CrownedSun/BloodbornAndTheTrees

Back to CrownedSun/BloodbornAndTheTrees/Flashbacks

Reader's Note: This is prior to my decisions about handling the formatting of the entries. I don't have the original flashback, so I'm not reverting it.

Bloodborn and the Trees

the Scene

A massive and gnarled oak grows here, it's leaves covered in snow and frost, yet tall and proud and ancient -- a beackon of resolution and wisdom in the midst of its' younger siblings chaotic ramblings. It's back is bent, it's face and skin gnarled, yet it remains by far one of the most impressive signs in this part of the forest.

The other trees nearby are considerably younger, fresh-faced youth scrambling for a spot of honor near their elder. Others seem as old but not as majestic as the old oak, bent or disturbed in some way. Odd knotholes lace the trees clean through, scars gouge into the wood or split the tree in two. Old signs of violence, long since scabbed over and healed as much as they would. Other signs could be seen as well; some of the older trees show signs of fire, long long ago, while the old cast-offs of dead trees litter the ground. Long since petrified, they linger about here and there .. buried a bit in the ground, or just laying under a light coating of snow...some quite oddly shaped indeed.

In the midst of the clearing, almost covered in grass and snow, is an old crack in the earth -- wide and deep enough for a man to fall within. The massive trunk of a petrified tree lays forgotten within. Even some of the branches still remain attached, converted to hard rock and lost within the small crevice.

One tree looks almost like a man, with two legs buried into the ground and two hands reaching up for the sky. The resemblance is only partial however, but it's somewhat comical to look upon.

the Action

Bloodborn steps forward, not yet seeing Ayillara (another PC). He is once more clad in human skin, his silver fringed cloak held close. This place... reminds him of old dreams. Slowly he walks through the massive trunks, and for a moment, his pride, his struggles, are forgotten, and he is just a small, skinny young man barely older than a boy. His hand lightly passes over the trunk of the tree, as though he NEEDS to feel the cold, rough texture...

the Vision

Your hand touches the bark of the ancient tree, feeling it's age -- the wisdom and history kept witin, the memories that lie dormant within it -- and within you. Your mind casts back, to long ago, when an Ancient Wolf Lunar leaned against an strong tree -- the only one to remain standing and whole -- to steady himself from the sight before him.

The forest was a sight of devestation. The elements had been unleashed here, and the forest had felt their sting. Everwinter Forest had always been a place of ice and snow, but not like this. Some of the trees had been converted (only partially in some cases) to ice, while others were snapped or gouged by great spears of ice that fell from the sky. Nor was air the only element unleashed.

The scent of burned wood was strong in the air, and one tree had been half-pulled down into the cracked and broken earth. Others had grown faster on the inside than the out, bursting and scattered across the ground. Yet the Wolf was not put off guard by shattered and wounded trees...

The Dragon-Blooded lay about this copse as well, much like the trees in their condition. One had found himself reduced to oneness with his element, a living tree rooted in the ground, currently in bloom, Daiklave forgotten at his feet. Another was bleeding upon the ground, impaled upon a spear of ice that had found his stomach. Two had been burnt to char, while one had only been converted to ice from his waist down. The line of dead men and broken trees continued, off toward the encampment...

"Well," said a dry sarcastic voice, grieving the only way he knew how. "I suppose we won't have to worry any more about the Dragon-Blooded."

The figure leaning against the tree, the Wolf who had been staring in detached horror at what had been casually wrought, could not even bring a retort -- then, the memory faded.