifics of it," Frode admitted, his earlier wariness fading but a faint cautiousness persisting.
"That's so cool! I didn't think I would get to meet another magic user out here!" The voice said again, this time having a discernible direction it was coming from.
Dirt being uplifted and the sound of roots twisting and groaning filled the air, as did the clacking of rocks as they were smashed or otherwise shifted out of place. The ground beneath him seemed to become softer.
He turned, noticing now that there was a clearly-marked path that didn't exist there before. Frode rubbed his eyes, wondering if maybe it was a trick of the light.
"Come through here and meet me!" The voice said excitedly, "I don't really have a whole lot of other people to talk to, so it would be nice to have you here for a bit."
There was such a childish earnestness to the request that it felt almost like his younger brother was begging him to come along and skip stones across the creek. Yet at the same time, there was an old wisdom to those words, echoing and authoritative.
It was how Frode imagined a tree would speak, which was a possibility given the diversity of magic wildlife that existed in the world at large. Not to mention something about the way this mysterious individual spoke soothed him, relaxing his muscles and making him feel at ease.
He placed the arrow back into the quiver attached at his hip, and then shouldered his bow. Slowly, he began to walk along the path the trees made for him when they separated.
Each tree he passed creaked, stray roots slithering out of the way so that he wouldn't accidently trip. In the gloominess of the shadows between each trunk, he could make out several pairs of eyes watching him curiously.
At the other end of the admittedly short path, he came upon a clearing that would easily serve as a meadow, complete with idyllic flowers and content animals bathing in the sunlight.
Frode's jaw dropped, noting that there was perhaps a herd of elk larger than some workhorses, having blue, glowing antlers with seven points. Their fur shimmered with an ethereal radiance.
Foxes danced between their legs or slept alongside the elk nestled down in the grass for an afternoon nap. Their fur was a combination of metallic red and black, making for a smoky coloration pleasing to the eye.
Birds of all varieties chirped and sang songs to one another, both predator and prey. Ravens crowed to blue jays, and blue jays chirped to woodpeckers, relaxed around one another.
But none of this compared to the being who sat in the middle of the meadow, gently stroking the back of an absolutely massive owlbear, which nuzzled its beak into the offered hand.
An absolute titan of a creature, Frode guessed it would stand nearly as tall as a middling oak, or about the height of a human man and a half. Even sitting down, it towered over him. Its limbs were thick all around and bustling with greenery from his spare branches.
The bark of the being's body was a brown so light it almost appeared white in hue. The leaves that grew from the canopy upon the crown of his head provided ample shade for those which would stand beneath it.
Crude shards of wood served to create facial features for the giant, crackling with each minute movement he made. Its fingers were sharpened branches, and the toes of the trunks it had for legs had sprawling roots.
Frode considered himself reasonably educated, from the scholars who accompanied his group to the Forest of Tob. They instructed him not only in all manners of magic, which he still was learning to wield properly, but also in the types of magical creatures that were bound to inhabit places like the forest.
His heart raced, and so did his mind. His breath hitched at seeing such a rare and powerful specimen, a living guardian of the forest in the flesh.
"Y-you're a Treant," he said, amazed.
Words failed to help him fill in the rest of his sentences, so he just left his statement as it was.
The treant lifted its head, amber gold eyes crinkling as it smiled, showing off bark teeth.
"Yep! I'm a treant, because I figured if there was any one race that would be able to become a protector of the wild, then what better than a treant, huh?" it said, still petting the dozing animal next to it.
Treants were an extraordinarily rare denizen of the world, if only because the exact specifications of their birth were unknown. The few times an explorer or adventurer was able to speak with one, they were tight lipped about the matter, almost as if they were ashamed of something.
Frode recalled stories from his childhood of a treant that supposedly lived in a forest a few leagues from his old village back on the outskirts of Inveria, but those who followed said legends always came back empty handed.
As a whole, treants were supernaturally strong, able to rip out entire trees with their bare hands and use them as weapons of war. Boulders were mere pebbles to be lobbed, and the animals of their domain were useful combatants should the ire of a treant ever be earned.
Which meant it was fortunate that in nearly all encounters with a treant, they were peaceful by nature, serving more as gardeners and tenders of their home than outright warriors.
Allegedly, dryads were common followers of treants, but unlike their larger cousins, dryads themselves were more reclusive and unwilling to mingle with others outside of their home forest.
There were few opportunities to meet either races, which meant any knowledge on their lives or their traditions were few and far between.
To see a treant with his own eyes, to actually be invited to converse with one, was a rare treat indeed!
All past reservations gone, Frode quickly but respectfully walked up to the treant. He got close enough that he could make out the patterns in the owl bear's fur, to which it growled with warning.
"Hey, there's no need for that. This is a nice man here, you be nice too," the treant admonished softly. The animal relented, but eyed Frode warily.
Not really sure what to do with himself, the young man pretended that he was meeting one of the royals of Inveria, and gave a half bow.
"I–This is–You have no idea how much of an honor it is for someone like me to meet one of your caliber. My name is Frode, your… treeness?"
The treant laughed at that, an innocent one like a childs. "You don't need to do that! You can just call me Grover, Grover Sprigganson. It was my username back in Yggdrasil."
Frode frowned in confusion at the new terms. "Username? Yggdrasil? I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with those words, Lord Grover."
"…I don't know if I like 'Lord' in my name. I just like Grover. Also, a username is like a nickname! My old name was too boring, so I chose this name when I became a treant! Yggdrasil is also a game I used to play."
"Er, sorry, I'm just trying to make sure I don't disrespect you in any way, of course. I don't want you to feel like I'm trespassing upon your domain, or that I'm overindulging in the resources of this place."
While he said this, Frode's mind was working overtime to understand the information Grover gave him about himself. A username was like a nickname? That seemed straightforward enough, but what did Grover mean when he "became" a treant?
Yggdrasil evidently was the name of a game that the massive guardian played, but what kind of games would a treant even play? He supposed treants as a whole needed something to occupy their time when they weren't fulfilling their duties to the forest.
Even still, any new tidbits he could learn from this specimen was exceedingly precious, which meant he would need to do his absolute best to keep him talking for as long as he could.
"I just wanted to tell you, elks aren't in season for hunting," Grover imparted to Frode, catching the lost-in-thoughts man off guard. "It's winter! Elk are supposed to be hunted in the fall. If you hunt them at the wrong time, then their population won't be as big, and that'll eventually lead to extinction."
