Role

Chapter 14

THE HARBINGER'S GROVE (cont.)
Added Sat May 30 15:53:00 2020 at level 51:

At the same time, he was aware of his failings. A madman that speaks to
spirits, can make little sense of normal people. The parables in which he saw
the world were lost to almost everyone he spoke to. When he threatened, they
thought him jesting, when he warned, they thought him to threaten. The sense
of inadequacy choked him. How could it be that it was him the Ancients had
chosen to be Harbinger? A foolish, foolish man, always chasing stories.
Perhaps his father had been right, perhaps we should not tell tales.

He rose from his work stiffly. Bones cracking and muscles cramping from the
long time spent close to the ground. He could feel his age. Every year was
like a hot nail driven through his soul. He groped for the Harbinger's bamboo
bo and leaned heavily on it. He looked over his work. Mounds of dark dirt
spotted the green of the meadow. In a month, the oak saplings will be strong
enough to sprout. In a few decades, maybe during his life they will produce
their first acorns. In another man's time, they will be a thick grove. By the
end of the high-elven life, perhaps there will be a small forest.

Wiping away sweat form his brow he watched as the sun was setting in the
west, yet again, drowning in blood. His bleeding fingers found the green and
black marks over his eyes and he traced them slowly. 'Rise Thar-Eris.' ...
'Death to the defilers!' the thought echoed in a wail and swiftly died. There
was something in the treeline, leaving no room for his anger and hate to
unfold freely. Locks of golden hair twisted around emerald vines swayed in
the wind as the beautiful dryad approached him. His heart was pounding in his
ears, skipping beats like salmon breaching the water as it swam upstream.
After all these years, after all the time he had spent searching for them,
there she was. She reached for him, gently caressing his wrinkled face and
smiled. Everything was in that smile. Everything.

She took his hand in hers and he knew. 'Death is as inevitable as birth. The
Cycle always wins in the end.' He stepped away after her, leaving the
lignified form of the sickly old man surrounded by the newly planted grove
behind him and without a backward glance followed her into the treeline to
meet the other wild spirits. For the first time since he could remember, he
was happy and laughing.