Life at a barrow den was largely uneventful; we men were mostly spared from the harsh lives with which our women were tasked. Those who failed to succeed in their trials one too many times were relegated to the rank of den guards, silver eyed warriors bearing weapons and armor - like our women, but lacking their prestige. A fate I feared I was destined for. At that time, I believe I had a choice: to accept that slow fate, waiting for it like a fool; or to be the change that I desired to see.

In the early days, when Shan'do Stormrage first warned our people that the time for our hibernation was drawing near, life was a bit busier. It was he who first established a foothold in the plane of existence known to us as the Emerald Dream, but at that time we were only phasing in and out for decades at a time, some of us only years. Our intention was both to acclimate to long periods of sleep and to enhance our bonds with nature; attrition from the ranks of the hopeful was high as those with no Druidic potential were weeded out. A few of us crawled toward that which we desired, unsure of our own success or failure.

At any given time, more than half of the Druids were already sleeping; none had ventured into that plane of existence permanently, or if they had, those were dens many months of travel from ours. Master Geldor remained awake to train and to lead, bearing a heavy burden as he nurtured our abilities. The den guards were ever vigilant, though not to the level of our women, the sentinels. Were one to emerge during the daylight hours, slipping past their watchful eyes was possible. And in my attempt to be the change, I accomplished just that.

Most potential threats lurked at night, as we did; there was no shortage of den guards to intercept stray predators or other beasts that might have approached. That's assuming, of course, that the forest itself didn't prevent the approach of such hostiles first. During the day, however, there were few that would attempt the folly of approaching our settlements uninvited; only one or two guards were on duty, prepared to alert the others. Sneaking past them was easy, and as a child of the stars, the forest did not prevent my movement.

The voice had tempted me for years, but eventually the night visitations became annual, then monthly, then weekly. When it spoke to me thrice in one week, I could no longer resist the temptation. I would like to claim that my intention was to slay whatever source of corruption caused the voice, but I have told far too many lies already. The truth is that I had already determined to accept any offers granted to me, so as to avoid my own slow relegation to that of a nearly invisible watchman, pacing the same path back and forth around the barrow den for a literal eternity.

It was only a matter of days before the voice began guiding me again, and for beings so ancient as we, such an amount of time felt like the blink of an eye. Down through woodlands and valleys I did not know, off beaten paths where no sentinels patrolled and where the canopy obscured the constellations, far beyond where any living animals dared to treat, I walked. Slowly, gradually, the disembodied voice moved from inside the confines of my mind to somewhere external, yet without physical presence in the forest. It was a voice beyond space and time, ignoring promises and giving only directions as to where I was to step, where I was to look, and even when I was to pause.

Purple and green changed to dark red and then brown. As gradual is the transition was, I still took notice; such changes were obviously symptomatic of the source of the voice. Its enunciation became clearer, its sentences more complex, its tone more alive. Yet it was nowhere to be seen, not by the naked eye. Brown darkened into black, and the branches became more jagged as the trees even became smaller and smaller. The upward arc eventually became more twisted and asymmetrical, yet I did not feel afraid. In a way, I almost felt as if those branches would provide cover for me were the necessity to arise.

Finally, when I was so far in to that place that I was completely lost, most assuredly unable to return to the den, the voice took form.

"Come forward."

This time, it echoed, and my sensitive ears were able to locate its true position. The number of leaves on each tree became less and less as I approached, and the wind stopped blowing. There were no insects, no leaves crumbling aside from those upon which I stepped; no sounds aside from my own breathing. The air itself stood still.

It was there that I saw him. The clearing was small, too small to be detected from afar. Right in the center of the clearing he was rooted, though I did not think he actually grew; he looked trapped. His roots obviously ran deep, but his bark was dark, brittle and cracked. In between the cracks, I could see the fel infection and its green glow, and the few leaves that remained on his thorny branches were so brittle that they were almost petrified. His trunk moved up and down as he breathed, and while the vague outline of his facial features remained, his eyes had long ago crusted over; there was another sense of sight with which he viewed me.

I didn't know what to do seeing as how I had finally arrived. "Can you hear me?" I asked, unsure of whether or not the communication was one way or not.

After the longest time, I could hear the voice again. It did not emit from him directly, but it was much clearer as I stood before him. "I hear; I see. And more." I didn't understand what he meant, nor was I in the mood for games. My mere presence there had already ensured that there was no turning back. As if sensing my impatience, he took no issue as he made haste. "Do you wish to achieve?" he asked me, his vagueness lost on my greedy soul.

"I do!"

The trunk continued to breathe, and although the crusted, gnarled face couldn't move, I knew he was smiling. "Do you wish to attain power?"

"I would not have come were the answer not affirmative."

As if feeding on my positive energy, the voice became stronger without causing me to become weaker. His roots, his trunk remained the same, but something intangible bloomed. "I can offer a way out of your current path...but you must make the choice," the voice told me cryptically, perhaps knowing I was already sold and didn't need to be convinced.

The brittle, stiff bark split open a little more in the middle, and the fel green sap oozed out. It trickled down until it pooled at a few of the roots, collecting in a mockingly small amount. Fearful that it may evaporate before I had my chance, I cupped my hand and scooped up as much as I could.

"You must be the change," it whispered, as if having read my thoughts. It became not weaker but further away, leaving me to my own devices. "Make your choice."

That I did. I drank the corrupt sap; all of it. I didn't even feel myself collapse. Before I had finished drinking, the world had already gone dark.