Getting the sense he was being gently reprimanded, Frode took another half-bow. "My apologies. I-I've hunted these animals only a short while. I mainly hunted deer back home, and my group is desperate for any fresh meat we can find. Our gardens are so far yielding nothing, even with the help of some of our nature magic."
To Frode's surprise, Grover's face brightened with delight. "Oh! You have friends? Do they need help? Are they lost like you were? I could help them, if you just take me to them. I know lots of things from my teacher about nature, so maybe I can teach them how to do things too!"
"I wasn't 'lost', so to speak, though I'm not familiar with this forest," the young man admitted. "However, my family and friends do need help. Anything you can offer would be greatly appreciated."
"Great! Let's go right now, I'll give you some food too," the treant said, beginning to stand up. The animals closest to him stirred, getting up themselves or creating distance to give the titan enough room to move.
Grover's bark groaned with his heaving movements. "Before we go, I was wondering about those spells you used earlier, while hunting the elk, what were those. I've never heard of them before."
"Uh, well, they were just some lower-tier spells that I use to help me hunt. [Eyes of the Eagle] lets me have better vision, while [Ears of the Wolf] gave me better hearing. [Tongue of the Snake]… I'm not sure how to really describe it."
Though he said this, Frode knew he could describe the ability of that particular spell just fine. It was explaining why he used it that would prove more difficult. He feared accidentally upsetting or angering Grover in any way, and potentially losing out on the help the sage being offered.
After musing on it a moment, he reached the conclusion it was best to just speak honestly. If Grover decided that he was not pleased with his answer, then Frode would grovel and plead for forgiveness if needed.
"[Tongue of the Snake] is a spell that allows me to speak to animals," he said, "I use it every single time I can when hunting a larger animal for food, so that they can understand me and what I'm saying."
Grover frowned. "I don't understand how that helps you hunt. Don't you use a bow?"
"I do. But you see, I use it after I complete a hunt, when I've managed to take down an animal and need to-to finish them off. I use [Tongue of the Snake] to comfort them in their last moments, to let them know that they're not dying in vain, and that I'm grateful for their sacrifice…"
He trailed off at the end of his explanation, carefully reading Grover's facial expressions to gauge his feelings on the matter. From what the young man understood about treants, they kept their emotions under tight control, always exuding a calm and wise air that made it seem like they were constantly in control, or even aloof from a situation.
In that manner, they removed themselves emotionally to better judge whatever caught their attention. Should a treant ever openly reveal their emotions, it meant that whatever it was they witnessed or were told was so distressing they couldn't control themselves.
Usually, it was an indication that unfathomable wrath was about to come the way of whatever displeased the treant. Wrath that would tear the very forest they protected asunder.
Which is why Frode's heart dropped right into the soles of his shoes when he saw everything he remembered about treants flash across Grover's face. First, it was confusion, unable to comprehend what it was that he was getting at.
Second, the kind of rage that would make a man contort his face passed through, the treant's amber eyes darkening as he finally realized some of the implications of [Tongue of the Serpent].
His muscles were tense, ready to bolt and get as far and as away as possible, to reach his camp as quickly as he could to warn his family and friends of the force of nature that would come their way after chasing after him, if he even made it that far with the wildlife hot on his heels.
Frode's breath caught in his throat when Grover stared at him, long and hard, his fists clenching and unclenching. The animals picked up on his mood, getting antsy and huffing aggressively in the human's direction.
A tense minute passed, stretching onwards into eternity. A single sweatdrop trailed its way down his temple and off his chin, dripping into the dirt below him.
Thankfully, the anger of Grover passed when he took a deep sigh. "The animals you hunt, when you speak to them, you make sure to tell them you're sorry? That you only hunt because you need food? You don't make fun of them when you kill them?"
"No! I-I would never do such a heinous thing! I would rather fall onto my own arrows than ever amplify the suffering of an animal," Frode spoke, "Every hunt, I make sure they're as comfortable as they can be, and that the final kill is as painless as possible. I talk to them the whole time, to distract them from whatever little pain there might be."
"That's good!" Grover smiled, a beam of sunshine that warmed Frode's heart. "My teacher always said that we should be 'humane' when we kill animals for food, or use them for anything, like farming! That way, everyone can benefit from the relationship, especially nature!"
"Your teacher sounds like he is very wise. What is his name?"
"Oh, his real name is…," Grover made a curious gesture, sticking his tongue out in thought. It was remarkably human, and while it was endearing, it was simultaneously strange to see something so far removed from a human performing a human action.
"I can't remember his real name actually," Grover admitted, tucking his tongue back in. "I do remember his username though! We used to play together in Yggdrasil a lot. He would always help me out with stuff like quests and raid bosses. His name was Blue Planet."
"Blue Planet," Frode repeated, testing out the word. "Such a unique name. He taught you everything you know?"
"He taught me a lot, yeah," the treant agreed, "But I can tell you and your friends more when we get to where you live. Lead me there, and I'll help you."
"Yes, of course, Lord Grover," the young man replied, pointing in the rough direction of his camp. "If you could, would you move the trees so that we have a better path? I don't want to have to cut my way through the brush and saplings if I don't have to."
"I knew we were gonna be good friends the moment I heard you in this forest," Grover said with delight, raising a hand glowing with multiple rune circles surrounding his forearm.
In an instant, the trees obeyed the treant's unspoken command, their roots breaking free of the dirt and moving their titanic weight out of the way.
Both man and protector of the Forest made their way down the new path, excitedly chatting and sharing stories the whole way, ready to begin the next and arguably most important part of their lives.
The Spriggan Settlement
One and a half months before Ainz Ooal Gown
Hagnar Rolfsson sat quietly at his desk, scribbling in his ledger a list of figures regarding some of the recent lumber sales he and his group made with the fortress city of E-Rantel. He was in his office at the top of the townhouse he and his family lived in.
In the days that followed that fateful meeting with Grover Sprigganson, Frode and his people saw phenomenal change. A spiritual awakening occurred, altering the course of the refugee groups' future in a way none of them were able to predict.
With Grover's down-to-earth insight and knowledge of agriculture, animal husbandry, and nature preservation, Frode and his companions were able to make a permanent home for themselves in the Forest of Tob.
In the three years that they were graced with the treant's presence, the brown-robed individuals of Hagnar's ancestors were able to hone their magic and become fully-realized druids, tenders and protectors of the forest and all its life.
