A Walk In The Woods

The autumn morning air sagged low in the morning fog. A caravan of stagecoaches, supply dustbacks, horses and livestock all trudged on through the soft wet grass of the vhordt hills. Home to many small windmill villages and known for their meadows of wildflowers, flower wine fortifiers, and clear blue skies, the vhordt cradle was renowned for its beauty. Yet, something was wrong. The sky sighed as deep gray clouds clung to the surrounding air. Rain spat on the coach windows of a vibrant, deep red stagecoach. The jehu sat in a small booth. A pitiful roof lurched over him. A litany of rough riders, knights, and various carts filled with men at arms and knights flanked the red coach. It was a veritable caravan of ash gray and deep red clothing and fabric.

Inside the red coach, the Red Duke sat, his sanguine clothes blended in with the velvet seats. His golden mask stared out of the window. His cohorts, too, sat with their masks. One of glinting gold, a poor imitation of the duke’s mask. The other was silver with a large bump cresting out like a horn, extending the mask over his bald head. Baroque carvings adorned each mask, representing their roles in high society. The exception to the dress code of the cab was an older man. His face wrinkled and curled in a bitter scowl. The reports that his spies had observed from the Vhordt cradle troubled him. Towns of humans swallowed up overnight, no signs of anyone leaving. He re-opened a stained letter, his eyes consumed every word. There was no mistaking this. Not only had the wood elves of the glade been silent for too long, but small villages outside the emerald glade too had ceased communication and failed to pay their taxes entirely for the last cycle.

“And what will we ask the woodland elves upon contact?” The old man asked the being in the golden mask. His overcoat sat like a cowl over his whole body. He hunched close to the red duke. His face was grizzled by time. A thin mustache sat slumped atop his upper lip, leather gloves in soft balled fists.

‌”We simply ask why they’ve ceased contact with not just us, but the wider area of Kovadron itself. That’s why we brought you here. There was an air of uncertainty in his voice as The Duke turned from the window to face the witch hunter. “And if something has gone awry we have the resources to help our dear pointed ear friends.” he stated.

“Think of this as a political peacekeeping trip Otto.” the one wearing an imitating mask barked back at the inquisitor. His visage covered the being’s wide grin.

“Enough, Ahmes. There is a warrant for Otto’s concern.” The Duke stated as he turned back to his personal assistant. “Otto’s nightmare hunters have rooted out the stain of the Daevaesha and the nightmare kin that dare to enter our reality. Like our dawnbringers who lead the charge to a brighter tomorrow, Otto’s order keeps a vigilant watch over us as night passes to day.

Otto was surprised because The Duke had never officially recognized his order of inquisitors, witch hunters, and zealots. Something was not right. If this was a diplomatic mission, The Duke would have taken his gaggle of friends and personal guard and had a getaway among the wood elves. Otto pulled out a stout yellow page personal journal and began combing through it. “Some sort of greater nightmare has been attacking the countryside..” he thought. It was his only working theory. He glanced out of the window closest to him, avoiding the gaze of the being in its silver mask. He watched the Rangers ride their horses in tandem with the coach. A legion of Red Capes flew loose in the breeze. He disliked not being with his students and associates. Times like this were the perfect moment to discuss plans, prepare any rituals or charms, to ward off any Daeva they might find.

“When was the last time you spoke with Wooded King Altnar?” Otto asked The Duke. He re-opened his journal, re-reading his notes on brain-suckers. A terrible creature he encountered in virudia, northwest of the red cape. This creature was different. He recalled his encounter well. Maw of tentacles, asymmetrical yellow eyes loomed in the dark. The whole village was dead, controlled as thralls by it. The Daeva’s body was smooth like an eel, hunched over with extensively long arms and legs. It almost turned his comrades against him. One by one they fell to its mind games. When Otto killed the creature, he sensed its fear as it understood it was about to die. It was intelligent. Could there be more out there? His mind was racing as he watched the rainfall on the window.

