Departure From Virian

The great forest of Virian that surrounded Foreen had existed before any recorded history on Gaeth, including those of the Dwarves and the Elves. The great trees had trunks as massive as the limbs of the great wyrms of old, many arm spans around and dense enough to deflect any normal blade; one tree alone had the potential to provide enough lumber for a small human family for a whole season. When the Elves came into being, they became the more civilized protectors of the forest. Civilized, but not the only defenses the forest had. Interspersed among the common trees lived the wise and noble Treants. The forest itself came alive with the wild creatures to defend their home if it was in danger. The streams that flowed through Virian provided nourishment to the forest and all its inhabitants, before joining the Rilistivætha River and going out to sea.

Even now Lothæsorun walked on paths that had been here for centuries. They were created during the Orc Wars to transport the Elven wounded to safety. The Elves proved to the Forest through that war that they had a right to make their home in the forest. For it was in those wars that they had succeeded where the Forest had failed; they had beaten back the Orc tribes on their quest to destroy the forest; they had saved Virian. Now the Elves lived in relative harmony with the forest; the Elves took only what they needed, never over-hunting, and their cities did little to disrupt the forest's natural balance; in return, the Forest never purposefully sent its servants to attack the Elves.

Lothæsorun loved the forest. Throughout his life and the eons of its existence, the Forest had changed little. Quite the opposite of himself. In less than a year after his hundredth birthday he had become some very un- Elvish, and again only yesterday, he had become an abomination among Elven society. What had caused that outburst of electricity? Was it because he lost his temper, or was it just another change to his being that he couldn't explain?

"I wish I knew," Lothæsorun said to himself, "I wish I knew what was happening to me."

He plodded along the path, wishing he had someone to talk to. Lothæsorun had no qualms about being alone, but it was almost four days' unceasing march just to reach the edge of Virian Forest from Foreen, then it was many more to reach Polmas. Oh, for a good conversation! Or some meat. He had left Foreen shortly after sundown last night, and hadn't stopped for food. Now his insides twisted at the thought of some succulent meat, lightly roasted, with some greens and good wine.

Alas, of the two skins he carried, only one had wine, and it had not yet aged to the degree of Elven taste (which is aged far longer than to the taste of Humans). The other contained water from Rilistivætha, for he knew that the forest had plenty of streams running through it, but he did not know of any outside of the forest. If he had known that game in the forest was going to be so scarce, he would have brought some vittles to last at least the few days he knew he would be in the forest. Sometimes the uninformed get the short end of the stick indeed.

As Lothæsorun got further away from Foreen, he noticed that it became harder to continue his journey. Branches and undergrowth blocked his vision, and tree roots sought to steal his footing. The undergrowth bit at his shins, slowly eating away at his deerskin leggings.

As the hours went by, Lothæsorun saw less and less sunlight. To occupy himself, Lothæsorun began thinking. He theorized that the Elves had developed their superior vision in low-light conditions during the Orc Wars. He figured that in the dense areas it could appear to be night all day long, so Elven troops' eyes would need to adjust if they were to defend themselves.

Lothæsorun was getting tired. And all that thinking didn't help. Now his head hurt. He'd been walking since before dawn, not stopping to rest or to eat. Now he could hear that night was upon him. Choirs of insects turned their instruments in preparation for the night's concert. Here and there owls voiced their personal opinions of the Forest's musicians.

"I should find some shelter for the night," Lothæsorun thought to himself.

As he looked around, he saw that there was nothing suitable for protection. The path was surrounded with trees, vines, and undergrowth, but showed nothing for shrubbery. While he knew that the Forest wouldn't order an attack on him, he didn't want to risk being found by a hunger bear or becoming food for a pack of wolves. Nothing on the ground would provide him enough cover to ease his nerves. Letting out a sigh, he continued walking.

Lothæsorun's thoughts turned back to Foreen. He smiled as he pictured his tree, the sounds of the Elven bards floating through the air . . . Of course! The trees! Why hadn't he thought of the trees? He stopped in his tracks and scanned the trees above him. There was a beautiful Virian tree that was perfect. These trees could be found nowhere else on Gaeth, and the way the branches grew a person would think that they were made for supporting the buildings of the gods, if not the Heavens themselves.

Not hesitating another moment, he jumped for the lowest branches, and climbed up to a lovely "u" the branches formed. Carefully securing his gear to a nearby branch, he slumped down and shut his eyes.