Where animals struggled to survive and to thrive, the druids stepped in to give them a fighting chance and add into the complex ecosystem that comprised the Forest of Tob. For every resource that was taken, whether that be water, meat, wood, or stone, it was replaced two-fold by the druids.
The black-robed individuals, unfortunately, delved too deeply into dark and forbidden arts, trying their own hand at enacting meaningful change in the Forest of Tob. The cost of their magic was considered too great, for in order to fuel it, it required the sacrifice of life itself. The magic of those black-robed was necromancy, and its existence among Frode and the others deeply angered Grover.
Accounts of that split were sparse, even from Frode's memoirs. It was likely all recollections of that event were too painful to be logged down by those in the aftermath. No-one died, but entire families were torn apart, and lifelong friends turned their backs on one another to appease either themselves or Grover.
In the end, the black-robed individuals, those terrible knights, were driven out and forced to migrate somewhere else. Based on what Hagnar was able to glean, Grover didn't consider the art of necromancy itself evil, but rather how it was utilized by the black-robed individuals in those days.
Once the dust cleared and only the druids remained, they found other pressing concerns with a significantly-diminished population and a need to become more self-sustaining for the future. This need was how Hagnar's descendants eventually reached the path he and his own family followed.
His home, the Spriggan Settlement, became responsible for the selling and procurement of high-quality lumber to make trades with the closest and largest city that was within their vicinity.
Obtaining such a trade agreement had been a long and laborious process, but it was one that Hagnar's grandfather was able to accomplish, leading to their long-term success. With that agreement came a few perks, like having workers from E-Rantel supplied to bolster the (admittedly modest) population of the Spriggan Settlement.
Which reminded Hagnar, he needed to go out and check up on some of the other wares that the settlement produced.
He stood up from his desk, grabbing the ledger and quill he'd been writing with. He smoothed down his embroidered brown robes, stitched with mementos of his family history. It was passed down to him from his own father, and he took great pride in wearing it.
The first destination in mind was the greenhouse, to check up on their specialized produce. Already he could see it, a glass dome made from a design that Grover taught his ancestors.
Through the glass, he could see one man tending to the crop plots, while another was carefully managing a beehive, his arms covered in a swarm of honeybees.
Hagnar carefully opened the door to the greenhouse, making sure not to let any stray bees fly out, or startle the two men who were hard at work.
They heard the light squish of his feet on the soft ground, causing both the men to look at the patriarch with a smile.
"Hello Pops," the one handling the bees greeted affectionately, "Here to write down some of the numbers again? We were just about to send in the reports, but if you're here, that saves us the trouble."
"That would be good, thank you," Hagnar said, opening his ledger and flipping to the page labeled Homegrown Wares.
"Some of the rarer medical herbs from the Forest started growing. It's slow business, since I use up so much magic, but I think we'll get the first harvest in time for the traders," reported the man growing the plants.
He gestured to an array of pure white flowers, not unlike roses in their shape. "Nearly lost a hand to an angry beast trying to get the seeds, but here they are. I'd reckon to charge hazard pay!"
The three of them chuckled, not really taking the suggestion seriously. When it came to medicine, they never overcharged, always ensuring the price was fair but profitable enough.
"The bees have been real happy, too," the beekeeper said, "I've gotten almost a dozen honeycombs from the new hives. I can probably get another two to three out of this one."
"Good, very good!" Hagnar said, scribbling down the numbers. "I didn't think we'd see anything growing for another month or two, since this greenhouse is so new. Glad to see you haven't lost your touch."
"You know us, Pops. If we're not out plowing the fields, then we're in here taking care of the flower beds," the gardener beamed with pride.
Hagnar nodded in agreement. "I'll leave you to it. I still need to go check up on the others, make sure they're doing alright. Don't overwork yourselves now."
After some noises of agreement, the older man left the duo to their own devices, mentally making a note on where he wanted to go next.
This time, he headed directly to the lumber mill. The sounds of saws and men yelling to each other over the noise drowned out all else. There were significantly more workers at the lumber mill, as it required many hands to run efficiently.
As it so happened, Hagnar's son, Bjorn, and his own son, Svend, were loading up another log when he came over. Once they spotted Hagnar, they waved at him, prompting the elderly man to get closer.
"Good to see you, Pops," Svend cheerily said, giving Hagnar a hug. That was something he appreciated, his grandson being so affectionate with him.
Bjorn clapped him on the shoulder instead when he came up, being more reserved. "I thought you'd still be in your office. What brings you out here? You know you shouldn't be this close to the mill, or the last of your hearing'll go out."
"They're all lies. My hearing is fine," Hagnar joked, "I wanted to get some fresh air, and to get the numbers from the mill myself. Much faster than having to wait for someone to come tell me."
His son chuckled, as did his grandson. Dutifully, they filled him in on the daily numbers without much delay.
Bjorn was his firstborn son, a large, burly man who surprisingly took after his mother more, rest her soul, than he did Hagnar. While Bjorn wore the demeanor of a gruff, tough manager, he was really much softer at heart.
Hagnar's other son, Arne, was much the same way, but with a slimmer physique than his older brother. Arne and Bjorn were his only children, and Svend was his only grandchild.
Svend certainly inherited the stronger disposition, but with a body that closely mirrored his uncles. In a stark contrast to any of his immediate family, the youngest man wielded a strength that could easily rival several men all at once.
Once, in a contest of strength, Svend had lifted an entire oak trunk by himself in front of new workers straight from E-Rantel. Hagnar often smiled fondly on that particular memory, if only because it reminded him of his younger days.
Not all of that strength was entirely from Svend, however. Some of it was a gift from his own mother, who had disappeared some years before. They never could find her, but those who disappeared into the Forest of Tob were rarely ever found.
"Some of the greenhorns've been getting kind of mouthy though," Svend told him, near the end of his report. "They were watching some of us practice magic, like the druids. They didn't like what they saw."
"That just comes with the job, sadly," the settlement patriarch said, "Not everyone understands or even likes magic, but if we're making goods and services, they'll stay quiet."
"I got it handled. None of the greenhorns'll start spouting off too much shit," Bjorn sighed.
Hagnar hummed in agreement, writing down the last of the figures he needed. Once he was satisfied, he bid his son and grandson farewell.