“Last year at the twin moon festival. Oh, it was lovely. Their imagika was something to behold. They’d create these green ghostly spirits elegantly dancing. I even rode their great-stags. The wood elves have some sort of sport they play with a stick and some kind of cylindrical object in the winter with the great-stags. You see the rider has this stick and he must score the object in a repurposed hunting Net and…”

“I… think you should be informed on my last venture. It was in Virudia, not far from here.” Otto said as he cut off The Duke bluntly. Sometimes he feared The Duke indulged too much in fun and games, forgetting about the unknowable horrors that plagued their countryside and the nation of the red cape and his political duties to the nation and the realm of Kovadron.

“... Yes. Otto, I have.” The Duke turned to face the witch hunter. The slits in the mask met Otto’s gaze. “And I know what you did, you and your student. It is why I brought you with me here. Perhaps you’d be able to redeem your name and reclaim the title of the hunter in the darkness you’ve always claimed to be.” The Duke bluntly stated.

“You doubt my work? You dare claim I don’t act as an instrument of Arkeval the bane of Adrogoths? His conviction is what drives me.” Otto refuted as he passed the small journal to the duke. “The things I have seen would keep you up at night.” He said to The Duke.

“They already do. You don’t know what’s out there and frankly, your approach is very heavy-handed. Consider this a warning. Fault again, wipe out an entire village of our people, exterminate your brothers and sisters, and I will arrange for you to disappear. Your family, your legacy, your lineage. And I will replace you. So prove to me you are irreplaceable. Understand?” The Duke coldly stated as he flipped through the journal.

“I.. Yes. I understand. Once we arrive, I’ll consult with Altnar’s advisor and sweep his castle. Consider the issue dealt with.” Otto replied to The Duke. His voice was soft now. Otto’s mind whirred like a thinking engine. The Duke was telling half truths once more.

The silver masked man spoke up, breaking his silence. “Perhaps the elves have done something, shielded themselves off into the forest again? When Altnar’s wife passed during that botched coup from his brother.

“Coup? When did this happen? First, I’ve heard of this,” Otto remarked. His gaze met the silver mask

“Forty six, that was a personal matter.” The duke remarked. “Though I suppose it’s good for Otto to know. Yes, Altnar had his imagika dreamers seal off the palace from the rest of the world with a strange barrier as a period of mourning for his wife. It was quite sad. He rejected the gifts I sent him.” The duke remarked.

“A pity. I hear your gifts are quite marvelous.” Otto said. He watched the storm roll in, it was definitely getting worse. He watched the dawnbringers riding in on their inarki striders, similar to a horse and gazelle from the faizal dezert. The Dawnbringers were a relatively new arm added to the red capes military and defense against the unknowable. They were drafted from the Red Cloak Paladins. Only those so pure of heart, intention, and combat prowess are chosen in tandem when they see or dream involving their champion and center of their religion: Arkeval. The first knight and paladin who slayed the final Adrogoth with a mighty spear tipped with a shard of the true moon. In the battle, the spear tip broke off as the Adrogoth sank into a Daevaesha imagika pocket. Dawnbringers are said to have visions of this spear tip and quest for it. No one is truly sure why there have only been seven or why they have sprung up recently. One thing is for sure, Otto was gazing at all seven, riding their mounts with the caravan. They cloaked their beautiful shining golden armor in white capes and robes with purple trim and sigils woven into them. Symbols of the sun sat etched into their golden masks resembling The Duke’s own. Children idolized them, bards and playwrights cataloged their quests and adventures. Each one a legend and hero in their own right. The exact opposite of Otto’s shady under wraps inquisition, always skulking around at night fighting esoteric terrors from beyond. Jealousy was an understatement.

Otto felt the coach stop. Glancing outside, the darker clouds rolled in. “You said we’d reach The Emerald Vale by nightfall. The day still flees from us. Why have we stopped?” Otto asked the group in the coach.

