Heart of Oak

Standing before him was a dark elf, tall and gray-skinned with raven black hair that draped down her back ever so elegantly. She looked down at his crumbled form with almost sorrowful yellow eyes. She wore a long black dress speckled with the twinkling lights of the night sky. She stretched out a hand, thin and skin tight to her bony frame, but not starving gaunt. Rather, she wore her thin frame with an air of grace and beauty, as if she chose to be thin. Kneeling beside him, she lifted his chin, brushing aside the leafy vines that made his beard. “I knew I felt your return. We are opposites in many ways, but I remember you fondly.”

In an instant, his eyes were open and staring directly at the midday sun. it blinded him, forcing him to close his eyes. Yet he still saw the orange and yellows of the light shining through the shields of his eyelids. It was uncomfortable. His body ached and groaned as he sat up. His ears were ringing relentlessly and even with the sun no longer blinding him, his vision was obscured with blurred colors. It seemingly took forever for him to recover from disorientation.

The monastery’s ruins laid bare before him, all the destruction the dragon caused surrounded him. A portion of the city was damaged and both guards and residents had crowded around the area trying to figure out what exactly happened. Sitting beside him was a familiar turtlekin. “Father Rodgers?” Oakengrove tilted his head, trying to get a better look at the turtlekin’s face.

The elder turtlekin spun his head around and smiled widely. “oh, good, you’re awake.”

The treant looked at the area around him. It was unusual to be crowded by so many people. He looked down towards his left arm. The corruption injected into it by the necromancers was gone and the arm moved and felt normal again. Just a few feet beside him was the decapitated head of a green-scaled dragon. It was rotten and stank of burnt corpses and basement mildew. Oakengrove rolled over onto his knees and pushed himself upright, taking the dragon’s head into his hands, and examining it thoroughly.

Khar walked up to him, “You good?”

Oakengrove’s concentration was broken and he placed a reassuring hand on Khar’s head. “Thanks to you, I am.”

Ciez and Cedrik were in the doorway of the house where the dragon had fallen into, showing each other the ‘war trophies’ they’d collected. When they realized their master had awakened, they rushed over. “That little mushroom of yours works miracles!” Cedrik said. “Where can I get one?”

Enoki. Oakengrove’s mind raced to remember where that little one was when he was last awake. Poking out of a crevice in his shoulder was the white cap of the tiny mushroom. He sighed with relief, knowing that the mushroom was safe. “This one is not of my creation but rather a gift from the moon itself, a gift from Velnyr.”

”Velnyr? The egotistical celestial goddess?” Ciez was taken aback. “The hell she do that for?”

Oakengrove threw a side-eye glance at the goblin. “A gift is a gift, you do not question it. That being said, however, I know I am not alone.”

Khar’s head tilted at that comment. “What do you mean? You’ve always had us.”

Oakengrove shook his head, “Alone in a different way.” He then walked over to the monastery’s ruins and began sifting through the rubble. “First things first, I came here for new magic.”

Khar looked at both Cedrik and Ciez with a concerned expression and they looked back in kind. “Oakengrove, why are you looking for necromancy?”

”If I can understand it and learn it, I can utilize it and counter it for good.” He said, lifting a trap door beneath some of the alcohol barrels. Peering into the darkened space, he saw a ladder down and wall-to-wall bookshelves filled with hundreds of texts.

The home tree was silent that night. The events of the day were still being unpacked by those who’d witnessed it and Oakengrove was busying himself away with the studies of unfamiliar magic. Frida’s forge had produced an outdoor cooking grill and a smoker oven and both were cooking dinner. Around the cooking patio were tables and chairs, grown into shape by Oakengrove himself as it was easier than trying to go through the whole wood processing cycle. “And I’m telling you, it’s not normal for dragons to simply be hiding in the open like that. Worse yet, it was a necromancer!” Frida said, waving a two-pointed fork around.

Ciez held up a dragon talon, “But that’s what I’m telling you happened. It wasn’t a full-sized dragon either. It was maybe double Oakengrove’s size and it was rotting alive. It was fucking freaky.”

