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Minerva · May 9, 2008, 02:56 PM

Finding Eth’gantor was not as simple as looking at a map, picking a path, and walking filled with pride through its gate. Through some manner of deception or magic, or both, the shadow elf city was incredibly difficult to simple stumble upon out of chance, even if one knew where they were going, and even if one knew the general area within which to look.

Brine seemingly knew where he was going, and one look at their shifting surroundings would not work to prove him wrong. Even in this magical season of winter, where the lands were painted white and trees became sculptures of delicate ice, there was something inherently wrong.

The forest appeared wilder than it should have done, branches as barbs raised and bared as they pointed their way along an overgrown path. The lands here did not appear well-tended to or natural at all. In fact, they betrayed a particularly base instinct, instead. The plants and trees here had grown and twisted into almost bestial space, and the further Brine and Sorn walked, the worse it constantly appeared to get.

There was no tranquility here; only the constant shifting of darkness, and the ferocity of those creatures trapped within. Growls and snarls were not signs of a forest at peace, but of one that felt threatened, and was ready to strike.

“What are they doing, these young ones? Trying to find the elves? Trying to save the forest?” A voice came, suddenly, from somewhere within the spaces between dark, ominous trees. “Perhaps the forest doesn’t need to be saved. Perhaps it is the other way. Did the trees with legs think of that at all, blinded by servitude as they are?”

From out of barren branches, a ball of light hurtled towards them, bright amidst the relative darkness and disparity of this place.

“No. Don’t think so.” It spoke, with the timbre of tone betraying amusement, or a laugh. Idly it settled upon the branches of Sorn’s head, looking to the other treant with a smirk. A faery of some kind, no doubt, and up to its usual tricks.

“Lost, are they?” The laughter was lyrical, and yet so very grating, vexing, as well.

May 9, 2008, 02:56 PM	#2 (permalink)
Minerva Mythic Join Date: May 2003 Location: High Peak Posts: 3,961	Finding Eth’gantor was not as simple as looking at a map, picking a path, and walking filled with pride through its gate. Through some manner of deception or magic, or both, the shadow elf city was incredibly difficult to simple stumble upon out of chance, even if one knew where they were going, and even if one knew the general area within which to look. Brine seemingly knew where he was going, and one look at their shifting surroundings would not work to prove him wrong. Even in this magical season of winter, where the lands were painted white and trees became sculptures of delicate ice, there was something inherently wrong. The forest appeared wilder than it should have done, branches as barbs raised and bared as they pointed their way along an overgrown path. The lands here did not appear well-tended to or natural at all. In fact, they betrayed a particularly base instinct, instead. The plants and trees here had grown and twisted into almost bestial space, and the further Brine and Sorn walked, the worse it constantly appeared to get. There was no tranquility here; only the constant shifting of darkness, and the ferocity of those creatures trapped within. Growls and snarls were not signs of a forest at peace, but of one that felt threatened, and was ready to strike. “What are they doing, these young ones? Trying to find the elves? Trying to save the forest?” A voice came, suddenly, from somewhere within the spaces between dark, ominous trees. “Perhaps the forest doesn’t need to be saved. Perhaps it is the other way. Did the trees with legs think of that at all, blinded by servitude as they are?” From out of barren branches, a ball of light hurtled towards them, bright amidst the relative darkness and disparity of this place. “No. Don’t think so.” It spoke, with the timbre of tone betraying amusement, or a laugh. Idly it settled upon the branches of Sorn’s head, looking to the other treant with a smirk. A faery of some kind, no doubt, and up to its usual tricks. “Lost, are they?” The laughter was lyrical, and yet so very grating, vexing, as well. __________________ Warn your warmth to turn away... \|Events and Rumours\|GM Office\|High Peak Guide\| \|Link Map\|Realmcraft\| Status: Settled and catching up!