Post by Glade on Jun 18, 2022 19:55:40 GMT
Co-written with the wonderful Riah.
It's the end of another exhausting day. It's been like this for the past weeks as Glade has been helping as hard as she can for the preparations: making bandages, salves, potions and various other medical supplies, healed those who wounded themselves during sparring and even hosted a sermon to help the spirits. Normally, she would work till the night has fully set and her hands ache, but tonight she wants some comfort. Tonight she will meet up with a dear friend who has set her on a path that she may remember forever.
It is late in the afternoon, as she's walking up the main Castle Side road towards the Fiore Popolare, staying of course on the left side enjoying the shade provided by the various houses. Summer is in full swing, so she left her normal leather vest, opting to remain only in her loose white shirt and her simple linen pants, enjoying the cool evening breeze that has started to set in. Her white poplar-filled branches may provide a cheery sight, but her face is that of exhaustion once more. The preparations have finally started taking its toll and with a prophecy of another war that is soon to come is now also weighing on her. But this exhaustion is only the beginning. After this is over... I'll need to help regrow the crops... help the farmers rebuild their homes - she constantly thinks to herself - Chauntea's work must be done... people need aid.
Upon arrival at the Fiore Popolare, she tries to push such thoughts aside. She will have this one moment of peace in this time of turmoil.
Slowly she opens the door.
"Good Evening!" she says trying not to let the exhaustion seep into her voice.
The little bell rings silently over Glade’s head as she comes in. Leona doesn’t appear to be there, her brewing and alchemical-like sets sitting still and dormant on the bar behind the huge column that dominates the middle of the main, circular room.
It takes Glade a few good seconds to fully register what's going on, stunned by the stillness of it. She entered here before, but it was so full of life back then. Everything seems so dull now, and even with the evening light showering through the small windows of various colours, the place seemed... colourless.
What did you expect... the city is empty and no one has time for this.
"Leona?" The voice that came was even softer than before, barely audible, her footsteps equally soft. Even though she wanted to cry out to Leona and let her know she's here, she couldn't, for she had a sudden feeling as if she was intruding in someone's home. She knew it was rude and indecent to step into someone's personal boundaries without asking beforehand, but at the same time she knew that this is a shop, people come in here all the time and if Leona didn't want anyone to enter, the front door would have been locked.
Softly she walked until she arrived in front of a massive column, one that Glade knows is a willow tree by the name of Nasiphe. Last time she came here, she sensed a presence coming from the tree and, thanks to her druidic affiliation, also saw how said presence greeted Glade and her companions last time they came.
Has it already been almost two months?
"Good evening, Nasiphe."
The branches that extend overhead give a slight rustle in greeting as if a small breeze blows through the cocktail bar, before going still.
Glade cannot hide a sense of wonder at such sight. "I've never met a tree that responds in such a way when I talk to it. Although - she quickly ads as to not seem like she's insulting Nasiphe - I think you're more than just a normal willow tree." She hesitates, weighing the question "May I ask... what are you? I've only heard that some fey creatures can inhabit trees... but I don't know more than that." she admits with an embarrassed look and muttering "Should have payed more attention."
The branches flutter, then three vines of willow descend down towards Glade, swaying in a spiralling pattern. As they touch Glade's forehead she gets a series of vignettes flit across her mind's eye.
-a beautiful voice singing in the woods-
-red hair like fire trailing down into a pond-
-ring of toadstools, red and plump-
-eyes of verdant green-
-a supple, feminine body, dancing by a pond-
They happen so fast it takes Glade a moment to understand them. The three vines retreat a little, but they stay within easy reach.
She stammers back, almost tripping. This is the first time Glade has witnessed something like this and in such a manner, first time someone has shared a vision... no... a memory? with her.
"H-hair... lake.. e-eyes…"
"That... that was... is... was... you?" she manages to say, still taken aback by the vignettes gifted to her. "You're... beautiful." she says, wide-eyed, still looking at Nasiphe. But her moment of awe is short lived as a small headache seems to set in, exhaustion greeting her conscious self once again.
