“Crisis in the North: Draceni Rebellion Rises Amidst Civil War: Three way bloodbath inevitable

- More on page 2”

- Headline of Bereni Watcher Special Publication: Eyes on the North Series

Sophie had only been mildly awake when the strange tribal smothered the fire in a panic. Without so much as even a warning however, she found herself unpleasantly roused in an effort to evacuate the tree hollow. ‘Can’t be seen by the others.’ Sophie had heard the girl muttering under her breath whilst they packed, but who?

Her question was quickly answered when two cloaked shadowy figures emerged from the brush with short bows pointed at the duo. Clad in dark green cloaks, brown leather breastplates, dark hide boots and a scarf that covered all but their eyes. A few threatening gestures and some vaguely ineligible words traded between the red haired tribal and the hooded men seemed to do the trick as Aryana gestured for her to follow along. Reluctantly she did as she was told though an inkling of recognition gnawed at her upon seeing their graceful and incredibly agile movements. It only all pieced together when their looks of derision were combined with the singular word that she remembered from the elvish lexicon.

“Svitor.” One of the figures had said as he glared at her. But though she knew not what it meant, the tone it conveyed said all that needed to be said, it was nothing pleasant.

Wordlessly they had followed their captors down the mountainside, the two guards barely even looking back at them as they weaved through the woods. Aryana seemed especially nervous, awestruck and a little hesitant even, but with how frigid the guards had seemed Sophie didn’t want to risk drawing their ire any further by speaking.

It felt like almost an eternity until they spotted the faint hue of dim magelight in the distance illuminating a pathway through the brush. The ethereal blue hue brought back unpleasant memories as a shiver went down her spine. Madness slowly crept up as visions of the dead began invading her mind, her eyes darting all over in an attempt to distract herself. It was the sentries that caught her eye first, hidden amongst the trees were more elven scouts, nearly blending into the very wood itself. It was only the small slit in their masks that allowed her to correctly see their eyes, their dark green and browns camouflaging them from any would-be hostiles, their bows curved just enough to look more like a gnarled branch even as it pointed at her.

Then there were the next things she noticed, the bubbling rage filling her soul even quicker than the dread of the dead. Little wooden twigs tied together with twine and occasionally adorned with some stray animal bone, it’s the weird fucking effigies and totems. Most of them were being tended to by strangely garbed people, cloaked with some animal furs of varying quality. Druids! I bet these are the damned druids!

They did however, seem to all turn at the approach of the two strangers, most muttering some strange prayers. Sophie did notice that, whilst she remained mostly a cursory object of attention, most ended up fixated on the redheaded girl who seemed to to shrink further into herself with every additional set of eyes trained on her. Poor kid.

The commotion they caused however, was soon overshadowed by heavy gruff yelling from a large tent with a curved triangular roof. Whilst Sophie just tried to adopt her best scowl at the druids, totems and excessive noise, Aryana did not appear nearly as composed. Her companion perked up at the gruff voices emanating from the tent. Then, as some form of recognition seemed to take place, she became like some possessed hound she looked ready to bolt. Her franticness only increased before a guard clamped his hand down on a shortsword, temporarily dissuading the girl. Trembling, Aryana had then simply turned to Sophie with fearful eyes before just shaking her head and huddling into herself. Muttering so quietly that Sophie could barely make out any of the words bar one.

“...sacrifice…”

At that Sophie narrowed her eyes, totems, druids, elves, and now sacrifice? This can’t be good. Her suspicions were proven correct when two burly giant men burst through the tent flaps. Their faces seethed with rage as they shouted what she assumed to be tribal obscenities towards the tent and marched away. So quick was their flight that they brushed past the guards and the duo with barely a glance. By the Goddess what happened there?

To her horror, the guards tilted their heads towards the tent, their hands on their weapons with only one word spoken between the two of them. “In.” They ordered.

Launched out of a magic portal into the hands of another group of cultish mages again, she grumbled. Seeing Aryana still trembling, she decided to lead by example. Not like we have much of a choice here, with one last sigh and a nod to the girl behind her she stepped forward.

Throwing open the tent flaps she grimaced from the sudden change in lighting. Whereas the outside of the camp was lit with an ethereal soft blue magelight, the inside was illuminated by a hard orange that stung her eyes.

Her arrival had paused whatever conversations were happening abruptly and she squirmed at the sudden attention from over a dozen sets of eyes. Burly, tall and overly robust men and women turned to face her, their imposing gazes making her dislike vanish instantly as it was quickly overtaken by fear. Their furs, leathers, hides and weapons hanging on their belts gave the impression of a band of mighty warriors, ready to travel through the frozen north to slay a wrym, or even a dark God.

“I curjofr sa natike ap myrk.” A smooth, song-like voice announced from behind her.

The gathered tribals gave their own guttural grunts of acknowledgement as they turned their attention to the elven guards before examining her up and down. I don’t like this.

“I hernun e loma.” The elven voice continued, and Sophie found a reluctant Aryana being pushed forward ahead of her, a lamb presented for the slaughter.