Khar’s mind was wandering. Oakengrove was showing an unhealthy interest in the books in that monastery’s cellar. He shrugged off the thoughts as paranoia but still opted to ask his questions anyway. “Those books he found in the cellar. Surely those can’t be good for him. Anything guarded by the undead is typically just inherently evil, right?”

Frida pointed the fork at the snowy owl-kin, “And you’d be right, which is what is making my head rattle. He knows this stuff is evil outright but still shows an interest in reading it. Countermagic development or not, I don’t trust those books.”

Cedrik raised a hand, “I do have one question, why would a necrotic dragon disguise himself as a commoner?”

Frida shrugged then flipped the meat on the grill. “I’m wondering the same thing. I caught a glimpse at some of the books he brought back with him and I wonder if that town has ever noticed its homeless population disappearing.”

Khar shook his head, “Doubt it. When I attended that meeting with the master, their whole city council seemed dismissive of their poor people, doubly so if they were human.”

”I wonder what they thought when they saw Oakengrove?” Frida pulled the meat off the grill and onto a cutting board, slicing it into bite-sized chunks with a newly forged iron knife. “They look at a giant treant and go, ‘yea, that’s normal?’”

A dark-furred wolfkin stepped out from the home tree, having caught wind of the conversation. “You sound so disapproving of his stature, Frida.”

”Just in time for dinner Falcher.” Frida set the meat platter down on the table. “Bison thigh with a zesty set of herbs and spices.”

”Forgemaster, crafter, and now chef. Is there anything you can’t do, Frida?” Falcher took a seat between Cedrik and Ciez.

”Har, har, I’m a handyman through and through.” Frida sat down at the table. “We were discussing the books and dragon-lich-undead-monster that Oakengrove killed earlier.”

”I overheard part of that conversation. I’m baffled too as to why a draco-lich would casually live amongst commoners. I also overheard Oakengrove talking about it as well, and let’s just say he’s enamored by the books he’s found.” The wolfkin grabbed a chunk of meat and swallowed it whole.

”Spill the beans, Falcher.” Cedrik said, eager to hear all about it.

”I don’t know the specifics, not being a caster myself, but from what it sounds like, the books go into great detail about lich-dom and what both common and elder liches are capable of. The draco-lich in particular is a more advanced form of elder liches. Meaning, he challenged the biggest nastiest elder lich on the continent and won,” Falcher explained. “Rather, the lich challenged him and was shown the folly of his actions.”

Frida gestured to Falcher. “That may be so, but he shouldn’t be reading those books regardless.”

”He believes it’ll help him expand his magical capabilities. Whether I agree or not with the sentiment is irrelevant. Nonetheless, I have a new job to do, so this will be my last night with you all for at least a month or two.” Falcher took two more meat chunks and downed them with a cup of water.

”Oh? What’s he got you doing?” Frida was loving all of the news. Being cooped up in the tree was driving her crazy.

”I’m heading northward to Huma, the human-only super nation on the northernmost continent. Part of his knowledge expansion quest, I’m to gather any useful lore books that I may find up there, whether that’s history, spell books, scrolls, or whatever may be there.” Falcher then gestured to the outline of a large building. “From what he’s been told by Poppy, there’s a coastal city called H’vath which is home to a massive library. Supposedly, it’s the heart of the entire country’s academia.”

Ciez raised his glass, “Best of luck to you Falcher.”

Oakengrove was watching the group from on high. Food hadn’t appealed to him since he awoke, so he often avoided mealtime, letting it be a free time for them to unwind and be away from his presence. His room was filled with stacks of books, all taken from the ruined monastery. Some of the books had significant water damage and rendered illegible and a few were written in a language he was completely unfamiliar with. The rest were a variety of topics covering field medicine, kobold cookbooks, and the history of liches. It was the third type that provided the most useful information to him.

Encountering a Draco-lich was a horrifying experience, especially when it nearly corrupted him in some sort of unholy magic that wasn’t hellish in design. The books shed some light on how liches were made, and how their magics worked albeit mostly untested theories, and even lightly touched on the idea of self-perpetuating necro-dragons. With each book, his forest felt less and less safe.