- - - - -

The sound of birds chirping woke Lothæsorun from his slumber. He was surrounded by the leafy green of the Virian tree that covered him like a warm blanket. Brushing away the branches and fallen leaves, he looked to the ground. Already the Forest had covered his tracks from yesterday. Reaching for his gear on the nearby bow, a familiar nagging pain clutched his stomach: hunger. He hadn't eaten in two days, and the gnawing of his abdomen grew by the hour. Shiel-Nan hadn't provided him with any food the day before, perhaps she would be kind today.

Doing his best to ignore the growls and snarls of hunger, Lothæsorun dropped to the ground and continued onward. The Forest had a habit of being rather quiet, so Lothæsorun sang songs he learned as a boy. He sang of how Corthidian Isthærian created the Elves from his own life essence, and taught them magic, archery, and swordplay. He sang of Fhoingar and his brother Verik, who fought the War of Thieves, of how they ascended to godhood, and became Gaeth's two moons.

So absorbed was he in singing that Lothæsorun never saw the tree root that was in front of him. Lothæsorun was just finishing the last verse about the Moon Brothers when he tripped on the root and fell flat on his face. Cursing, he got up and started brushing himself off. He stopped. Not a hundred yards from where he stood a doe was grazing.

"At last!" Lothæsorun thought, "Some food!"

Saying a quick prayer of thanks to Shiel-Nan, Lothæsorun ducked behind a nearby tree. Peering over the side, he could see that the doe was still there. Nocking an arrow in his bow, Lothæsorun took aim at the herbivore. Lothæsorun let fly with the arrow. It fell short, landing in a small bush. The doe started, and looked around, now sensing the danger. Quickly, Lothæsorun nocked a second arrow and let it fly. This arrow found its mark in the creature's left breast. The animal started to run, but only succeeded in going another hundred feet before Lothæsorun dropped it with a third arrow.

Walking over to his kill, Lothæsorun pulled out his whittling knife and began to dress the beast. He wrapped the meat in the skin, but used some of the hide to make quick repairs to his leggings. Lothæsorun feasted on a leg on the spot, so strong was the hunger in his loins. After taking care of the deer, he slung his sack over his shoulder, now heavier for all the meat, and continued on.

The rest of the day he walked, humming when the silence grew too uncomfortable. That night he made a small fire and enjoyed the first opportunity he had since leaving home for a meal. After supper, he found another suitable tree for the night, and he slept better than he had in the past thirty years in Foreen.

- - - - -

The third day had proved as uneventful as the first two. Strangely uneventful, as even the native creatures of Virian had been uncharacteristically quiet, and none save the birds and smaller creatures had made their presence known to Lothæsorun. He wondered if something might be happening to the Forest, for the very atmosphere seemed to grow darker and more foreboding as his journey led him further from Foreen.

- - - - -

Lothæsorun woke with a start. It was still night, or at best early morning. What had woken him? A chill wind blew through the treetops, causing a shiver down his spine. From below, he could hear branches snapping and underbrush being laid low. Peering through the branches, Lothæsorun could make out a dozen muscular humanoids. They appeared to be clearing a path for others. One was almost a head taller than the rest. Barking orders at the others, Lothæsorun knew what he saw. Orcs! But what were Orcs doing in Virian? And why hadn't the Forest sent creatures to repel these invaders? Questions flooded his mind, but he knew one thing for certain: he had to move. One does not confront a group of Orcs alone. He had to move fast because dawn was not far away, and the sunlight would make it harder to hide his movements.

Lothæsorun grabbed his gear and slowly made his way down the tree. He quietly circled around the group, always moving to his right. When he was a distance past the small band, he stopped. Looking around, he saw that those Orcs appeared to be in the forest alone! As he could still see the small band, he decided he should at least make them have a little fear of the Forest.

Lothæsorun unslung his longbow and readied an arrow. The apparent leader of the small group was now out of sight, but he could still fire at one of the others. Releasing the arrow, he watching as it flew to its target and struck home beneath the creature's left shoulder blade, puncturing it's heart. Roars came up from the others as their comrade fell to the forest floor. Smiling to himself, Lothæsorun turned around and resumed walking. Even though dawn was still a good three hours away, he could see that only another seven miles or so and he was out of Virian.