Sauriv surveyed his surroundings, high above Derwydd. He was just using [Fly], a simple 3rd Tier spell, but its effects were breath-taking. The rays of the early morning sun hit Sauriv's face as he stared out upon the horizon, the sky a mix of the brightest golds and reds.

There was never anything this beautiful back home, Sauriv thought to himself. The skies were filled with too much smog to see the stars, or even the sun. But here… After a few more seconds, Sauriv finally snapped himself out of his admiration, and decided to get to work.

Looking down upon the outskirts of Derwydd, the Dragonkin spotted the form of Erato giving some orders to a few other Dryads.

Dryads were one of the Heteromorphic races that populated Yggdrasil. In the game they made their homes in trees littered throughout the world, and to cause harm to the forests they surveyed was to bring destruction upon yourself.

Of course, once you reach around level 50, the ones in the overworld generally stop posing any threat, Sauriv thought to himself as he floated down toward her. That wouldn't apply to Erato, however.

Erato was one of only four level 100 NPCs in Derwydd, and focused generally on the defence of the surrounding area. Her domain was all of the forest, and she had many abilities that aided in its protection. As well as this, because she was one of the crafted NPCs belonging to the guild, Erato was not confined to a tree as other Dryads were, and so could move anywhere freely without restriction. As Sauriv approached he noticed Erato look up and smile at him, causing the other Dryads to turn as well, and were already kneeling by the time he landed.

This has got to stop. Shaking his head to steel himself, Sauriv motioned for them to rise.

"Please do not be so formal. Each of us are friends of the forest, are we not? Actions such as these make me feel like a ruler instead of simply an ally to you all." The other Dryads seemed to be about to protest, but Erato cut in before they could voice their opinions.

"Forgive us, but as creations of you and the members of Derwydd, we feel it is our duty to pay respect. And as leader of the creators, we feel that the title of ruler fits one such as yourself, even if you do not accept it." The Dryad spoke calmly, and seemed almost angelic to Sauriv as the red light from the sunrise seemed to mix with the leaves of her dress, and for a moment even he believed her, but quickly shook himself from her spell.

"Regardless, I did not come here to chastise you. I came to ask what you were up to." He turned to look at the forms of the other Dryads, each standing to attention, before returning his gaze to Erato. She gave him a smile as she spoke.

"I believe it is my duty to be able to act on orders my master may give me, not only the ones he does. As such, anticipating your idea to better safe-guard Derwydd, we are here to improve its defences." She clasped her hands together and started to clap gracefully. "And might I say, what an excellent idea Lord Sauriv. Truly, if not for my ability to grasp your concepts, such an idea would never have befallen any of us." Sauriv stood there motionless as the applause was picked up by the other Dryads, although it sounded hesitant.

What is with her? Faënor wasn't like this. Sure, he listened to me, but that was because he respected me, not revered me. The Dragonkin sighed slightly, before focusing on Erato once more.

"Indeed," he said. "What an excellent idea, and to begin so soon. I am very impressed that you were able to realise this early." He could feel the questioning gazes from the Dryads behind him, but made a hand gesture behind himself so that Erato would not see. Feeling the others' stares return to normal, Erato started jumping for joy.

"Oh! To be praised by a creator! Truly marvellous! Truly, truly marvellous!" Her face lit up instantly, blinding Sauriv with its happiness, before returning to normal almost as suddenly, like a switch was suddenly flipped. "I am happy that your wishes are carried out, Lord Sauriv." Sauriv stood confused for a moment, before turning away.

"Yes…Well, alright then. I'm sure I can leave you to take care of that then? I have other business to attend to." As Sauriv once again took off with the use of [Fly] he heard the sound of Erato's reply.

"Indeed! I shall always obey the command of a creator! Always!"

How strange, Sauriv thought as he floated around the outskirts of Derwydd to take a closer look at its surroundings. Perhaps that was a part of her backstory? Or is this another one of the many changes this world has seemingly made to my NPCs. Ignoring the dread this thought brought him, Sauriv surveyed the horizon more thoroughly. Down below he was aware of the new trees being grown by the Dryads, the marching of the Ent Guard, as well as the footsteps of every Elf through the village. However, beyond the range of the forest, he was effectively blind, relying on his 5 senses without any use of a mini-map or his magical detection. These senses were not useless though, and he could see the other trees his [Earthen Senses] had revealed in the distance. He could also just barely, probably due to his incredibly high perception, see one of the camps that Faënor had told him about hiding in the trees. That was probably where Faënor was currently, and Sauriv had no intention of interrupting his work. Indeed, he had other things to do, and so slowly made his way back inside the forest, the trees creaking and straining to make room as he lowered himself into the wood.

