Cast Out of the Garden...of the Past - Of Witch Hazel, Lady Sabriel and the Making of The Lady of Forest and Field

Standing among the crowd of cheering villagers these thoughts (mentioned above) play on the edges of your mind. As your concern begins to take shape you hear a familiar voice and suddenly you find yourself racing back through memories gratefully left alone for some time now.

Though you stand in their midst, the cheering crowds seem to go into slow motion around you and their jubilation grows more and more distant as you pull back into the past within your mind. Though only a memory, the familiar smile of you mentor, the high priestess of the local temple of Gia, brings you peace of mind as it did so often when you were a young girl and an aspirant to Gia's order. 

Background to this memory:

Eve was always a curious young woman of her village. It was a trait that was commonly connected with both of her locally well known parents. As a result she was referred to as "doubly cursed to get into things". This time she had messed up pretty bad...but it was so mysterious! So fascinating! She simply had to see what the druids did at their mid-summer celebrations...which was highly forbidden.

So, having observed carefully at one of the smaller celebrations last autumn, she had taken an acorn and, while standing at the edge of the druid's clearing that afternoon, just like a priestess 5 times her senior, she turned herself into a young oak sapling in order to watch the event. Unfortunately she didn't have it quiet all together and the spell wore off just as the event began...Much to the unhappy amazement of the druids.

Now, at the temple, standing in front of the Lady Sabriel the smell of burning sage fills your senses as the high priestess ritually smudges you. 

"Your penance will go by faster than you think, my little oak." Wry smile and a wink.

Your eyes are welling with tears but you are just able to keep them from spilling over. Sabriel smiles and caresses your cheek. Raising your face with her hand she brings your eyes to meet her own.

"You may be a powerful druid one day, daughter of Gaia, but you must also be wise."

Looking into your eyes she pauses for effect, "Patience!"

Again the smile that could light up a room. She steps back from you still looking into your eyes.

"An oak struggles for centuries to create its magnificent crown which will rival that of any king. We must learn the oak's patience. Nature is the greatest of teachers, Eve. Listen to her and you will never fail." She smiles and the memory changes. 

Years later, you are a preparing for your initiation only days away. Participants are streaming away from the temple after a wonderful ritual to honor the Orb of Tae when you hear your name being called. An older Lady Sabriel approaches though the crowds. Smiling warmly at your greeting, she kisses both of your cheeks. As she does so she presses several small round objects into your hand.

Smiling, you're about to ask what she is giving you when you notice the look in her eyes. This is not your normal greeting...

Since that day you have marveled at how two words could have upturned your life as much as those did.  With that smile that captured your heart as a small child and had brought you into Gaia's temple she said simply, "Honor me." 

It wasn't clicking. You stammer, "I...I... Of course, Lady Sabriel. I..." She is already walking quickly back to the temple. Confused, you look at your hand. Your fingers are wrapped around her gift so tightly your knuckles are white and the small items pinch the skin. Slowly the fingers open. 

Three large, beautiful acorns. One of the sharp acorn points has broken the skin of your hand and the children of the sacred oak are smudged with your blood. Your heart skips a beat as you allow the ramifications of those three acorns to sink in.

Looking up, Sabriel is already gone. Lightly touching your fingertips to your lips, a tear drops from your cheek as you whisper, "No."

There is a tug at your hand and all of the sites and sounds of the moment come roaring back. Lost among the happy villagers was a short and gnarled old woman who somehow made her way to your side and pulled at your hand. You look down and meet witch Hazel's up turned gaze and her smile minus a couple of teeth.

Still holding your hand, "I woke up this morning thinking about you, my young beauty. Praise be to Gaia. Lets look at you now. You're just like an oak sapling working on your crown, aren't you? I can see it! I sure can. An old woman of the Erde knows these things. Praise be to Gaia and her mantle upon Erde." She cackles as she tugs gently again on your hand.

She continues to look up into your face, her eyes sparkling warmly. "Blessings of the Erde be upon you and your friends here, my beauty. No need in worrying about those who didn't return with you. You know, the way I see it, everything has a job to do. A bird flies somewhere, picks up a seed, shits the seed out, a plant grows. Bird's got a job, shit's got a job, seed's got a job... And you have a job my beauty. You have a job too, don't cha?"

Leaning in she reaches up and touches your cheek. "I felt directed to tell you, my beauty. You have done so well, my love, you and your friends here. All of us thank you. Gaia thanks you and Nepenthe thanks you. You know who Nepenthe is now don't you, daughter? It's not just a river, now is it? Yes. As I've said, we all have a job, don't we, my young sapling."

She steps back pressing the palms of her hands together in front of her lips and looks at you with affection. "You know where to find me if you need anything, daughter of Erde." 

She cackles again, raises her eyes and hands to the sky and dances about a bit and then she disappears into the crowd.

The Slaying of Imenia and the Freeing of Nepenthe

The heroes have returned for a triumphal entry through crowd thronged..er..dirt roads…But you're heroes! And loved by all of the philistines of Ashdown. :-D

Hoozzah! The life giving waters of Nepenthe flow once more via the loving attention of the pixie of the same name. The crops are watered! The herds drink and are refreshed! Buel can wash the stinking carrion from his armor! It's wonderful!

The crowds shout as one,

"Imenia is dead! Nepenthe flows again! Long live the heroes!"

A boy of 14 summers pushes through the crowd and drops a soap box on the ground at the crowd's center. A part forms among the happy townspeople and the mayor, thumbing her badge, walks through the large gathering and steps up onto the box. She smiles and winks at the boy. "Thank you Billy". The boy smiles sheepishly.