With the numbers for both the sawmill and their specialized medicinal products in hand, he would need to pay a visit to the pastures and fields where their general crops and livestock were held. That area was on the outside of the settlement itself, to provide more room to grow what they needed without worrying about taking up too much living space.
It was as he was about to reach the fields that he began to hear yelling around where the livestock and animal companions were housed.
A recent change of shift workers that accompanied the older man on their way also heard this, their heads lifted with alertness and confusion.
Rather than continue his way to the fields, Hagnar made his way to the source of the noise. Some of the men who were in front of him saw first what was causing the distress from the workers at the animal pens, and their initial walk turned to a panicked jog.
Hagnar attempted to keep up, but his advanced age was catching up to him at that moment. Thankfully, some of the other workers who noticed his presence among them stayed with him, leading the way.
What he first noticed was that a swarm of his workers, both native and E-Rantel born, were surrounding something that laid on the ground. Their crowd was so thick that he could not see past them without pushing forward.
He strode up to the group, the circle of workers noticing him and quietly letting him pass through. The sight that greeted him made him wince, and he crouched down as best he could.
"Pops, I don't think you should do that. Your knees…," a worker started, to which Hagnar huffed.
"I'm old, not helpless. I can still walk around, I don't need my own cane quite yet," he replied, not taking his eyes off the… thing in front of him.
At first, he wasn't able to process what he was looking at. A part of him said it was the carcass of one of their cows, mutilated in a way that said something fed upon it, and recently too.
But as he kept looking at it, he noticed oddities that shouldn't be on a corpse ravaged by ordinary predators. The first clue that told him this was that in the holes where teeth marks were present, a strange, gray mucus oozed out that smelled horrendous.
The stomach area was ripped open, but a curious lack of organs were present, even when Pops lifted open a flap and peered inside. From the inner rib cage leaked more of the gray fluid.
"Strange...all the organs are gone, but there's still all this meat left," Hagnar commented, standing up and walking around the body.
Along the spine were thin gashes, like from the claws of a forest wyvern, or a particularly aggressive and large wolf. Parts of the vertebrae were missing, leaving gaping wounds. Similar wounds were present all across the body, where flesh was split open and bones were taken out.
"Any other remains I should know about? Nobody was mangled, I hope?" he asked the resident supervisor.
The supervisor shook his head. "That's just the thing: cows didn't even get a chance to start grazing yet, when we found this. It looks recent, but it had to have been at night when we were all asleep."
Hagnar frowned. "I'm guessing you didn't hear anything, then?"
"No, Pops. Steffens might've, but he's been busy keeping his critters from stomping us to death. Something spooked them bad, and if something can spook an owl bear and forest wyverns, then it must've been a hell of a monster."
"...at least no other cows died. We'll need to check the forest, but later. I'll need to speak with our other friends too, but first, let me see Steffens."
The pastures were a space of around a hundred acres, primarily taking advantage of the open area on the outside of the forest border. While the settlers could expand into the forest itself, that would mean conflicting with the training of their more exotic animals, and possible conflicts between domesticated and tamed creatures.
It was meant for the animals to live in harmony in their natural habitats. A preventative measure to lessen the chance of wildlife or especially rambunctious tamed beasts from trying to feast on their cattle.
Speaking of which…
The man he wanted to question was a thin, but well-built trainer, a former adventurer from the Re-Estize Adventurer's Guild who spent his retirement working at the Spriggan Settlement, raising and training specialty animals for newer beastmasters to control and work with.
He looked the part of a mountain man, wearing a jerkin of animal hide and a bandolier of animal skulls from the first successful hunts of his favored pets. His red beard and hair grew wildly, and he possessed a crazed look to his eye that represented decades of wrangling some of the most dangerous beasts in the world.
His current projects were Judeau, a juvenile owl bear with a rare aspect not seen among most members of his kind: a pair of functioning wings. The others were a mated pair of forest wyverns named Ander and Rayna, though Rayna was taking a maternity break, and was due any day now.
All three of them squawked with a ferocity and panic Hagnar had never seen before. It took everything of Steffens's years of experience just to keep them from bolting. Several times, Steffens had to hop back to avoid being clipped by their floundering wings.
Ordinarily, the beastmaster would never bring them so close to the cattle, but had he left them alone back in the barn, it's likely they would've broken out in their state of terror and rampaged.
"Steffens!" Hagnar called to one of the men standing by, trying to calm his animals. "Everything alright? What's made Judeau and the wyverns so excited?"
"S'that body over there! It's got my animals all riled up. They don't like looking at it, and they don't like smelling it," Steffens said in a quiet, gentle tone, still trying to calm his charges while speaking.
"Did you get to look at it, Steffens? Body's got some nasty wounds, figured maybe you of all people would know what did it," Hagnar suggested, but already the resident beastmaster was shaking his head.
"It ain't natural's all I gotta say. Not everyday an owl bear and forest wyverns start panicking at free food. I've been doing this a long time, fought and tamed animals like small Sea Serpents to Dire Wolves, and not once have I ever seen something like this."
With that, Steffens turned back to getting the three animals back under control, beasts that, from what Hagnar had seen, were the dominant members of their respective food chains. Only the bold or insane would dare to face them alone and come out alive.
A combination of those traits allowed Steffens to be as effective as he was at taming, which was what led to the settlement patriarch hiring the man full-time when he approached him all those years ago.
He returned back to the body, studying it some more to see if he missed anything in his first once-over. It looked more or less the same, and when he asked some of the men to flip the animal over to its other side, it made a wet squelch as gray fluid squeezed out.
"Besides the gunk, I don't see any organs," Hagnar said, "There isn't any blood either, not a drop."
The grass surrounding the body was also devoid of blood. Not a single stain of crimson was to be found anywhere in close proximity to it. More and more of these clues unsettled the elderly man, especially since they didn't seem to point towards any culprit in particular.
He half-wondered if his group was on the receiving end of vicious pranksters, or the dark practices of a wayward cult in the area. He shoved those thoughts aside as foolish, because if that were the case, Hagnar and his people would have been informed of any trespassers in the area.
Though it was common practice for his old friend to come to him first on such matters, it never hurt to double check with some of his workers.
"Our friends didn't happen to see anything, did they? Maybe they could tell us something," he asked.
"'Fraid no, Pops," answered the supervisor on site, "this is too new. I thought if anybody knew something, they would've come and told you already."