First, he wanted to go check on the newly spawned Treants that Coeden had told him about, as he wanted to know how intelligent POP monsters were. Secondly, he wanted to check on his personal Grove, in order to make sure it was still spawning better monsters.

He had to travel further than normal in order to reach the groves. They were placed far away from the other parts of the guild so that it was hard for other players to find and destroy them. Once he finally reached them, he was immediately greeted by a bright light. This was the effects of the spell [Daylight], a 4th tier spell that permeated the room with sunlight. The Groves required sunlight in order to spawn monsters, and so that guild had resorted to this after they had had trouble in the past with aerial attacks. A creak of wood caused Sauriv to turn toward the sound, revealing a group of four Treants standing in front of one of the two regular spawning grounds. Sauriv was a little disappointed, but approached them none the less. The Treants looked at him expectantly, before the one at the front spoke.

"Thank… You… For… Visiting… Us… Lord… Sauriv." This one was a lighter colour than its siblings, and appeared to be the leader.

They did used to spawn a Treat Druid with them sometimes. I guess that's something you don't see every day. Sauriv stood for a moment inspecting them, before letting out his reply.

"Of course. I wanted to make sure the new members added to our fold were given a proper greeting. Any leader knows this to be fact." Although I'm still not sure if that position should be mine, he thought. When he finished, the giant tree leaned down to get closer to the Dragonkin.

"We… Are… Honoured… That… Our… Master… Is… This… Considerate," the Treant said. "That… Said… We… Are… Yours… To… Command… As… You… See… Fit." Sauriv raised a thin smile, and gestured toward the grey Tree.

"So, what might I call you, new warriors of Derwydd." The Treant gave what could be described as the world's slowest shrug, before returning an answer.

"That… Is… For… You… My… Master… To… Decide." Sauriv had only just realised, but the Treant had a much lighter voice than either Coeden or the leader of the Ent Guard.

Fitting with its colour I assume, Sauriv thought to himself. After pondering for a moment, the druid seemed to come to a conclusion.

"From now on, you shall be known as Birch. Rise as protectors of Derwydd." Birch gave a slow bow before getting back ono his feet.

"I… Am… Grateful… For… This… Name… Lord… Sauriv." The rest of the Treants bowed, and Birch lead them toward the exit. As he left, Sauriv called out for him.

"Before you leave, I have a question for you Birch. What level would you say you and your guard are?" Birch seemed to think for a moment, before finally giving a slow response.

"I… Am… Not… Certain… But… I… Would… Consider… Myself… Around… Level… 60… Or… So."

Level 60?

"Thank you Birch. You may return to your duties."

As the large grey Treant lumbered away, Sauriv thought to himself. Perhaps they did spawn from my Grove after all? Even the druids spawned with the Treants weren't that high a level. Sauriv shrugged his shoulders as he moved toward his own Grove. It was raised above the others and had the [Relic Class] item, a staff of oak, sticking out from the ground. He was sure his Grove was not capable of spawning monsters in the level 60s. Had he just been incredibly lucky? Whatever it was, it could wait. And what was another powerful being protecting Derwydd anyway?

This time, Sauriv was headed toward the elven village. Specifically, to one of the only arcane magic casters in Derwydd.

After all, he needed a few things.


As the Stalker floated invisibly through the air toward Faënor, the elf made one final note of this camp's security. Sloppy, it was all so sloppy. Faënor could have entered himself, killed their leader, made it look like an accident and be on his way without anybody noticing him. He had to be cautious, however. It could all be an act before they revealed some sort of trump card, of course. Unlike his master, Faënor had no ability to see the life or mana of other beings, and as such could not truly judge a creature's strength from anything more than their appearances and his intuition. Granted, these had served him well over the years, but it was wrong to be anything but cautious. That's what Sauriv had taught them, at least. Even so, no one at this camp seemed to be anything higher than level 20, and even after the stalker returned with news about the camp's leader, a four-armed demi-human with a number of magic items, he only upped that number to 30. Faënor smirked silently to himself, proud that his disciples were not nearly as weak as these creatures. After the stalker returned with its information, Faënor jotted down it down onto a scroll he was carrying, filled with notes on guard shifts and numbers involved, and headed toward the final camp. From what he could see from this distance, about two miles, it seemed to be the largest of the camps they had scouted. He sent the Stalkers ahead whilst he stayed behind at a safe one mile, just observing them. The residents seemed to be Bafolk, a type of Demi-human known for their strength, however none posed a threat to either Faënor or the Stalkers, from what he could see at least. He once again retrieved his parchment and started to jot down the types of guards situated around the outside.

