(Originally posted 10/28/04 and lost in the attack. reposted from alternate archives - Kelryck)

(HSC) Summer's End
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“And so you ask me, Druid Prince, on this eve of Samhain, why I would leave my home in Hy Brasil to ally myself with you soft-fleshed creatures, you Celts who had once twisted our rooted cousins into malevolent beings in their search for power. Know I of your religious day? Aye, your kind has not been unknown to me. But I am ahead of myself.

Aye, it was one year ago that my tale comes to its conclusion, the eve of the changing autumn moon, your Samhain. My home was once a proud grove beyond what is now known as the Vale of Balor, not such a grand grove as Aalid Faie, no, but our home was comfortable, and our people thrived upon the rich land.

My father, what you would call the grove’s chieftain, knew well the ways of nature’s magic, though not as a feeble Druid, but as one who understood the winds and rains of our lands so clearly that he could call upon them as friends. He was a seer, an oracle, a learned man who spent his days amidst his books and scrolls. He was a wise man, and just, and our residents knew that they could rely upon him to solve their day-to-day problems and also represent them among the land’s other groves and clans.

In the summer, my father had a vision, which robbed him of his health, and, truly, of half his mind. It happened one afternoon as I was practicing the art of spear hunting. My younger sister, who was attending him, called me forth and explained to me, while the old man struggled to form his words, what this vision would mean for our grove. I, being the only son and heir to the grove’s leadership, was to present this vision to our people. As I looked upon my father then, that morning straight and tall, but now a bent branch, I knew that my days of hunting from dawn til dusk were over, and that I would soon take over his responsibilities. Indeed, he expired not too weeks later, the living wood becoming dry tinder.

What was the vision, you ask? Ah, but before I speak of that, let me say that I did not believe it. Nay, to me it was nothing more than the imaginings of an elder, a foreshadowing, if you will, of his own death. And to the people of my grove, I downplayed the scenes that my father’s minds eye had showed him, the talk on the winds that he had heard. Catastrophe, death, the sundering of every living thing, the earth burned at our feet, the living wood broken and smoldering with infernal fire. Of course you now know that my father’s vision was true, as the fomorians and ixthiar now make their homes in the Vale of Balor, along with several other types of destructive creatures.

And so, after my father passed, the workings of the people of my grove continued unchanged, heedless of the dangers that lay in wait. Though lie in way it did not, no, this evil had a very cunning plan.

Know you of the ixthiar? Very well, then, you know that they are a species of mantid that has aligned itself with the fomor. A young ixthiar creeper presented itself to me one afternoon, pleading for its life, denouncing the ways of its brethren, and asking for shelter. Furthermore, this creature requested refuge for its extended family, explaining that they had broken from the ways of the others and were now being hunted by them. And, to further press its suit, the insect cried out that a great plague would set upon us if we did not take them in. Naturally, my people were reminded of my father’s prophecy, and begged me not to trust these poor needy ixthiar. I, being green and new to the ways of leadership, insisted that we take pity upon them.

Soon after these insects took up residence in their grove, we were attacked by a group of diseased fomorians. They came at dawn, while the sun’s blessings had barely had a chance to warm us to the tasks of the day. Leading the grove’s soldiers in the battle against the misshapen fleshlings, I was both proud and amazed that the ixthiar clan fought beside us, their mandibles busily clicking as they chewed and clawed the giant decaying beings. It was a battle easily won, however, and afterwards the grove settled into routine once again, the strange ixthiar as our brothers.

It is said that the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Truly, I believed those words after I had witnessed those red insects at my command in battle. And once more I believed that my father’s dying words had been nothing but an old sylvan’s delusion.

And then the next formorian attack came, but we were ready for them, for a ranger saw them massing not far from the outskirts of the grove. Once again my soldiers readied themselves, those brave insects at their sides. It was our day to celebrate the end of the falling leaves and the coming of winter, your Samhain. We were sure that we’d be celebrating the day of the falling of the fomor as well.

The battle was almost won, when, upon skewering a mass of bloated flesh upon my spear, I looked up to see at least five score of formorian warriors gathering upon the ridge to the west. The sun was high overhead, and at that moment I realized that my grove and its citizens would most likely not see another day. Gritting my teeth, I turned to command my soldiers to gather the women and children and head for Aalid Feie, for staying to fight them was sure to be suicide. And then, the ixthiar creeper approached me, and beckoned me to counsel.

He told me that he had allies, other ixthiar who had heard about this intended attack, who were already mobilizing to meet with us here. I nodded quickly, and gave my orders to my commanders. We were fighting, and we were to look for a red swarm of friendly ixthiar to the north.

Have you seen battle, Druid Prince? Need I tell you what it was like to stand against wave after wave of festering flesh? Finally the ixthiar army appeared over the northern hill, and charged.

I was relieved for but a moment. For the ixthiar did not charge to the west to attack the fomorian, they charged south to engage us! From behind me I heard a wail of terror, and I saw the creeper that we had befriended snap the arm of my dear sister with its mandibles. Filled with rage, I made for the despicable creature, leaping over the bodies of slain comrades and fomor both, determined that, if this should be my last sunset, that traitor was going with me back to the earth. Swinging my spear overhead, I brought it crashing down upon his worthless head, flattening it with a satisfactory crunch.

Wiping the mixture of my own sap and vile ichor from my eyes, I then saw my sister fall to the traitor’s family, a lifeless twig, broken into pieces by the evil ixthiar. And all around me, I heard the screams of my people, cut down like wheat in the path of a scythe. My grief was so great that I cared not at that moment if I lived or died, and then the world simply… faded away.

I awakened in Aalid Feie, one of but a handful of survivors. For the Z’zozicck Zhxizzchrrk had seen the battle from afar, and had managed to drive off the victorious fomorians just long enough to pull out any of us yet living. Eventually, after my recovery, I carefully made my way home, to see for myself what had become of it.

The grove? It was now a mockery of itself, the majestic dwelling grown from our rooted cousins now rotting stumps. What was once lush green grass was now parched earth. What was glistening nature magic, spiraling up into the heavens, was now the putrid smoke of infernal fire. My father’s vision had come to pass.

And so I have come to Hibernia, on the eve of your Samhain, to make peace with the dead that I have betrayed, for I have heard that on this eve, they may hear words from those still in this world, and they may forgive.”