Hagnar hummed. "Ah, a shame then. Can't really say I know more myself, and I won't know more 'till our friends come by and tell me. While we're waiting, though…"
He turned to address the crowd of workers. "Just leave the poor thing alone for now. I'll assign double shifts to the pastures tonight, so get rest between now and then. Hopefully, whatever attacked our animals will come back for seconds, and then we can figure out what's going on."
Obviously relieved to be given the chance to get out of sight of the putrid mess, the collection of workers quickly continued on their previous paths, mumbling amongst themselves and glancing back at Hagnar and the corpse.
Now that they were gone, the older man decided he could come back later and get the figures needed from the supervisor, preferably after he had the chance to assign a group of able-bodied men to dispose of the body, something he would do as soon as he got back to the townhouse.
"Why don't we go back to the stables. Looks like you're having a hard time," Hagnar half joked, to which Steffens smiled back.
The pair of them, plus the trio of animals, made their way over to the primary barn where large tamed animals slept and ate. It was located close to a warehouse dedicated solely to storing animal feed and other commodities needed to keep the animals healthy and happy.
Both buildings, like the pastures, were kept on the outskirts of the Spriggan Settlement, but they were close enough to the forest that the animals never felt like they left their original home, and on days where they were not training, they would be allowed to roam and play.
Steffens pushed open the barn door, gently leading his mostly-calmed projects to their respective beddings. Judeau peacefully made his way into his hay, stamping it down and turning in many circles before sitting down and laying its head to rest.
Ander and his mate shredded up their bedding even further, the male forest Wyvern hissing at Hagnar and Steffens instinctively to back up. Both men obliged.
"Ander's got me a bit worried," Steffens confided as both wyverns nestled with each other. "I've managed to calm him down some, but I don't think the Marquis is going to appreciate Ander hissing and spitting venom at him while Rayna's pregnant."
"Did you write the Marquis that you want to try waiting for Rayna to lay her egg and for it to hatch? It might give you more time to train them," Hagnar asked.
The beastmaster grunted. "I sent him a letter already, but all I got was begging to make Ander docile enough for his son's birthday. Something or another about him and the hatchling growing up together. These are war beasts, not house pets."
"Sounds to me like a noble with more money than sense. But if I had to bet money on it, only you could tame a Forest Wyvern enough to play tricks for kids," the settlement patriarch chuckled.
"Now you're flattering me. I only got the Wyverns because of your partners, and it's taken too damn long to teach them as is. At least Judeau'll be going to somebody with some common sense."
Reaching into a pocket on his belt, Steffens pulled out three treats, strips of jerky, and tossed them to each respective animal, who greedily snatched them up.
"Since you mentioned it, who's Judeau being handed off to?" Hagnar asked while the beastmaster stroked the owlbears feathers.
"An adventurer named Isaiah in E-Rantel. I just had to raise Judeau to his adolescent years, make sure his wings didn't fall off either," Steffens explained, "once the traders arrive, I'll be heading out to drop him off"
"Having a bit of trouble letting this one go?" Hagnar teased.
"Ha! Hardly. Isaiah's still new at being a beastmaster. He has a lot to learn before he'll start training his own beasts to use. Me going is just to make sure he doesn't get eaten alive because he pissed off Judeau by accident."
"How long do you reckon you'll be gone for?"
Steffens wrinkled his brow in thought. "At the most? Probably two or three months. I wrote some old friends to come with the traders and keep an eye on the wyverns while I'm gone. I'd rather they not try and eat all the cows before I got home."
"Just so long as someone dependable is around to watch them," Hagnar said. He looked around, finding a crate that he could sit down on and rest his weary bones.
He let out a sigh, feeling some of his joints click and pop back into place. He didn't think he'd been on his feet for very long, and while he was healthier than a man of similar age, he felt himself getting more and more exhausted by the day.
The crate groaned as Steffens joined him. "You're getting old, Pops. How much longer until you hand things off to Bjorn, or even Arne, the lazy lout?"
"Maybe a year or so, give or take," he replied, "When you get to where I'm at in life, you find it's hard to let go of your only job in life."
"You and I both, old man," the mountain man agreed. They sat together for a moment, enjoying the peace of a calmer afternoon and watching the animals relax in their pens.
In the quiet that followed, Hagnar allowed himself to reminisce of his younger days, both enjoying and regretting bringing up those memories, for they inevitably drew him to the face of his late wife.
The pain of her disappearance so many years ago never dulled and never abated. It only grew more manageable as he learned to appreciate what he had in the present. The friendships he cultivated, the family still with him, and the work he did all served as distractions from that solitary pain.
He idly wondered, as all older men do, about certain what-ifs on choices he made. When the pain became too great, he thought about his own mother, and what wisdom she would impart to him in those times.
Should he have gone looking for her when she first left him? Should he have taken her offer to join her on her journeys when she came for him at the onset of adulthood? What if he called to her now? Would she answer him, or barely consider him with a fleeting thought?
There was a danger to those ideas, as he drew closer to the end of his days. He needed to focus on something else, lest he fall into the depths of his own mind and lose himself to a constant stream of pondering and regrets.
Seemingly reading his thoughts, Steffens spoke to him. "Pops, listen, I meant to bring this up earlier, but never found a good time. It's about my last trip into the Forest of Tob."
"Oh? I already said I don't mind you going in there alone, so long as you're prepared and safe," Hagnar said.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it, but that's not what I'm trying to tell you," Steffens said, "Do you remember the trip I took last week? The one where I went to snag some rock lizards for the animals?"
"I remember, but what's the matter? You weren't very chatty about it when you made it back home. Figured perhaps you were sore about not finding anything, or that you did and somehow it ran off."
"Not really, it was more because of what I ran across. I… found something in the woods, something that damn near spooked me, and I think it's the same thing that did that cow in."
"You did?" Hagnar asked, both surprised and somewhat upset that his friend initially lied to him.
"I oughta explain… I'd be pissed, too, if I found out one of my guys lied about not seeing anything when asked about it," his old friend said.
Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, Steffens sighed, rubbing his face. "I didn't want to say anything 'cause I thought maybe it was a fluke. Maybe a burrow grub got brave and a little too hungry."
"A burrow grub? Steffens, those are small fry out here. Even if it did kill the cow, I'd think it would bring dinner back to its den and eat it there."
"And that's what I thought too, until I went to bed that night," the mountain man said, "When I set up my bed roll and got ready to lay down, I remember something feeling off, a feeling that made my skin crawl."