General archers. I wonder what their accuracy is like. The bows do not seem to be enchanted, however. Interesting.

After some time Faënor noticed the return of one of the Stalkers. As it whispered to him, Faënor jotted down more information.

From the sounds of things, their leader is at least level 30. Not as weak as the others, but still not as powerful as my disciples or I. With the last piece of information acquired, Faënor signalled for the Stalkers to return to Derwydd.

This last camp did interest Faënor, however. As far as he was aware, in Yggdrasil, Bafolk were savages, and only came together in large groups during large events. In that case, the leader of that camp must not just possess power, but also cunning. Perhaps, if they were smart enough, there wouldn't have to be any sort of conflict between the two factions. Moving toward the camp wasn't tricky. In fact, entering it was no challenge at all. Under the effects of his skill {Nature's Stride}, coupled with the many items he was equipped with, no one under level 90 would be able to spot him without highly specialised perception. Entering, he spotted a great tent, at least compared to the rest, and silently entered it. It was regal in nature, being made of a fine purple silk around the inside. Clearly enchanted with a small amount of magic, the tent was sturdy even though it was made with this material, and it seemed to keep the cold air out in much the same way as Derwydd did. It was quite large, easily head height for these creatures, and it contained four Bafolk. One was clearly the leader, standing a head taller than the others even if they weren't currently kneeling in front of him. The leader grunted as he seemingly finished thinking, and quickly approached the brown-furred Bafolk.

"And you say you could not find these elves?" He seemed to be speaking through gritted teeth, and his imposing figure clearly intimidated the others.

"No Buser, we did not. In fact, there was no sign that there was anybody there to begin with." The three that were kneeling were facing away from Faënor, who was crouched near the entrance of the tent. They wouldn't be able to see him, but it paid to be sure.

So, someone saw us? My disciples were careless. I must give them a lecture about it when I get back.Faënor thought.

"So, you wasted my time Kajeet?" The leader named Buser growled, and slowly drew his sword, its faint yellow glow revealing it to be magical.

"No Bus… I mean Lord Buser! I would never! I saw what I saw. These eyes never lie, you know that!"

"Oh, they don't, do they? I understand that I put you on guard because of your talent, but when two others, as well as yourself, could not find any evidence, I find it quite difficult to believe what you said." The sword came closer to Kajeet's neck, and the Bafolk instinctually moved his hand over his jugular.

Talent? Faënor thought. I wonder what that is.

"Don't worry Kajeet. I won't kill you. Such a talent as yours would go to waste. This is, however, a warning. Do not be tricked again, and do not waste my time." Buser sheathed his sword once more, and Kajeet lowered his hand. "Now leave. Get back on watch. Who knows what you missed whilst in here?" Kajeet scowled under his breath before turning along with the others to leave. Faënor leaned further into his hiding spot as the first two left, however, as Kajeet was leaving, the Bafolk turned and made eye contact with Faënor. It must have only been for a second, but Faënor could see the effect on Kajeet. The demi-human stopped, and looked around wildly for a moment, before Buser grunted at him.

"Something up Kajeet?" This seemed to break whatever effect looking at Faënor's invisible presence had caused, and the Bafolk turned to his leader.

"Nothing, just thought I saw…" But Kajeet shook his head and left before finishing.

What the hell was that, both Faënor and Buser seemed to think in unison.

Could he have seen me?Faënor considered this for a moment, before denying that possibility. Impossible. He's only in the level 20s. No one of that level can physically have that much perception. Chuckling silently to himself as to how silly the consideration was, Faënor left the camp with nothing more.

As he left, Kajeet was sure that there was something in the corner of the room. His Talent (Devil's Eyes) was the reason Buser had chosen someone like himself to join him. His eyes were special in that they could see everything. No, [magic], {skill}, [martial art], even non-magical means of stealth could hide from Kajeet. To him, night was as clear as day, and saying he had the eye-sight of a hawk would be a disservice to Kajeet. And it couldn't be trumped.

