Secret Hearth

The Pale are abandoned, their father slain. The Pale follow, though - it is their nature. They were built as a mockery to life of all forms. They are parasites. So when THEY came - that vile dragon ZAEL, they fell in line. They were given new tasks, new leaders, new purpose. They became adopted, and symbiotic. Their ghastly white visages haunt the cavern, now, awaiting the agents of Watchtower. Those hulking beasts might spell their end.

She woke up, and there was the hand. For her, someone who has dug into the world of magick with relentless drive and received nothing from the world or spirits or people in return, it was her life's calling. It was a finish line. She was getting on in years now, and accomplished nothing despite her best efforts. She wanted to make her mark on the world - a good mark - and the tree had finally given her that reward.

I watched her cradle it like a child. I watched her sob with joy. Then, in a swift moment, she became a different woman. She became the wise and sagely leader she had always wanted to be.

She knew there would be hurt. She knew some - like the sheriff - would have to pay for the expense of the people. But she finally had what she wanted, and she smiled. That smile was the start to a lot of loss. The tree grew quiet in my studies. The knights of Redro, my allies, fell into solemn prayer. The people became even more desperate in their acts, and became strangers to one another.

But we had food.

The crowd writhed outside of Poppy's, a starving tide. Some had already left, some went further inward. Food is pleasure in most times, but the peace after Pale had grown them into complacent bystanders. They wanted food given to them, without the work.

Poppy wringed his hands and checked his stores. He could ration, maybe, and make some sales. He could turn this in his favor, these bad times. It would take a careful hand and cunning words.

The sheriff was the first to speak of abandoning the tree, and was the first to be overthrown. Packs of folk became wild in an instant, filled with panic. But above it all stood Craven, an aging sorceress. She came to them with an answer, and the tension evaporated in an instant.

It would take sacrifice, she said. They didn't even consider the ramifications. They would much rather lose to gain, now, than gain later with less lost. This is the way of folk.

And the wyrm knew this weakness well.

"So, tell me about her. Anything distinguishing that stood out to you."

"I could've sworn she looked like the Ainsley girl, but I'd never seen her without her father."

"That's fine if it's your judgement. I want to know of any distinguishing marks, however - any sort of particular features that held your attention."

"Right, alright. She was - all scarred up, like she'd been mauled. Not once, but, over and over again. Disfigured. She - moved with a sort of, snake-ish grace. Spooked the lot of us. That's when Hargar noticed she was a half-elf and I suppose he, he said something about it that rubbed her wrong. Next thing you know, there was -"

"The fire."

"Yuh, a sort of - well it wasn't quite fire, right? Not like a camp fire or a lantern's spark. It was raw. Wasn't magick, either. More natural. Was like the source of it, I'd say. She burned him with it, and it seemed like forever, and then finally it - the force of it - it pushed him through the air like he was floating. He burst through the window and, he was already dead. She ran but, none of us would've chased her. We just watched Hargar burn up.... he burnt up into nothing, not even bones, and the sun set."

From Elroy's journal, 1526.

The great tree Redro, which we have built our city Monolith within, has given us many good gifts. None are stranger, though, than root runners. The Firs to the South call them luggers, whereas the Warins name them as knot-foots. Regardless of their true name, their nature begs us to ask how the Crystal Woods have gone on without them. They are the jester's natural predator, and hold back the whipper weed by tearing at the ground as they run. It is swiftly evident to us that their role in the ecosystem is integral. For everything the Pale War took from us, the hidden gifts of its end are finally being revealed. I suppose missing something so important for so long had made us forget we were missing anything at all.

In our 2019 Yule special, we gather 'round the hearth for some winter rest and question answering. Our tale will continue in 2020!

From an inscription carved along an alabaster pillar inside a dark chamber -

A HAUNTED HOLLOW

OUTSIDE AND INSIDE TIME

OUTSIDE AND INSIDE ETHER

WHERE SPIRITS WALK AND FOLK WALK

AND WITHIN ITS EMBRACE,

THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE

WHERE ARE THE ANSWERS,

BUT AMONG THE REFLECTIONS

OF PAST AND FUTURE

We've come upon a very curious people, hidden in the heart of the Crystal Woods. They are teal skinned, and share features of the forest beasts around them. They call out to each other in a beautiful language of bird calls and chirps, and have come to name each other after the birds of the forest.

Most peculiar is the boy - one-legged and bluntly speaking in our tongue, who acts as their leader and captain. He very well may be the youngest of the whole tribe, but still rules them more justly than any lord or lady I've witnessed.

Lastly is the cave, wreathed in yellow lichen. The boy says that it is outside of time itself. It's musky scent pours into the village, reminding one of fresh dirt and rain.

There is a wisdom and beauty here untold, and I do believe I will stay here for quite a long while.

- Cornelius Hyde's Field Journal, 1423

An excerpt from the works of Pascal Warrin, curator of minerals -

"This metal - it is not null, like the Pale, but it does not hold magic. It is not the lack of it ether within it that concerns me, but the manner in which it erases the ether. This is a sort of compound that is the opposite of ether in many ways. The heavens have bestowed it upon us, not the earth, and so I must propose a rejection of it. This is not the works of Elpo the creator, or Orphos the smith. This is an accident by something else unknown - a fragment of something outside of the ether. It's properties are not unlike the legends of the sword or the great dragon Zael. This metal is ill, and we must not be tempted to forge tools of it."

Goodbye, my love.

You were the ranger that charted the East.

You were the archivist of the lost tomes.

You were the true light Yottle needed, when the shade king's rule proved too much for us. It was the time of heroes because you were there. Your bow, your spectacles, your spells and tricks. The walls of Sunbeam are your legacy. Your bonds tied the ether together when they all yelled out, "it is ruined!"

Maybe there will be others after you to protect Yottle, and maybe not. I saw you, though, stand first. You, but a scholar - no blade, nor shield - stood against a darkness untold. I saw you stand.

Goodbye, my love.