Hagnar frowned. "Your skin crawled? What, like you were being watched?"
He meant it as a minor joke, given Steffens was describing being in a forest at night with a magnitude of nocturnal creatures keeping an eye on him. So it came as a surprise when Steffens nodded his head vigorously with wide, slightly panicked eyes.
"You probably think it's nothing, and it should've been nothing, but that's really what it was. Felt like I wanted to jump out of my own skin, ready to start running like hell. Thought somebody else was there whispering in my ear the whole time, too!"
"...songbirds get real mischievous sometimes. Sure it wasn't something like that?"
"No way in hell it could be! The whole time I thought I was about to get ripped to shreds, or get jumped by wolves. It was a long time before I felt tired enough to just pass out and ignore the feeling."
The entire time, Steffens spoke with a low tone to his voice, as if he was afraid to speak about the experience. His hands clenched the edge of the crate, almost turning white from force.
An uncharacteristic terror danced in the mountain man, who was normally so stoic. It was strange to see, made more apparent by the context of what should have been a normal expedition.
"When I woke up, I finally found what was watching me, and it might as well have killed me with fright!" Steffens continued, "In one of the nearby trees, I saw the body of an elk just… dangling there, oozing that same type of black shit like the cow."
"Missing organs and all?"
"Only reason I knew it was an elk was because I could see the stubs where the horns once were. They looked ripped right out of the skull!"
"...last I checked, wolves don't take trophies. Anything that eats bones wouldn't eat horns either, they're too pointy," Hagnar said, rubbing his chin in thought.
"And no man in their right mind would butcher an elk like that," the beastmaster scoffed, "it's a bad omen we find something like that here. My dad always told me that 'once is chance, twice is coincidence'. I don't want to know what happens if we find a third."
"That won't happen. I'll start writing to people, making plans to stop this. Whatever is doing this, I'll make sure our friends step in and help take care of it," Hagnar offered, placing a hand on his old friend's shoulder.
It wasn't there long, as Steffens stood up from the crate and made his way to the barn doors. The settlement patriarch trailed after him, feeling that their conversation was beginning to draw to a close.
As he opened the door, he paused right there, appearing to contemplate something. The light bathed him so deeply that he looked like his own shadow, a sharp contrast as he stood on the threshold.
"I believe you, Pops… but I don't know what's doing this. I've never seen an animal do this, and quite frankly, it scares me shitless. I'd hate for this to become normal."
"That won't happen, I promise. When you go, go knowing we've got it covered," Hagnar reassured.
Both men went their separate ways, with Hagnar making his way back to the townhouse to rest. That familiar ache in his bones was returning, and his love of fresh air grew thin as a result.
"This'll all pass, I know it," he muttered to himself, the house in sight. "Just a coincidence. I'll talk to people, set out traps to catch what did this if I need to. I won't let anything hurt me or my own. Ain't no animal gonna scare us."
Strangely, he didn't sound very convincing to himself, despite repeating the same general message to himself all the way to the door.
When he pushed it open into the common area, he found his oldest son Bjorn and his grandson waiting for him. They were seated in the reclining chairs.
They smiled at him, Bjorn standing up to greet him. "Heya Pops. Thought you'd come back eventually. Heard what happened at the pasture, anything we gotta worry about?"
"I don't think so. Talked with Steffens about it, and he didn't really know either. He'd never seen anything like that before," he admitted, taking the now open seat with a sigh.
"The hell kind of animal does that though? It's bad luck to just leave food like that behind," Svend said.
"You're telling me," Hagnar replied, "All we can do is get rid of the cow and get some outside help. When I get the chance, I'm gonna go and meet up with our friends, see if I can–"
"Oh! Can I come with you? I've really wanted to for a while, but, well…," Svend excitedly asked, his cheeks light pink.
He immediately understood, Hagnar and Bjorn chuckling at once. Svend looked down, but glanced at him from beneath his hairline, awaiting his answer.
"Hold your horses there, my boy. I'm not going today, but when I do go, you can come along. I think I just want to sit down and take a nap today," Hagnar informed his grandson.
Svend looked like he wanted to try and convince him to try and go a little earlier, only to quickly stop himself and inclined his head in acceptance.
"Chin up, son. You can go and visit your girlfriend later. We're going to be busy for a while, especially since the traders are coming back into town in a couple' a weeks," Bjorn said, making his way to the door. He gave a look to Svend for him to follow.
"Be safe now. I'll see you boys for supper," Hagnar said, waving at them from his chair as they went out. Once the door closed for the final time, he sank even deeper into the chair to relax.
He looked to one of the windows, watching the workers bustle by. He rubbed his face, feeling weary, even though all he did was walk around collecting numbers in his ledger.
"Just a coincidence, that's all. It's like Steffens said: once is chance, twice is coincidence. There won't be a third time, I'm sure."
Later that evening
Two workers were making their way to the mess hall, their bellies rumbling for food after a hard day's work. They were jostling each other, sharing jokes and laughs as they passed other groups who were doing the same.
"And you would've never thought Arne could get his head stuck between the flat end of the saw blade and the wood holding it up!" The one on the left chortled, the right man joining in.
"Ay, I can't imagine the lazy ass doing anything but paperwork. He needs to just stay in the townhouse," the pair continued to laugh as they reached their destination. The one on the right pushed through the doors, holding it open for his friend.
The left one waved him off. "I'll join you in a second. I just need to go and find an outhouse real quick, make some room, ya know?"
His friend made a noise of understanding, walking in and linking up with another group seamlessly.
With that, he made directly for the nearest outhouse he could find, somewhere close to one of the warehouses. He was loosening his pants and just about to enter when a voice from behind him startled him.
"Do… all of you… need to use this… place?" it asked, innocently.
The man swore, readjusting his pants, which fell down from him nearly jumping out of his own skin.
"By the Four, what the hell kind of man plays a prank on another… right before he…" the man blistered, turning around with his fiercest scowl to address the one bold enough to interrupt him.
Only there was nobody there. He assumed at first that it may have been one of the younger workers, around Pops's grandson's age, based on how high-pitched the voice was. His head was on a swivel, glancing in all directions.
"H-hello? Is anyone there?" He called out. Most of the settlement was in the mess hall right now, he could hear their voices overlapping each other even from the great distance between him and the building.