One of the books recovered from the scene had a dragon-scaled cover on it. In it were words written in the language of the arcane. It was a spell book belonging to the draco-lich he’d fought and some of the spells were the same ones used against him. Necrotic touch, acid sprays, gas clouds, and the one that affected him the most, ‘Necrotic Domination’. He read through the passage repeatedly, trying to understand how it worked and it was a truly horrifying spell.

He slammed the book shut and set it down on a table. Just reading the words to incant the spell, he visualized the effects it’d have on a target. Watching someone’s body become covered in sickly boils, and abnormal growths and then blacken and die was enough to give him nightmares. Worse yet, the spell could consume the mind and take a once living and otherwise healthy person and convert them into a mind-controlled undead in less than a minute. That book was dangerous.

He sat down on his bed, now lined with a sheep wool blanket, and cradled his head in his hands. The magical prowess available to the Draco-lich scared him. The minotaur form was likely the original body of the lich, with the small dragon being a monstrous form. If there were more of his kind, he was in danger. It also revealed to him the presence of dragons, one of the most dangerous creatures in existence. He assumed it to be an old memory coming back to him, but dragons could rival lesser deities and often did challenge them for domination.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t see the person who entered his room. When all the lanterns suddenly went dark, he stood up and was ready for a fight. Then he heard a familiar feminine voice speak to him, “I’ve been waiting for your return, brother.”

The autumn leaves became more prominent as the days went by. The summer for the most part was calm minus the two surprises. Oakengrove’s studies of the necromantic texts had come to a dead end. Most of the books retrieved were riddled with useless knowledge and the spell book was buried beneath the home tree, some twenty feet underground and encased in a shell of gravel. The image of the necrotic domination spell still haunted the recesses of his mind, constantly reminding him that there are things stronger than him.

With Falcher abroad and Khar now making the trips to the village in his place, Oakengrove found himself with a lot more free time than he’d had for a while. The day was young and he had little to do on his plate. The forest he’d built up around his home was thick and lush, with fauna abundant. It looked like a massive old-growth forest and now stretched several miles, enclosing around the lake entirely. The lake was also well manicured, free of algae sludge and lily pads restricted to the edges where cattails grew with plenty of clearing for wildlife to get up close to the waters and for anyone to enjoy the view.

From his vantage point atop the home tree, he could see out over the tops of trees and beyond the canopy as a whole. At the outer edges of the forest was a large group of humans, all geared up for battle, walking alongside the forest’s edge. He was curious and continued to watch them. They carried no standard, designating them as mercenaries rather than a formal army. There were twenty of them.

From the edge of his periphery, there was a second group of men, similarly equipped and sized wandering along another stretch of the fields around his forest. A second look revealed to him that with both parties was a lamia wearing a similar white-gold dress that Castias wore. “So this must be the Basars then.”

Kateda was quietly enjoying her day in blissful quiet. She’d found herself a small patch of forest floor moss and had settled down for the afternoon, opting to rest beneath the forest’s shady canopy. She heard a noise, a distant rumbling of voices. She slowly stood up and walked towards the noise. Peeking out from behind a cluster of trees, she saw the mercenary group walking by. They were equipped with chainmail, iron helmets, and a mixture of weapons, including several archers with large warbows.

The equine woman studied them for a moment. They wore no colors, flew no flag or standard, and only dressed as common mercenaries. The weird part however was the lamia that traveled with them. The lamia was dressed in white and gold robes, carrying a bronze cast of a flourishing oak tree. Smoke emanated from it, carrying with it a strong odor of burnt incense. She rested her hands on her axes but hesitated on moving. She needed support. Twenty fighters would overwhelm her rather easily. With haste, she took off back towards the home tree. The mercenaries did not follow.

Simadger was trying to rest at the foot of the home tree but a sense of dread lingered over her. The summer had been calm and each day continued that trend. It was simply too good to be true. She was a warrior in a garden. Then came Kateda, galloping at speed through the forest. The dune ant hopped up to her feet and readied herself. “Kat! What’s going on?”

Kateda slowed down to a halt as she got close to the tree. “Soldiers at the perimeter with a lamia, I must go warn Oakengrove.”

Simadger nodded, “Go, I’ll fetch the others.”

At the top of the tree, Oakengrove heard a knocking at his door. “Come in.”

Kateda stepped through the doorway. “Master, we have soldiers at the outskirts.”