At least, that was what he had thought.

There had definitely been elves there on the horizon, but their tracks were somehow hidden from even him. This worried him. Not that he might be going insane, because he trusted his eyes before anyone or anything else. What worried him was the fact that someone was clearly able to beat (Devil's Eyes).

This would definitely be a problem. However, currently, Buser thought that he had just made a mistake, and wasn't yet aware of the fact that his eyes had been trumped. And, if he wanted to keep his current position, it would have to stay that way. That Buser! Just because he had those magic items, he thought he ruled over everyone else. However, although he was stubborn, and slightly foolish at times because of this, he was anything but stupid. His tactic revolving around weapon destruction was brilliant, and his ability to lead the Bafolk was remarkable. Indeed, Buser was the exemplar of their race, and so he had to be nurtured, protected, and helped along the way if he was ever going to become what they all needed him to be.

Kajeet shook himself free of these thoughts. It didn't matter right now, however.

What mattered was finding those elves.


Back in the elven village, Celegorm was training. Others trained, of course, but none so as much as Celegorm. In the village, other than the master Sauriv, there were none more revered than Lord Faënor. And so, for Faënor to both give him personal training, but to also point out his flaws and what to improve on?

There is no better opportunity to train! Celegorm thought to himself. Being only around level 40 himself, along with most of the members of the elven guard, he was no pushover, but his power paled in comparison to that of Faënor, Lord Sauriv, or even the Ent guard. He gave a small grunt of disapproval when he thought of them, and pushed himself to move faster than before. It was only the loud shout of that man which they all revered which halted his focus.

"Guard, to me!"

Celegorm immediately sprang to his feet and dashed over to the entrance to the village. Many other elves in green cloaks came over, jumping off of the wooden buildings and landing with graceful tumbles. At the entrance stood Faënor, and although his face was as neutral as ever, being around this great man for almost his whole life and paying closer attention than probably anyone else here, Celegorm could tell that he wasn't happy. Once everyone arrived, they all kneeled in front of the elf, and Faënor began to pace around them.

"You were sloppy." His voice, although seemingly calm to the average listener, radiated anger like Celegorm had never felt.

"The guard of the camp to the south saw you, or some of you at least. And, although they did not find anything more because I hid our tracks, this is unacceptable." Celegorm closed his eyes in anger and frustration. It must have been him! Why else would Faënor have chastised him earlier for his poor performance if not for his inability to even follow basic training. Slowly, Celegorm rose from his knelt position. Faënor turned to look at him, and raised an eyebrow.

"Something to say Celegorm?" Celegorm bowed until his body was at a right angle to his legs.

"If anyone is to blame, Lord Faënor, it must be me. I am the weak link of this team. A weakling such as myself has no place in the Striders." As he spoke, he could hear Faënor walk closer to him.

"That is why," he continued, and rose his head as he did so. "That is why, if you must blame anyone in the Striders, blame me." Faënor finally reached him and reached out his hand.

"Let me see your hand Celegorm." He was confused, but held his hand out anyway. It was covered in callouses from both the use of his bow as well as his many mistakes with a blade. Faënor smiled slightly as he released Celegorm's hand.

"Your bow? If I might?" Celegorm removed his bow from around himself and handed it to Faënor. It was made of a basic wood, with no magical enchantment to speak of. Just a plain shaft with no fancy etchings or carvings, like many in the Striders had. Faënor handed him back his bow, and finally put his hand on Celegorm's shoulder.

"You think yourself unworthy of my presence, correct?" Celegorm looked away from his master before nodding slowly. Faënor chuckled slightly.

"You remind me a lot of myself Celegorm." The elf looked back up at Faënor as he continued.

"No talent, no special weapons, nothing." Celegorm looked down again gloomily, but looked up again when Faënor grabbed his hands. "But I had my scars. The scars of a warrior. And with every battle I fought? With every battle I lost? I kept the scars on my hands as a reminder of the progress I had made." Celegorm looked down at his hands once more as Faënor raised his own. "You may think that you are worthless. But these callouses and scars are proof that you are improving. They are proof that you are not as worthless as you think you are." And to Celegorm and the other Striders, it seemed that Faënor was larger than life, his words elating them from their original gloomy mood. Celegorm looked up to thank Faënor in some way, but his master had already moved away.

"You were all still sloppy, however." Faënor continued. "1000 laps." And although they groaned and moaned the Striders, especially Celegorm, were back on their feet.