This provoked a far stronger reaction. Audible gasps came from the tribals before they began turning against one stood near the edge of the table whose eyes switched from surprise, to shock, to fury at the sight of the redhead.

There was a new tension in the air as everyone dropped into silence, the burly tribal seething with rage taking one slow step after another towards them. He was within striking range when the room exploded into chaos. Angry shouts from the other tribal pierced the frigid silence. The man began flexing his arms as he screamed at Aryana who visibly shrank from the verbal assault. The elven captors remained stoic and passive throughout, seemingly letting the chaos unfold.

Sophie bristled at their inaction, trying instead to judge how likely the tribal man was going to attack by how tense his muscles were. How his hands were clenched into fists, rearing back for a strike. Seeing the hatred and inaction spurred something deep within, a desire to not see someone share the same loneliness that she felt back at the estates in the moments Eva was not around. To be left out, to be alone and despised, I wouldn’t wish that on someone. Something approaching a scowl formed itself onto her face, and this girl…this outlander, to be left so frail? Why is she so hated? Regardless, if that was me Eva would protect me, Elaria too.

She narrowed her eyes at how Aryana began shaking from simply being here, the terror overtaking the girl’s form and the man's increasing hostility. Taking a large step forward she moved in front of the girl, one arm outstretched to halt the attack and one on the hilt of her blade. “I don’t know what’s going on but don’t you dare.” She growled.

Though she felt a modicum of bravery stir up within her, the tribal was very much ready to make her regret it. If there was anger and fury in his eyes before, now there was a look that was filled with hatred. Sophie braced herself, hunching slightly in preparation for a heavy hit.

With a roar of his own the tribal wound back his fists and let loose, the force she saw making her flinch, her eyes clenched shut in anticipation of the pain. But it never came.

A cane striking the wooden table first quieted those closest to the sound, then the ones further away, and finally the man froze mid swing.

“Ciuach!” An older, raspier but voice commanded from the other end of the room.

Whatever conversations or mutterings happened after the tapping evaporated into nothingness. It was like a wave of power that washed over everyone, holding the room in stasis. Behind the angry tribal man, a shabby green robed figure stood up from his seat at the head of the table. Ferns, leather and little leaves adorned his outfit in various patches, his wiry frame raising the gnarled dark oak staff in his hand to command the crowd’s attention.

Spreading his arms out, the gathered tribals responded by backing away, leaving only the enraged man and the table between them.

“Enough of this, the many moons have commanded there shall be no violence here!” The elder roared in common.

Sophie recognized his attire and cursed silently, a druid. To her surprise the druid just glared at the man and slowly but surely, the man lowered his fist, the hateful look never leaving his eyes.

“Inclus el…” One of the elven guards murmured, their silent unmoving forms radiating a threatening aura.

“What do the wilds bring to this gathering?” The elder ignored the guards, raising a curious brow as he strode forth to the duo, “An outsider and…the flame touched…by the merciful greens…” He whispered.

That last comment stirred up the room once more, the tribals began roaring aloud in their language, a guttural tongue that Sophie did not understand. But as she spared a glance at how Aryana squirmed, her heart steeled itself with determination, she would protect the poor girl.

“Hey.” Sophie spoke. But none paid attention to her save for the guards whose weapons moved ever so slightly, their presence reminding her to keep controlled. She gritted her teeth as another torrent of abuse was hurled both at the redhead and at the hateful man. He threw his own words at Aryana, every bark of his voice seemed to hurt Aryana much more than the plethora of other derisive words thrown at her.

“Hey!” Sophie barked, hoping her sudden rise in volume hid the shakiness in her voice, “What the saints damned hells is this all about?! Why is everyone so angry…at her…” Her voice faltered when the hateful tribal marched towards her, looming over her by almost half a person with his imposing form.

The tribal man gave a guttural growl that cowed Sophie somewhat, but to her own surprise she found herself unable to wilt away, weakened yet unwilling to give up. She matched the man’s stature by looking up with a scowl of her own, hoping her face was as fierce as Mila’s. He jabbed a finger at her before uttering a thinly veiled curse, his low growl making her tense up. She could sense the power he held back and started to ever so slightly regret her choices, one punch and I’m done.

One welcome change she noticed was that the jeers and derision were now mostly aimed at her. She recognized the looks from whenever Head Maid Hilda would berate her in front of the others, filled with disdain at the outsider. But at least it’s not towards the girl anymore. She grit her teeth and bore the brunt of the hatred, a role she felt a little too familiar with.

‘Outsider’, ‘lagear’, and ‘inri’ were the words Sophie heard the most often. It was an unceasing torrent of hatred and fear not just being directed at her, but at her act at protecting the redhead. She remained committed, but wondered just what her companion had done to incite such harsh reactions to her presence.

The barrage continued for what felt like minutes before the druid slammed his staff on the table, disturbing the map that rested on it and rattling the little wooden figures on it. By his one action, the tent fell silent once again, only a few dissatisfied murmurs remaining before he spoke.