Oakengrove pointed to the exact mercenary group. “Them? I am aware of their presence. There’s a second group over there as well,” he said, pointing to another group of mercenaries approaching a different section of the forest. “Take Ciez and Cedrik and go after the group you found.”

Kateda bowed, “At your command.” Then she departed

He pressed a finger to his head and telepathically sent a message to Simadger. “Grab Saea and Frida and head southeast, there’s a second group approaching us. Do not harm them unless they enter the forest or harm it. Stay out of sight.

He continued to watch from his perch. From his position, the mercenary groups appeared to be all close-up fighters with no specialists among them. The only concern would then be the lamias that traveled with them. The treant put a hand to his beard and gave it several long and slow scratches, pondering what he should do. On a whim, he decided to monitor both fights and shapeshifted into a hawk. He took flight and flew out over the open fields.

It was from here he saw a third group, a much larger concentration of people in an encampment a few miles south of his forest. There were a hundred tents, simple fortifications, and dozens of people wandering about. This wasn’t a casual visitation by curious adventurers. From on high, he counted nearly a hundred soldiers in the encampment and likely more unseen within the tents. They were all fully geared and ready for battle. Diplomacy was likely off the table as the men he saw below were all mercenaries with no visible flags or standards waving about.

Even so, Oakengrove flew low and shapeshifted back into his normal giant treant form, and dropped right into the middle of the camp, purposefully gathering the entire encampment’s attention. He stood upright and scanned the camp. Most of the adventurers appeared to be of lower quality, many having only gambeson and chainmail and simple weapons. He was no longer concerned for his safety. He spoke with frightening authority and boomed his voice across the camp. “I am Oakengrove, Father of the Forest. Who has sent you all?”

No one stepped forward at first. Nearly all the adventurers were human with a few elven types and beastfolk sprinkled into the mix. Then came forward a lamia dressed in white robes with golden trims. Oakengrove crossed his arms, his mood still sour from Castias’ attempt on his life.

The female brown scaled and skinned lamia was very skittish, completely unprepared to confront the treant. She spoke with a timid demeanor and a heavy stutter, barely able to get a few words out.

Oakengrove raised a brow and shrugged off the lamia. He spoke again, louder this time, “Who has sent you? To what end shall my peace and quiet be disturbed by the paranoid dealings of distant politicians?” The encampment was paralyzed with fear, unable to even answer a simple question.

Something pierced him from behind. He barely felt anything more than a pinprick. He slowly turned around and stared down at a human in a cloak. Lodged in his leg was a dagger. The treant was less mad and more just disappointed in the half-hearted attempt the rogue put in. He let out a slow and heavy sigh, exhaling a moisture-heavy breath onto the rogue. “I can’t even be mad at this,” he said, pulling the dagger from the back of his leg. “If you’re going to strike me, do so with conviction. Do it with determination, with purpose. You’re obviously not getting paid enough.” He lightly tossed the dagger into the dirt and lifted his hand, swiftly encasing the rookie rogue in a thorny vine trap.

The treant paused for a moment, reluctant to use a rookie as an example. To him, it seemed the rookie, the whole camp even, was rather unprepared for dealing with him and likely underpaid to even consider it. Instead, he decided to offer them a way out. “I presume you all have been hired as mercenaries. I can wager a good guess as to who but I shall simply make my point here and now. I have no quarrel with you, to start a fight helps me in no way but rather paints a target on my back instead. In the grasp of my thorns is one of your own, one who thought it a smart idea. I shall show pity to a fool only once. Ignorance is best dealt with as a lesson in reason.” He then slacked his hand and the vines removed themselves from the rogue. “Go home and leave me be. Tell those in power that if they take issue with my presence, to come visit me themselves.”

The encampment was still silent and unmoving. He began to wonder if his words were falling on deaf ears. The warband that had visited him earlier in the summer were seasoned and their leader could command with authority. There was no such commander amongst the encampment and that alone annoyed him and made him pity them all. There was no point in beating a dead horse and with a single swift motion of his arm, transformed into a hawk and flew away, leaving behind a very scared camp.