“I did. Something has clearly changed.” The duke replied as he stood up. His voice changed to a tone none had yet heard. There was an air of worry. “46, Otto, let’s see what the delay could be.” The Duke said as he opened the stagecoach door. And stepped out into the gloomy late afternoon.

The four stepped out into the muddy ground as the rain fell upon them with hate and malice. Otto adjusted his Cockel hat. He scanned the myriad of other coaches and wagons. There was no sign of his hunters, something he was assured of.

“What is the meaning of this! We have a welcome party to attend.” The duke called out to the collective. Many faces turned to his question. There was no answer. The duke folded his arms ensuring his gloves were dry. “I am getting wet. Why have we stopped?” He called out. A guard captain stepped forward.

“The area is too dense, my lord. Trees block our path.” He stated, not daring to look the duke in his face. “We’d have to go on foot.” He stammered.

“Trees? Why yes, there should be trees. This is the Emerald Glade. Gateway to the wood elves.” He rounded the corner and walked towards a crowd of soldiers, knights, cooks, and the rest of his caravan. “What is going on!” The duke got more and more annoyed as he trudged through the mud. “Out of the way!” He called out as the sea of people slowly parted for the Duke, Ahmes, 46, and Otto. “There’s a gilded path. As the four approached the front of the group, they found not a beautiful green lush forest with a path for their caravans and carts, but an ugly knotted mess of trees. The trees gnarled and grew around each other. No leaves dare grow on their branches. Their darker, heavy textured bark stared back, ugly and in numbers.

“We… No, No this is not right. This is the wrong forest.” The Duke called out, now facing the group. “Prepare camp for the night. We will locate exactly where we are with the cartographers’ guild.” His voice oozed of reassurance as he calmly explained to the caravan their situation. “Ahmes, 46 return to the coach. This awful weather has soiled my clothes,” he stated as he once again walked through the crowd.

Otto stood stunned. He and a few men at arms walked up to the forest. He placed his hand on the trunk of one tree. It was cold, coarse, and wet. The bark was hard, much harder than any tree he had seen. He wondered where the caravan ended up.

“It’s like rock! The tree shepherds must be lucky to watch over such an easy forest.” One soldier remarked.

“Don’t be a fool. Ents are not real,” his superior said as they observed this knotted mess of a forest.

“Oh? And how would you know?” the soldier teased as he struggled to break off a twig from one of its lower branches.

“Kids stories, Meredith tells Casparius tales from a story book before his bedtime. It’s a ruse to keep children from going into forests alone and picking leaves or berries off plants and eating them. The superior said.

“They are real.” Otto said, wedging himself into their conversation. “I’ve seen one, once.” he said to the two men.

“Oh yeah? Were you carving your name on a tree? Trespassing,” the superior sneered as he struggled to contain his smirk.

“No, it tore a Daeva in half with its branch like hands. It was as tall as a tree, even had leaves growing on it. The Daeva we chased for days ended up in the honeydew glade. As we stalked the beast, we felt the earth shake. Flowers bloomed, and the Ent ripped the Daeva apart in a rage. The nightmare disrespected Ent’s land” Otto explained.

The two soldiers glanced at Otto, looked at each other and back to Otto. Their eyes grew wide as they realized who he was. “O-Oh Sir, Terribly sorry. We didn’t know you were the unseen blade. You’re a crimson hunter, right?” the superior asked. “Forgive me sir, this is my first time out of the capital!” The superior said as he backpedaled his statements from before.

“No, it’s alright. Good to joke sometimes. From what I hear, the Emerald Vale Ents are very nice and love to visit humans. I’m sure you’ll meet some,” he said as he feigned a smile. Otto noted their armor, clean, newly forged. “My order does not work with many people, but I welcome the company.” Otto said, meeting the gaze of the two men. “Check if the cook’s tent has been pitched and wait for further orders,” Otto remarked.

The two men nodded and returned to the caravan, now slowly turning into a village of tents. Otto turned to face the forest. These woods, they didn’t feel right. These trees grew like some sort of malignant creature. He ran his hands across the bark once more and returned to the camp.