Is she... a... she thinks, rubbing her temple with one hand. She feels a strange sense of familiarity, as if she's seen, nay, imagined such a wonderful being before. Maybe she heard of something like this in one of Fernen's bedtime stories? Her exhaustion gets the better of her memories. Probably another time it will come back to her, in a time less affected by such turmoil... in a time of peace.
After a few seconds, she manages to pull herself. "So, this willow tree... will.. will you remain like this... forever?"
A single leaf falls from somewhere high above. It tumbles and cartwheels all the way down, heading towards Glade. As she holds out her hand it lands perfectly into her palm. One of the vines brushes at her ear in a consoling way.
The exhaustion on her face fades away, leaving behind a face saddened when she realises the implications of this.
"So - she says in a gentle voice - does that mean... that when the invasion comes... and attack the city... you'll remain here?"
The whole willow tree seems to breathe in, the light filtering in through the crystal clear pane of magical glass above being blocked just a little bit as the branches come together before parting again.
Sadness has fully set onto Glade's face, tears swelling in her eyes.
A sadness caused by fear. A fear that has haunted her heart since the preparations started. A fear of uncertainty. The uncertainty of whether she will be seeing her friends by the end of this madness. Lolli, Lucky, Pipper, even Sterling. The fear that their lives will be taken without a second thought.
And Nasiphe... the realisation that some are not so lucky as to defend themselves against the incoming onslaught and that she will be at the mercy of the invaders, hoping that they may see the shop as a waste of time, that their attacks will miss, or that they may show some heart as well.
She folds her hand with the leaf, resting it on her chest.
"Why - a rasp now on her voice - why must the hatred... be it of gods or mortals... must always threaten to destroy the beauty and gifts... of life." the last words almost cut off. The month-long exhaustion and worry has finally had its full, as her tears now overflow. As she starts to release her heart's sorrow.
The willow goes very still. Then, more branches and more vines reach down to brush at Glade's face, wiping away the ears, cupping her face and weaving through her blossom full hair.
One of the vines touches her temple and another sequence of visions flashes across Glade's mind.
-a hill, tall and majestic, standing alone in a rolling green landscape-
-a town beginning to plant its roots, the first buildings of what Glade recognises to be Daring Heights-
-fire, bodies everywhere, Leona running around the shop, giving people tonics, salves, shouting up to Nasiphe, tears in her eyes-
-a quiet early spring day, a fey-looking halfling and tiefling having a conversation, reconnecting after a long time, a feeling of contentedness-
-the bell over the shop ringing and Leona returning, putting a suitcase down and taking off her witch's hat, saying, "I'm back, mother. Sorry to be away for so long. You're looking well..." in Sylvan-
And several others. So many others. Not just of what happens in the shop but, surprisingly, outside and throughout Daring. But all through them is not a voice but a feeling of someone trying to tell Glade that to live is to struggle. To fight against your nature or the nature of others is a constant. That things tips one way over another as the wheel of Life turns. There will always be those who wish to see chaos sewn or who seek more than they give. The only way to have Balance is to be there to put one's hands on the scales, to put out a song or a thought or a deed that tips things back into harmony.
This time, Glade let the memories flow unhindered through her mind. Her emotions drifting from memory to memory. But out of all the memories, her mind lingers the most at the last one.
Mother.
But any thoughts of discovering what this meant are for another time, for releasing her heart's ache has expended her.
"May - in a voice barely comprehensible - may I sit here for a while?" she asked in Sylvan, mustering what little remains of her energy.
Some of the flowers on Nasiphe's trunk bloom and shift to the side, creating a welcoming spot to sit for her to rest her body and her mind.
She lumbers forward and rests her head against Nasiphe's trunk, accepting once again her gift.
"I- I want to... share som-" but sleep claims her body before she could finish.
Her mind, though, wants to share some memories with Nasiphe, for she has gifted Glade some of her precious memories. It is only fair that the favour should be returned. Memories, of her home, of what she has seen and what she values. And thus, before dream could claim her, her memories came.