Save for him, he was the only person there, or he should've been at least. All thoughts of relieving himself gone, he was on guard now, waiting for whoever it was that talked to him to pop out.
"Goddamn it, how's not the time for pranks! It's dinner time! You should be getting your ass to the mess hall," he tried again.
This time, the voice spoke back. "Mess… hall… Is that where… you go to… get food…?"
"Uh, yeah? That's why it's called a mess hall. Are you new around here? Is this your first day? Didn't think we were getting any newbies in yet."
"No… not working… just… watching… Would you… come here a… moment?" The voice said, coming now from the dark warehouse where sawn logs were stored. The man stared into the darkness of that place, the lanterns normally lighting it dimmed for the night.
While instinct told him to just go back to the mess hall and grab himself a plate of food, another feeling compelled him to start forwards. It was different, completely alien to his senses and somehow familiar at the same time.
It felt like an old friend was whispering in his ear, telling him that he would have all the time in the world to go and eat, so what was a harmless detour to the warehouse to check it out?
Afterall, some of the newer workers might have stored the logs incorrectly, not strapping them down right so they end up rolling over whatever poor bastard took inventory the next morning.
His skin felt cold, prickling like a thousand ants were crawling all over him. He wanted to scratch it but his hands refused to obey, remaining by his side as he kept walking.
The back of his neck bristled too, many eyes staring at him, keeping track of his every move. He wanted to bolt, to get out of their line of sight, but he couldn't because his legs already had a destination in mind.
Step. Step. Step. Step.
Thick fingers grabbed the edge of the open doorway, ready to lead him into the dark. He just needed to check on the wood, make sure it was stored correctly. Then he could go back and eat to his heart's content with nary a worry in the world.
He and his friends would all be together. They would all be together. They would all be–
"Oi, man, what the hell are you doing out here? I thought you were going to the outhouse?"
His friend's voice from earlier snapped him out of it, feeling like he just woke up in a cold sweat from a nightmare he could barely remember. His lungs were on fire, and it took him a moment to realize he was holding his breath.
He looked back, and he noticed the signature bushy, brown beard of his compatriot, giving him a confused look.
When he looked back into the darkness of the warehouse, he could hardly see into it. He swept his hair back with his hand, coming back slick with sweat.
"Sorry, thought I saw somebody in here, maybe another worker who didn't hear the dinner bell," he explained, as that made the most sense to him.
His friend tilted his head. "Huh? Don't see why anybody would be out here now. Come on, or your plate's gonna get cold."
"Yeah, yeah food sounds good right now," he agreed, taking a last look behind him as he and his friend made their way back. He pushed whatever happened to the back of his mind, brushing it off as the result of work exhaustion.
The Northern Forest of Tob
Three days before the Zuranon Disaster
Branches whipped around him, slicing his skin and beating at the exposed parts. Thorns tore into the soles of his boots, tearing them off of his feet as he ran. His pants, recently stitched and hemmed, were reopened and damaged by the brush in his path.
"TULIPA! TULIPA, WHERE ARE YOU?"
His voice reverberated through the bark of the compact trees, muffling in the dense foliage. Even the moonlight was sparse, beams of celestial light shining in scattered patches along the forest floor. That which was not lit was buried into the darkness of the ancient sentinels which dotted his vision.
"TULIPA!" he screamed, his vocal cords straining and his lungs feeling as if they were being crushed beneath a boulder. Sweat coated his brow, and his limbs shook from physical exhaustion. He forced his hearing to absorb every insignificant sound there was.
"Svend!" another voice replied from further in the tree line, a woman's. "I'm over here!"
Svend let loose an audible sigh of relief, the shadows which lapped at his heels seemingly receding and giving him a clear path forward. He still sprinted to where he heard the voice, his heart pounding and his blood roaring in his ears.
His bare feet tore into the earth, his adrenaline negating the pain of the thorns digging into his heels. He snapped any and all branches that barred his way.
"TULIPA!" he shouted, breaking past a particularly thick wall of twigs and dead branches into a large, circular clearing. Here, the full moon could shine unrestricted, the canopy of trees cut away by the caress of time.
Svend whipped his head around, searching for the source of the voice, desperately looking for the one he needed most.
A petite mass slammed into him with a cry, knocking the wind out of him and taking him to the ground. His laughter was pure and exhilarated when he realized who it was.
Her skin was as rough as tree-bark, and of the same color too. Her shoulder-length hair was a tumble of pine needles that poked at his neck and cheeks. She wore a simple, earthy tunic that went past the middle of her thighs.
Hers was the build of a runner, thin but strong in all the ways needed to provide long-distance sprinting. But in Svend's experience, he knew that she could not run very far from her home. At least, not without outside means.
"Tulipa!" he started, running his hands up and down her wooden body, "Are you alright? Did you get hurt on your way here? I got your message, but I wasn't sure what you were trying to–"
She placed a finger against his lips with a giggle, "Svend, you silly man! Why are you so out of breath? I knew you were excited to see me but I never thought you would have gotten here so quickly. Why do you look like you were just hounded by a pack of wolves?"
The young man's brow furrowed. "What? I got here so quick because you called me for help! I heard your voice while I was out marking trees to be cut down, but I couldn't see you...You told me to come here…"
The woman tilted her head, leaves and needles rolled off of her shoulders and fell into the lush grass. "But...you told me to come and see you too. You told me that you got some time off and to meet you here in our usual spot."
"Tulipa, that doesn't make any sense. You know dad has been working me like a pack mule. I think time off would have been the absolute last thing on his mind right now. As soon as I heard you, I came running. I didn't feel like there was time to wait for anybody else to come help."
She looked off to the side, her face deep in thought as she observed her surroundings. Yet, it was Svend himself who noticed the change before his beloved could.
"Is it just me, or has everything else just gone quiet?"
True to his word, the nighttime ambience had faded away, not even the wind to keep them company. Unseen eyes seemed to bore into the both of them, but when they twisted in all directions to spot the cause, they found nothing. They both got back to their feet, not letting go of one another.
The hairs on Svend's arm stood on end, and goosebumps prickled the surface of his skin. Every instinct within him yelled at him to run and to take the dryad in his arms as far away as possible.
The trees themselves appeared hostile, the shadows of their bulk bending in such a way as if to loom over them both. He could imagine faces, vague and clay-like, in the gloom, sneering at them both for crimes they were yet to commit.
"Svend," she said, her voice unsure, "Can you feel that, too? The trees...we need to get out of here, now."