“Art thou the keeper of the fire? The bearer of the burden?” He asked Sophie with an arched brow, uncaring of the man in front of her that barely contained his rage.

It took more than a few uncomfortable seconds before the seething tribal back away, allowing for the druid to approach her. “Hmm?” The druid continued his query, “An outsider need not meddle with what they know not of.”

Sophie turned back to look at the girl, little of her earlier bravado remaining from when she confronted Sophie, just a fearful shell that now seemed more terrified than anything. Within her eyes Sophie swore she saw someone just like herself, lonely and afraid of the world. Guilt however weaved its way into her mind in equal measure, the failures of the past to protect her friends and allies still stung deep during the quiet. She knew she was still incapable, still unable to fight even half as competently as someone like Mila, much less Taurox. Is this just a mistake in the waiting? Or a chance to redeem myself from the Goddess? And what of the void? Was this planned all along? Is this why Elaria shoved me through?

Her doubts unfortunately, had no answers, and the room of people only continued to stare, the quietness that lingered like a rope about to snap. The druid seemed the most nonchalant out of all, his bearded face showing little emotion and only seemed to await an answer. She could feel the sweat forming on her brow, the worry that this was just her dooming another person to suffering. But what of the pain she has to go through now?

Goddess Stellesia may your blessings of luck guide me and may Mighty Astralis forgive me for my misjudgement. “Y-yeah, yeah!" Sophie stammered before she steadied herself, "Yeah, I’m the keeper of fire.”

It was eerily silent at first, the crowd seemed unable to process her words whilst the druid just nodded in a sagely manner.

“So it seems,” He bobbed his head, “So shall I, Lirebus of the Moonlit Groove, here at the council of the clans, declare that the outsider shall be the warden of flame. May the Moon’s many blessings be upon us.” He finished with a self satisfied smile.

Another moment of silence followed, the disbelief evident on the faces of the tribals with their mouths agape. Then, there was chaos.

“So why didn’t they invite you?” Annalise asked their companion.

“Hah, a council of the tribes for the tribes, not of elves and men.” Treesinger Vulen replied, “Besides, it was the druids who asked for the aid of the rangers, not the chieftains themselves.”

Despite his age, Annalise and Mila found themselves surprised at the energy in his step. They had just finished what he called a ‘traditional elven supper’ made up of some strange herbal tea and soft bread. Admittedly whatever dough or ingredients they used were not meant for the mouths of humans in its weirdly stringy but soft texture. That said, both Annalise and Mila had to stifle their voices at how strange but delicious it tasted. Soft, chewy, just a tad sweet but almost savory.

The break happened because evidently more than just the chieftains had been spotted and First Warden Ardelion insisted the Treesinger and his ‘guests’ remain away until they resolve the situation. Thus they spent the time questioning Vulen, learning a few more things in the process. Such as, given the current state of Melton and the demonic threat building up in the north coupled with a large-scale orcish migration, many tribes believed it to be the ideal time to relocate and potentially claim Meltonian lands. Alongside that one of the tribal clans, the Frostfyres, stirred up some trouble or another by claiming they possessed the seeds of the apocalypse. Annalise had been intrigued, curious at least of the going ons here. Her companion on the other hand, was much less tolerating the current troubles. Mila’s scowl only deepened when they talked about the pagan prophecies.

A loud shout broke through the ambient hum of the camp and even Vulen seemed surprised at the commotion, gesturing quickly for the two to follow. They arrived in front of the main tent, a purplish ornate structure facing away from the bog. Steadying herself, Annalise watched as the Treesinger pressed forward, throwing open the flaps to the elven tent. Mila flashed her a look and she nodded, the two joining the Treesinger who froze at the entrance, transfixed by the chaos within.

Two elven guards stood opposite a druid and a few tribals, another set of guards were busy trying to restrain a giant of man who seemed desperate to attack a figure laying down in front of him. Below them a small redhead cradled the laying figure in her arms, blood pooling on the ground below them.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Treesinger Vulen bellowed out, the veins on his face popping out.

His burst of noise startled the guards nearby and they hastily bowed.

“Arankantor.” One of the warden’s acknowledged.

“Shame! Shame on all of you! Naidor tor! Begone!” Vulen berated the crowd, his voice shifting from kind old man to stringent overseer in naught but a second.

A few of the chieftains recoiled from his words, hanging their heads low in shame whilst others, including the restrained man, raged even further, their eyes burning with fury. But it was the wounded figure that drew Annalise’s eye, a familiar black ponytail and stature stilled her breath, is it really…? Carefully she hobbled slightly to the side and caught sight of the figure’s exhausted expression. A mixture of emotions whirled about inside of her.

“Sophie?” She uttered under her breath, alerting Mila.

“Ranger?”

“Isn’t that…?” She whispered.

Mila squinted, her brows furrowing before turning to Annalise who immediately understood, that’s her alright, but how the hells is she here? And what the saint damned hells did she just do to get stabbed? What is even going on?