Memories of a forest, of various thickets, burrows, ravines, hills and clearings. A forest she once called home.
Memories of a fox chasing a rabbit to feed its kit.
Glade is no stranger to the struggles of life, for it is one of nature's sacred laws. She is not saddened by death, for it is because of it that others survive. It is the waste of life that saddens her. The notion that there was no reason for said life to have been taken. That said lives could have been preserved.
The figment of Leona's voice saying "Mother". Memories... warm memories of what Glade deemed to be her mother, of a female centaur, as changing as the weather, both wrathful and kind. Her mentor, Fernen, as she has raised Glade since infancy as if she was her own. As she, through calm or storm, has always shown her love for her.
And of her most cherished memories. Of a place of calm. Of a tree.
The Ancient Oak
A tree of unimaginable size, of roots and branches thicker than Nasiphe's trunk. An imposing figure. A stoic yet gentle guardian. A tree, which for Glade, seemed to be as ancient as the world itself.
Where one might be intimidated by such a sight, Glade was always calmed, for even though it may not have spoken, she always knew that it always listened. It was always there when Glade wanted to share her turmoil, it always offered her peace of mind. And Glade made sure to offer it company, even if it was but a figment in the life of such an ancient being.
Is... is this what it feels... to have a father? Her last thought with the image of the Ancient Oak still in her mind, the one she cared for the most, second to her mentor... mother. Her last thought before dream claimed her mind.
Glade begins to hear the soft sounds of glasses clinking against one another, of soft mutterings and mumblings, the smell of magic and revitalising tea in the air as she slowly wakes up. It is a long and laborious process –– she had not realised how exhausted she was. But the bed in which Nasiphe had made for her was so soft, like clouds, and Glade had needed every minute of sleep.
Eventually, the sounds fade away and then the smell of forest fruits, the sharper tang of raspberries in particular, wafts up to her from somewhere to her right.
A feylac flower gifted, a prayer carried in its petals.
May Chauntea look after her and bring warmth and strength in her life… and may Lliira bring her joy after the chaos has passed.
It's the end of another exhausting day. It's been like this for the past weeks as Glade has been helping as hard as she can for the preparations: making bandages, salves, potions and various other medical supplies, healed those who wounded themselves during sparring and even hosted a sermon to help the spirits. Normally, she would work till the night has fully set and her hands ache, but tonight she wants some comfort. Tonight she will meet up with a dear friend who has set her on a path that she may remember forever.
It is late in the afternoon, as she's walking up the main Castle Side road towards the Fiore Popolare, staying of course on the left side enjoying the shade provided by the various houses. Summer is in full swing, so she left her normal leather vest, opting to remain only in her loose white shirt and her simple linen pants, enjoying the cool evening breeze that has started to set in. Her white poplar-filled branches may provide a cheery sight, but her face is that of exhaustion once more. The preparations have finally started taking its toll and with a prophecy of another war that is soon to come is now also weighing on her. But this exhaustion is only the beginning. After this is over... I'll need to help regrow the crops... help the farmers rebuild their homes - she constantly thinks to herself - Chauntea's work must be done... people need aid.
Upon arrival at the Fiore Popolare, she tries to push such thoughts aside. She will have this one moment of peace in this time of turmoil.
Slowly she opens the door.
"Good Evening!" she says trying not to let the exhaustion seep into her voice.
The little bell rings silently over Glade’s head as she comes in. Leona doesn’t appear to be there, her brewing and alchemical-like sets sitting still and dormant on the bar behind the huge column that dominates the middle of the main, circular room.
It takes Glade a few good seconds to fully register what's going on, stunned by the stillness of it. She entered here before, but it was so full of life back then. Everything seems so dull now, and even with the evening light showering through the small windows of various colours, the place seemed... colourless.
What did you expect... the city is empty and no one has time for this.
