Lost in the Woods
15th of Calistril, 3E 139
Early Morning
It had once been said that nature flowed through the veins of the Sunderlands like a coursing river. One could probably argue that nature was in everything created by the gods: beasts, mortals, anything that was native to and walked upon the Material Plane. However, not so many beings were conduits for nature magic. Perhaps even saying that the Sunderland line was responsible for that surplus of druidic energy would be incorrect. It really started with the woman who married a Sunderland.
It was hard to hide a power like hers but Serna had developed wards with time. Few but the greatest spell-casters could detect an inkling of magic sensitivity through those. Without those wards, even the unenlightened could feel something was different about the young woman. Well, young… in appearance, maybe, but her spirit was far older. Despite living four decades, Serna Sunderland didn’t look a day over twenty-five – and she didn’t know why exactly that was.
She had cast off the wards for a time as she wandered in the cool woods far from any significant city. The lightest splattering of rain trickled through the canopy of leaves above her and she tilted her head back to feel the cool droplets on her face. She couldn’t help but think of the days back when she was under the tutelage of Mother Robin when she felt nature’s strength as she did now. The energies of growing foliage, of wildlife dancing in the shadows… it made her feel all so alive.
Mother Robin had raised her to live with nature, unlike Man who wanted to tame and fight nature tooth-and-claw. They treated it like the abomination that outsiders and creatures of the abyss were, not like the lifeblood of their own plane.
The slow-speaking yet impatient witch taught Serna respect for all living beings… She also taught her when beings did not deserve that life; when nature should take its course, when the flesh should meet the dirt and renew nature that did deserve life.
The teachings of Mother Robin had followed Serna all through her life though it had been many years since she had seen her caregiver. Somehow she didn’t doubt the woman was still alive in her little mud hut in a forest far, far away. She couldn’t help but feel a small pang of regret she hadn’t visited her in the past twenty or so years.
But so much had happened.
She had married, lost her husband and many children to death. She had been in a war that ravaged the lands she currently walked – only ended two years ago by her husband’s death. She had been the wife of a Warlord, Vallim Sunderland. Their children… by horrible fate, had mostly ended up dead in her arms. She had two sons, Logan and Darion. After their births she had suffered many horrible miscarriages and stillbirths. The only daughter that survived was killed when only a few days old by a religious zealot… a member of The Order of the Gilded Stag.
The air died with the very thought of that organization. They were the reason Vallim and Logan were dead now. They had killed her darling baby girl. She didn’t know if Darion and her youngest, Jacob, were even still alive… because of them.
Every day she lived with the fear that somehow Darion hadn’t gotten Jacob to safety. She trusted her older son of course, but Jacob had been her heart and soul. When he was born, a living, breathing little babe in the midst of all those deaths and all that chaos… he had given her hope. He had given her purpose. Jacob was the manifestation of all she felt she had accomplished in life and as long as he lived… she continued to have purpose. But while the Order of the Gilded Stag still stood strong, she would never see him again. She would skirt in the shadows of his and Darion’s lives, flitting from rumors to whispers to gain the tiniest amount of insight into their world. One day she would find them… but she would never reveal herself.
She raised her hood once more, covering her raven hair. Weaving the essence of nature carefully, she reconstructed her wards. It had been two years since she had seen her sons and it was time to search them out. It was time to become the guardian against the Order that so vehemently hunted all blood-kin of the Warlord Vallim Sunderland.
It was a mother’s charge to protect her children.
It was a wife’s charge to avenge her husband.
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Pumpkinbee Bed and Breakfast
15th of Calistril, 3E 139
Midday
Briar gave an exaggerated sigh of relief as she lifted her painted nails to bright pink cotton candy hair. Releasing the brilliant waves of obnoxious-colored locks from the messy bun, she spun about in the air to survey her handiwork.
For a pixie, Briar was small and extremely messy. It was an odd combination that did not in any way lead to the fact that she was the hostess and owner of a Bed and Breakfast – one of which catered mainly to bigger peoples. Only rarely did she have the pleasure of entertaining Halflings or Gnomes – but never another Pixie. She didn’t mind, really! She loved the company of the shorter-lived races; she loved their enthusiasm and zest for life!
With a small tutting sound from her lips, Briar’s little yellow-green wings flitted anxiously. She hovered above the beautiful wooden countertops surrounding her. It had taken her two hours to buff the place up to an acceptable standard worthy of a Bed and Breakfast but finally the kitchen was clean.
A bowl of apples was placed on the shelf above the stove alongside the bundles of herbs and mushrooms she had collected earlier this morning. To spice the place up she set the giant (to her at least) platter of pumpkin spice muffins that had come out of the oven only a few minutes ago. Their delicious scent wafted through the two-storey wooden building and out into the air of the rainy day outside.
Briar hummed a little tune to herself as she collected her feather duster and fluttered about the place, dusting away. She stopped in the foyer to pass a critical eye over the wilting roses in their vase on the foyer table. A carefree shrug was given before she gathered the roses, flew to the door and opened it. Unceremoniously she threw the roses out onto the puddled cobblestone path.
Pumpkinbee Bed and Breakfast was an idyllic little place. Briar had painstakingly renovated what was once an old house into what she felt was truly a mansion of polished wood and cobble-bricked outer walls. It had taken many years for her to do the place up but she had a long lifespan – it had been enjoyable. She most certainly was no builder or carpenter, or even an architect, but she felt the rustic finish and the oaky scent made the place feel like home. She was so honoured to call that place her home she had to share it with others!
Situated on the edge of the Great Forest and Bowan’s Thicket, Pumpkinbee Bed and Breakfast sat at the end of a little grey cobblestone path leading from one of the main highways. Bowan’s Thicket had very little to offer but some poor farmland and perhaps some mediocre hunting so the road didn’t get too much use. Briar had met plenty of the farmers in the surrounding lands while making her rounds. She had rather successfully attempted to sell them jars of honey collected from her very own bees out the back of the house.
To keep her bees sustained and her own… hobbies… in practice, Briar kept a large and luxurious garden. Vines climbed up the sides of the house and flowers and shrubs flooded the forest clearing of which her house lay part of. Vibrant hues and colors of all varieties blossomed in her yard. Even that color could not be contained on the ground for she had filled hanging pots on the walls and set little teacups and saucers on the outer windowsills with small fairydown flowers or widoweep herbs spilling from them.
Despite the cottagesque qualities of her home and her warm personality that openly welcomed anybody she could spot… there was something odd about Briar Pumpkinbee. Her apparent clumsiness only helped to dispel the possibility of the truth: She was an alchemist. Oh no, it wasn’t obvious. She was so dither-brained it was a wonder she could even remind herself of the fact sometimes. The cleanliness of the public areas of her home… well…
Up in the attic, through a hole only she could fly through… there was chaos.
And in that chaos…
… something stirred.
Meanwhile Briar Pumpkinbee straightened her white lacy pinafore and hummed a happy little tune as she continued dusting the foyer. She couldn’t wait to have more guests!