That night, there was a sense of unease around the dinner table. Oakengrove’s attendance was lacking as he was almost entirely lost in thought. Sitting on a tatami mat, Kateda leaned over to Simadger and whispered, “He’s been out of it all afternoon.”

Simadger clicked her mandibles, “I would be too if someone attacked me for no reason.”

Ciez leaned over the table, “If you ask me, I think that snake guy who visited a few months ago is the reason we saw those soldiers today.”

Oakengrove overheard the conversation, electing to intervene before rumors formed, “To know the full truth, I must contact those who hired these mercenaries, the same people who hired the seasoned warband before the serpent’s arrival. I’m hesitant to visit those who want me dead, but if I am to know why, I must understand my enemy. I shall visit the Basar Clans come dawn.”

The whole table fell silent. The matter obviously weighed heavily on Oakengrove and no one wanted to push the subject further. It came as no surprise that when the sun first crested the horizon, he was gone from sight. He’d taken no bodyguards with him, instead leaving them all to guard the home tree and ensure he had a home to come back to. The few weeks they spent alone were unsettlingly quiet and dread hung over the entire place.

Traveling down the coast, Oakengrove utilized his shapeshifting ability to gather information on the Basar Clans as well as directions to them. He also obtained an updated map of the continent which listed all the major cities within Rykensvik and the Basar territories. It also showed the borders of both countries respectively and even divided the Basar Clans further into the territory each clan owned and to his surprise, there were almost five hundred clans occupying the southernmost region of the continent.

His stop in a rural town called Gelwood was the most memorable. In many cases, the pub was the best place to meet people and get information. This detail stuck out in his mind like a thorn in the rear. His disguise, a deer-kin in wizard robes, fooled most passersby with little issue. The true test was going to be the tavern itself. Stepping inside, he was greeted with a very pungent alcoholic smell. Two dwarves were roaming about from table to table, taking orders and chatting it up with the customers. Behind the bar and in the kitchen, visible only through the ordering window, were two elves and a bovine kin.

The tavern was bustling and nearly every table was full. He was in the doorway for only a minute before one of the dwarves approached him. “Welcome to the Dwarven Keep, name’s Kathanac, and I’ll be your server today, follow me.” She sped across the tavern’s wooden floor and Oakengrove the deer-kin, followed right behind her. He was led to a corner table with two chairs at it. The table was small and only truly meant for one person or a shared meal between two. He took a seat and smiled, “thank you.” He signed the phrase to the dwarf, as this corner in particular was rather loud.

She smiled and nodded, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Carved into the table itself was the menu. A short list of easily obtainable items. It had the full range of foods, meats, vegetable side dishes, loaded baked potatoes, and even some custom meals he’d never heard of. The custom meals did list what was in it and even a very brief explanation of it. When Kathanac came back, he’d decided what he wanted to sample. “I’ll have the venison wrap, no mushrooms, and if I may, a sampling arrangement of the alcohol.”

Hearing the deer-kin say ‘venison’ sounded like claws on a metal disc. Rarely did beastfolk commit cannibalism. Kathanac was slow to acknowledge it. “Anything else?”

The deer-kin nodded, “When you got a minute, I have some questions about the area.”

Kathanac nodded, trying to hide her disgust. She walked back to the kitchen and slapped the parchment slip into the order rack, “Medium meat blanket, no fungus for table 17”

Jodi also happened to be coming back with a handful of dirty dishes. “Something off Kathy?”

The dwarven woman nodded her head in the direction of the corner table where the deerkin sat. “I wager another flirt. Looks like a solo adventuring wizard”

Jodi placed a hand on her shoulder, “I’ll deal with him, what’d he order?”

”Cannibalism with a platter of ‘forget today’,” Kathanac responded. “When can we retire, Jodi?”

”Soon, very soon.” Jodi passed off the pile of dishes to Kathanac and wiped her hands clean on a towel tied to her waist. The meal wasn’t ready but she walked over to the corner table where the solo deerkin wizard sat.

Oakengrove looked up, a bit surprised to see a different dwarven woman approaching him. He gave her a friendly greeting, “Hello, miss.”

”Jodi Donard, owner of the tavern.” She took a seat across from him. “So, what did you want to discuss with my wife?”