"Leona?" The voice that came was even softer than before, barely audible, her footsteps equally soft. Even though she wanted to cry out to Leona and let her know she's here, she couldn't, for she had a sudden feeling as if she was intruding in someone's home. She knew it was rude and indecent to step into someone's personal boundaries without asking beforehand, but at the same time she knew that this is a shop, people come in here all the time and if Leona didn't want anyone to enter, the front door would have been locked.
Softly she walked until she arrived in front of a massive column, one that Glade knows is a willow tree by the name of Nasiphe. Last time she came here, she sensed a presence coming from the tree and, thanks to her druidic affiliation, also saw how said presence greeted Glade and her companions last time they came.
Has it already been almost two months?
"Good evening, Nasiphe."
The branches that extend overhead give a slight rustle in greeting as if a small breeze blows through the cocktail bar, before going still.
Glade cannot hide a sense of wonder at such sight. "I've never met a tree that responds in such a way when I talk to it. Although - she quickly ads as to not seem like she's insulting Nasiphe - I think you're more than just a normal willow tree." She hesitates, weighing the question "May I ask... what are you? I've only heard that some fey creatures can inhabit trees... but I don't know more than that." she admits with an embarrassed look and muttering "Should have payed more attention."
The branches flutter, then three vines of willow descend down towards Glade, swaying in a spiralling pattern. As they touch Glade's forehead she gets a series of vignettes flit across her mind's eye.
-a beautiful voice singing in the woods-
-red hair like fire trailing down into a pond-
-ring of toadstools, red and plump-
-eyes of verdant green-
-a supple, feminine body, dancing by a pond-
They happen so fast it takes Glade a moment to understand them. The three vines retreat a little, but they stay within easy reach.
She stammers back, almost tripping. This is the first time Glade has witnessed something like this and in such a manner, first time someone has shared a vision... no... a memory? with her.
"H-hair... lake.. e-eyes…"
"That... that was... is... was... you?" she manages to say, still taken aback by the vignettes gifted to her. "You're... beautiful." she says, wide-eyed, still looking at Nasiphe. But her moment of awe is short lived as a small headache seems to set in, exhaustion greeting her conscious self once again.
Is she... a... she thinks, rubbing her temple with one hand. She feels a strange sense of familiarity, as if she's seen, nay, imagined such a wonderful being before. Maybe she heard of something like this in one of Fernen's bedtime stories? Her exhaustion gets the better of her memories. Probably another time it will come back to her, in a time less affected by such turmoil... in a time of peace.
After a few seconds, she manages to pull herself. "So, this willow tree... will.. will you remain like this... forever?"
A single leaf falls from somewhere high above. It tumbles and cartwheels all the way down, heading towards Glade. As she holds out her hand it lands perfectly into her palm. One of the vines brushes at her ear in a consoling way.
The exhaustion on her face fades away, leaving behind a face saddened when she realises the implications of this.
"So - she says in a gentle voice - does that mean... that when the invasion comes... and attack the city... you'll remain here?"
The whole willow tree seems to breathe in, the light filtering in through the crystal clear pane of magical glass above being blocked just a little bit as the branches come together before parting again.
Sadness has fully set onto Glade's face, tears swelling in her eyes.
A sadness caused by fear. A fear that has haunted her heart since the preparations started. A fear of uncertainty. The uncertainty of whether she will be seeing her friends by the end of this madness. Lolli, Lucky, Pipper, even Sterling. The fear that their lives will be taken without a second thought.
And Nasiphe... the realisation that some are not so lucky as to defend themselves against the incoming onslaught and that she will be at the mercy of the invaders, hoping that they may see the shop as a waste of time, that their attacks will miss, or that they may show some heart as well.
She folds her hand with the leaf, resting it on her chest.
"Why - a rasp now on her voice - why must the hatred... be it of gods or mortals... must always threaten to destroy the beauty and gifts... of life." the last words almost cut off. The month-long exhaustion and worry has finally had its full, as her tears now overflow. As she starts to release her heart's sorrow.
The willow goes very still. Then, more branches and more vines reach down to brush at Glade's face, wiping away the ears, cupping her face and weaving through her blossom full hair.
One of the vines touches her temple and another sequence of visions flashes across Glade's mind.
