Role

Chapter 1

THE TURNING

He woke on the fifth day of rest and began to make his
way back to the Whistlewood. But as he crept through
the Weald, he heard an odd noise and felt tremors in the
inert spirits around him. Following the noise, he came
across an unnatural clearing where the trees had been
hewn and cut away by iron and flame. In the center
stood a massive grey-skinned giant holding a broad
bladed axe with a half as long as Sirfalas leg. As
Sirfalas watched, the giant gripped the axe with both
hands and drove it into the side of an ancient conifer.
The tree shuddered and bled torrents of sap. Sirfalas had
cut trees before, but no like this there was no ritual to
preserve the spirit. Instead, the tree ended in cry, then
silence. Rage drew across Sirfalas face as he
lifted a sharp stick and crept around the clearing to get
into position behind the giants back as it bent over the
tree husk.

But then the clearing burst into black light!

Another figure appeared, this one a small human in
black robes wielding dark, twisted sorcery. The human
pointed at the grey-skinned giant and the giant screamed,
arching backward so that it nearly split in half. A black
liquid energy ripped itself like a molten stream from the
giants mouth and flowed through the air into the
humans outstretched hand. As the giant withered and
fell, the human grew in strength and its spirit flared
brightly in the clearing. And then, suddenly, the giant
died.

Awestruck, Sirfalas watched as the human now drew
close beside the giant. Now the man would perform the
blood ritual and protect itself from the giants spirit,
Sirfalas thought. But something & different &
happened. Instead, the black cloaked human set a pale
hand on the giants chest and whispered unknown
sorcerous words. The giants body shuddered and rose,
moving, but not alive. Sirfalas was horrified to see that
the giants spirit had not been released it was still
there, twisted by unnatural sorcery, dimly lit within the
shambling husk of the giants body.

The sharp stick dropped from Sirfalas hands. Quietly.
This world, these horrors, must end. He knew he must
wipe the slate clean so that all could be set right again.
And thus he did not return to the Whistlewood, but
instead moved to where the spirits would take him.