Despite trying to maintain a friendly demeanor, Oakengrove knew she saw him with disdain. Perhaps a deerkin appearance was unwelcomed in these parts. He spoke, trying to keep the air between them as cordial as possible. “I’m a traveler and new to these parts. I’m trying to get to the Basar Clans.”

Jodi’s whole expression changed. She sat upright, pressing her back against the chair. “Oh, well. You’re in Gelwood, the northern section of Rykensvik. You’ve got at least a two-week walk ahead of you if you’re trying to go that far south. There’s a carriage that departs here twice a day to Anslo. From Anslo, you can catch a ship to Nemossos and be there in a week for a handful of gold.”

Oakengrove leaned in over the table. “I’m trying to get to the heart of the clans, I’m set to meet with the Druid of Florism.”

Jodi thought about it for a moment. “I believe the Druid’s Grove is somewhere in Clan Marlyn territory. I’m not quite sure of it myself. Probably gonna have to ask around when you get to Anvil.”

Oakengrove nodded, making a mental note of the extra stops he’d have to make. “I appreciate the information, Mrs. Donard.” He respectfully bowed his head and slid a few gold coins across the table.

Jodi was still questioning everything that this deerkin was. A traveling wizard who was lost and alone. “If you don’t mind me asking, traveler, where are you from?”

”Nowhere in particular. Lived as a hermit in the woods. I got an owl with a letter on it claiming to be from the druid. Then the owl ate the letter.” It was the first thing Oakengrove could think of.

Jodi hadn’t had an up-close encounter with owls so she took his word for it. “I wish you a safe journey then and may Velnyr guide you there.”

That was a name he hadn’t heard in a long while and it rang a bell. He quietly acknowledged the wish and watched the dwarven woman get up and head back to her job. He waited around for the food, which came not too long after, and with a full stomach, although he didn’t really need to eat, left a fair amount of coin on the table and took his leave.

That night he had an unusual encounter. He had traveled a few hours south, choosing to rest in the forest instead of the cities. It was there in the woods he saw a familiar face. Standing before him in all of her tall and slender beauty was a dark elf in a black knee-length dress. It had shimmering flecks all over it and thin straps that went over the shoulder, showing off her stone-gray skin from shoulder to fingertip. She wore fanciful high heels and walked towards the treant with a calm and friendly expression. “I’m surprised to see you out here all by yourself, brother.”

Oakengrove pulled himself to his feet. He towered over her significantly, being double her height. “I’ve heard your voice before and I know your face, but I don’t recall your name.”

She inhaled slowly, as a tinge of sorrow cracked through her pleasant smile. “Enderia, the Goddess of the night.”

”Apologies, I have been having memory problems since I woke up a few months ago,” He explained. “It’s taken me this long to get used to the fact that this is a reincarnation and not my first life.”

Enderia walked up to him and sat down on the dirt. “The stars told me that you were back.”

”You said that a month ago, then just disappeared,” Oakengrove said, sitting back down beside her.

“Sidetracked by something else that required my attention. Projections only work if you’re concentrating on them. However, this is no projection. I am actually here.” She placed a hand delicately on him. “It’s been so long, I was beginning to think you were actually gone completely.”

The treant swayed side to side, “It felt like I blinked. I remember nothing from before I awoke, but it didn’t feel like I was gone for any period of time. I just simply wasn’t and then I was.”

Enderia turned her gaze skyward. “The others have been wondering about you. We knew something was off when we felt you return but you didn’t make an appearance at the summit.”

Oakengrove memory was jostled briefly. The place sounded familiar. “I recognize the name, it has weight to it, but I remember nothing about it or where it is.”

”It’s no place our physical bodies can go, but an ethereal plane where all of existence goes when detached from their manifestations,” She explained. “Some call it the dreamscape, some call it life-ever-after, we’ve just been calling it the summit. It’s not an original name but what’s in a name?”

Oakengrove shrugged slightly. “How do I get there?”

”Close your eyes and leave the body behind. Your spirit will find its way...”

The next morning came and he awoke from his slumber. He slowly scanned the area around him and it was no different from the night before. He looked to his side where he remembered the dark elf to be but she wasn’t there. The grass didn’t even appear to be disturbed. He was by himself, all alone.