-a hill, tall and majestic, standing alone in a rolling green landscape-
-a town beginning to plant its roots, the first buildings of what Glade recognises to be Daring Heights-
-fire, bodies everywhere, Leona running around the shop, giving people tonics, salves, shouting up to Nasiphe, tears in her eyes-
-a quiet early spring day, a fey-looking halfling and tiefling having a conversation, reconnecting after a long time, a feeling of contentedness-
-the bell over the shop ringing and Leona returning, putting a suitcase down and taking off her witch's hat, saying, "I'm back, mother. Sorry to be away for so long. You're looking well..." in Sylvan-
And several others. So many others. Not just of what happens in the shop but, surprisingly, outside and throughout Daring. But all through them is not a voice but a feeling of someone trying to tell Glade that to live is to struggle. To fight against your nature or the nature of others is a constant. That things tips one way over another as the wheel of Life turns. There will always be those who wish to see chaos sewn or who seek more than they give. The only way to have Balance is to be there to put one's hands on the scales, to put out a song or a thought or a deed that tips things back into harmony.
This time, Glade let the memories flow unhindered through her mind. Her emotions drifting from memory to memory. But out of all the memories, her mind lingers the most at the last one.
Mother.
But any thoughts of discovering what this meant are for another time, for releasing her heart's ache has expended her.
"May - in a voice barely comprehensible - may I sit here for a while?" she asked in Sylvan, mustering what little remains of her energy.
Some of the flowers on Nasiphe's trunk bloom and shift to the side, creating a welcoming spot to sit for her to rest her body and her mind.
She lumbers forward and rests her head against Nasiphe's trunk, accepting once again her gift.
"I- I want to... share som-" but sleep claims her body before she could finish.
Her mind, though, wants to share some memories with Nasiphe, for she has gifted Glade some of her precious memories. It is only fair that the favour should be returned. Memories, of her home, of what she has seen and what she values. And thus, before dream could claim her, her memories came.
Memories of a forest, of various thickets, burrows, ravines, hills and clearings. A forest she once called home.
Memories of a fox chasing a rabbit to feed its kit.
Glade is no stranger to the struggles of life, for it is one of nature's sacred laws. She is not saddened by death, for it is because of it that others survive. It is the waste of life that saddens her. The notion that there was no reason for said life to have been taken. That said lives could have been preserved.
The figment of Leona's voice saying "Mother". Memories... warm memories of what Glade deemed to be her mother, of a female centaur, as changing as the weather, both wrathful and kind. Her mentor, Fernen, as she has raised Glade since infancy as if she was her own. As she, through calm or storm, has always shown her love for her.
And of her most cherished memories. Of a place of calm. Of a tree.
The Ancient Oak
A tree of unimaginable size, of roots and branches thicker than Nasiphe's trunk. An imposing figure. A stoic yet gentle guardian. A tree, which for Glade, seemed to be as ancient as the world itself.
Where one might be intimidated by such a sight, Glade was always calmed, for even though it may not have spoken, she always knew that it always listened. It was always there when Glade wanted to share her turmoil, it always offered her peace of mind. And Glade made sure to offer it company, even if it was but a figment in the life of such an ancient being.
Is... is this what it feels... to have a father? Her last thought with the image of the Ancient Oak still in her mind, the one she cared for the most, second to her mentor... mother. Her last thought before dream claimed her mind.
Glade begins to hear the soft sounds of glasses clinking against one another, of soft mutterings and mumblings, the smell of magic and revitalising tea in the air as she slowly wakes up. It is a long and laborious process –– she had not realised how exhausted she was. But the bed in which Nasiphe had made for her was so soft, like clouds, and Glade had needed every minute of sleep.
Eventually, the sounds fade away and then the smell of forest fruits, the sharper tang of raspberries in particular, wafts up to her from somewhere to her right.
A feylac flower gifted, a prayer carried in its petals.
May Chauntea look after her and bring warmth and strength in her life… and may Lliira bring her joy after the chaos has passed.