"Definitely," he agreed, but when he turned to go back the way he came, he saw that a new thicket had grown where he had entered their private grove. When Tulipa turned to gaze at her own entrance, it was more or less the same way: completely sealed.
The trees leaned in closer, their branches interlocking and closing off the beams of moonlight which had lit their entire world. Thudding came from the distance, beyond the greenery that surrounded them both.
Svend pulled the dryad closer to his body, attempting to shield them both from whatever it was that held them in its clutches. The thudding became a clamoring boom, growing louder and louder in a steady beat that was reminiscent of footsteps.
"They won't listen to me!" Tulipa cried, her timber facial features scrunching in panic, "It's…it's like they're intentionally ignoring me. That shouldn't be possible!"
"Is there anything else we could do?" he asked, his teeth rattling with icy apprehension and the consistent shaking of the dirt beneath them.
"I don't know! These trees shouldn't be sentient yet! They should be listening to me. I don't know, I don't–"
"Hey, hey, listen to me," he said gently, despite the situation at hand, "We'll get out of here. Whatever it is, I won't let whatever it is lay a finger on you. I promise on the name of my father."
She smiled back at the human, cupping his face. "I know you won't. I won't let them either, whatever it is. I swear on the name of the Deep Roots."
Svend nodded solemnly, reaching for her left hand. She joined with him gladly, and the both of them twirled to face the oncoming noise.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
The great titans of the forest groaned, shards of bark and leaves flaking off as they bent to create a pathway. Their shade deepened around a shape nearly as tall as the oaks of the grove, wood cracking and splintering with each step.
It grabbed onto one of the trees for support as it stepped into the clearing, hesitating for just a moment. It snapped the oak in half with what looked like a gentle squeeze.
Svend planted himself in front of Tulipa, who herself tried to stand in front of the young man. Both of them panted, their eyes widening at the silhouette that avoided the moonlight that just barely peeked past the overgrown canopy.
What little brightness could make it through appeared to deflect from the murk of their visitor's titanic form, the grass crunching underfoot as it withered and died from its presence.
The young lumber worker felt feverish, and sweat pooled in the confines of the peach fuzz on his youthful face. The wood of the dryad's arm that he grasped crackled, and yellowed with age.
Each footfall was like thunder, slamming into the earth and leaving impressions a foot deep into the fertile ground. It, too, dried as the moisture inside evaporated with a hiss.
It gave off a presence of pure hunger, one which could engulf all in its path and never remained satisfied with its harvest. Its eyes glowed an eerie red, two pinpoints in the night that pierced the veil of serenity that a forest at rest offered.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
It came to a stop in front of the couple, mere feet away. It made no other movements other than to crane its neck to peer at them. Spear-like structures jutted from its head, which was elongated into a strange, pointed snout.
Its body was incredibly tall but lanky, with twig-like limbs but legs as thick around at the calves as trunks. All of this was obscured in the blackened pitch which clung to its frame.
The silence persisted, as the dryad, human, and odd beast engaged in a stare-down. It was only broken when the beast tilted its head in curiosity, reaching out with a razor-sharp finger. It let out a slight gurgle.
The tip touched Svend's sternum, who found himself unable to move or even breath. His blood felt as if it was boiling inside of his own body, and nausea threatened to make him hurl out the contents of his dinner.
Fear and some other authority forbid his body from stepping out of the way, or bringing out a weapon to defend himself. He was under the effects of the visitor, which simultaneously plagued and anchored him to his spot.
Tulipa trembled, clinging onto the young man's bicep as she watched with horrified fascination at the exchange. She was half tempted to swat away the appendage, to run back to her home tree and meld into it with her love in tow.
Much like her lover, she was confined into a state of stationary terror, one which left her vulnerable and at the mercy of the creature's whim. She grit her teeth in effort to move, but to no avail.
The lumber worker finally worked up the courage and mental fortitude to reach inside of his pant waist, pulling out a shiny but miniature dagger. It had been freshly sharpened and polished, though this meant nothing in the total eclipse that he was faced with now.
The beast reacted to this, pressing down harshly with its finger and puncturing his chest. The man gagged and choked on his own blood, which poured out copiously from the gaping hole in his body and from his throat.
Whatever held Tulipa hostage vanished, her fingers unclenching from the man's arm as he collapsed to the ground, spasming in his death throes. She let loose a screech of otherworldly malice and sorrow, her eyes glowing chlorophyll green as her magical might returned to her.
Roots exploded from the earth beneath her feet, shooting out at the offending being and lashing at its shadow laden form. But when the roots reached and coiled around its legs, they wilted and dried.
The beast bellowed in outrage, raising a massive fist above its head and swinging with full fury. The dryad never got the chance to scream, smashed within an instant of retaliation.
The creature lingered, its fist resting atop the crushed nature spirit before unhurriedly raising its bodily weapon. Sticky sap dripped from its fingers, drizzling onto the corpse of Svend as the beast waved its hand over him.
It looked at the hand afterwards, the sap absorbing into the shadows. The monstrosity clenched and unclenched its mitt, turning it over to look for more sap. The limb fell to the side, having lost interest quickly, before it returned its attention to the lumber worker beneath it.
His eyes stared glassily into the moon, crimson lifeblood draining between his teeth and flowing down the sides of his cheeks. Tears joined the stream, mixing in and being lost to the viscosity of the life fluid.
The knife had fallen from his grip, burying blade first into the dusty soil.
The creature returned to its full height, calmly grabbing Svend's corpse and cradling it in its arms, like a newborn babe. It also scrapped up the broken body of Tulipa, holding her in much the same position.
It stomped back the way it came, the trees parting before it like castle gates, their wood decaying and crumbling in its presence. Only when it passed the threshold did it glance over its shoulder at the destroyed grove.
"SVEND! HELP ME! I NEED HELP! SOMETHING IS CHASING ME!" it said, perfectly mimicking the voice of the now passed dryad.
"Hey Tulipa, want to meet me in our usual place? I got some time off…," it replied to itself, now in the boyish tone of the deceased lumber worker.
It chittered, shaking its head and scraping the protrusions against the higher reaching branches of the oaks. It faced away from the clearing then, continuing down its path and leaving the once-private abode to diminish.
The only trace left of either of the lovers was a patch of amber sap and dark red blood combining in the center, illuminated by the moonlight that was permitted to rejoin the grove.