With a smile the mayor looks around meeting the eyes of her happy constituents. Raising a finger in exaggerated officiatude, she loudly proclaims the following:

"Look-a-here, yall! We have some cattle and some wine. Lets have ourselves a 3 day ho-down! Let no work be done er nothin!"

Crowd: Yeehaa! Yippy ky-yo ky-yay! Woot! Woot! Free Bird!

"We'll mark this here day every year to remember our great trib-uh-lation and those fine folk what delivered us. This here is gonna be a county wide holiday from now til doomsday or mega-agriculture buys up all our lands and makes everybody grow that G.E. shit!"

Crowd: Boooo…!

"As your mayor this is my proclamation. I'm the decider!"

The mayor raised her right fist up over her head and then continued with a happy and excited voice:

Mayor: "Hail to Buel of Tynbrooke!"

Crowd: "Hail to Buel of Tynbrooke!"

Mayor: "Hail to Eve of..em..umm…uhh.."

Crowd: "to Eve!"

Mayor: "Right..Yes.. Um... Hail to Eve!"

Crowd: "Hail to Eve!"

Mayor: "And hail to Echo!"

Crowd: "Hail to Echo! Echo! Echo! Echo!"

Mayor: "And all hail our beloved Nepenthe which flows from the womb of Erde bringing life to all of the valley!"

Crowd: "Haaaiiil yeeaa!"

And much drinking, eating, smoking of cannibus and unrepressed sexual debauchery with farm animals ensued.

Useful Game Info - What is and what could never be!

On Meeting A Master - From the story sticks of Bhuel of Tinbrook

From the Story Sticks of Bhuel - Savioli of Erde

The woodland bash ended, the participants all departed with smiles, waves and some tears, the man of Tynbrook takes a few moments to get away from his comrades for a bit of reverie.

"What a fascinating day!  Aw, gods of earth and stone, what a beauty she was…" you think as you peer upwards at a bird of prey, much like the one the nymph turned into after leaping off of the stone alter as gracefully and powerfully as a gazelle.  You remember how she spread herself out on the ground before the great druid, naked, ready for love.  Wow…  In resisting an offer like that, Marivelle must be a great...man.  Hmm… Maybe at one time...

Eyes narrowed from the light of Arah they remain narrow in silent contemplation as your gaze ascends to touch upon the forest's edge then returns to the flower dappled greenery that swims about your knees.  Joined by a wide circle of leaning, weather beaten stones, the wild and unmanaged greenery rises and falls through out a large clearing that only an hour ago was neatly coifed. "Oh Mother of Erde, I marvel at thy might.  I am grateful for these events." you say, moved by the wonders you have seen over the last day and a half.

With an arm behind your back you gracefully take a step forward and whisk a katana from it's sheath so quickly it's hard to follow with the eye.  Gently then, you slowly swish the blade of your katana in a wide arc through the tall grasses and flowering weeds.  Mesmerized by the beauty of Aralight glinting off of the magnificently crafted, slightly curved blade as it slides through the stems and leaves, a gentle murderer, easily separating them from their supporting stalks, you think "What can all of this mean…"

You straighten, whip your katana back into it's scabbard and then relax your stance.  A chuckle escapes your lips at the wonder of it all.  Your right hand rubs a bit at your chin as you shake your head still deep in thought. 

BONK!

Something small and hard has struck you sharply in the head and bounces away.  Out of the corner of your eye you see it was a small stone the size of a large marble and it appears to have come from the left.  Before it gets too far, like a lightening bolt you whip out a blade with your left hand and bat it back in the direction from which it came.

Continued................................

 A lone elf, laughing, catches the stone that you just batted back at him.  He pulls the hood of the elven cloak back from his head exposing golden red hair in a long pony tail and bright violet eyes.  "Very good..!  Very good, Bhuel, Half Elf of Tynbrook." He says with a beaming smile.

"I was among the celebrants last night and noticed your blades.  There are only two sources for such excellent craftsmanship on the whole of the island and I know what I'm talking about."

Without another word the elf leaps, spinning into the air, his silver blades no more than a streak of silver and arahlight as they hum in circles about him.  Landing in the same kneeling position as you the elf smiles large as all of the greenery in a 5 foot radius about him drops down to the ground. 

He slowly stands and twirls the blades about with precision and power but with an ease and a finesse belying a level of mastery that you have only drempt of.  And, when the blades stop spinning, you notice the craftsmanship can only be that of the brothers who so gifted you with your own martial weapons and training.

Snap!  snap!  The blades are back in their scabbards and the elf puts his hands on his belt, one behind each scabbard.  Allowing himself to relax he shifts his weight over onto his left leg and lets his head and shoulders hunch ever so slightly forward as he studies you through squinted eyes.

"My name is Savioli and I new Hokurou and Ookami.  Indeed, it is they who made these mighty steel fangs of death.  They have happily drank much blood in their day...and kept my ars comfortably on this side of the dirt."  Another large grin.

"Now...Let's get to know one another, shall we?"

And with no time to say anything, Savioli covers the ground between you (about 30 feet) amazingly fast and your weapons ring out in the morning air.

"Oh come now." He says in the midst of a easy parry and a graceful spinning attack you barely counter.

"The brothers are crying in their tombs, half elf."  As the ranger attempted to hook Savioli's ankles with his secreted blades, Savioli lept easily to the right and spun a dance around to the side and rear of the surprised and confounded half elf ending the move with a swat across Bheul's backside with the flat of one of his blades.

Come on now.  Would you really want to be taught by a "master" who couldn't see that coming?   

"Well done, Bhuel!  A good fighter always has a back up plan.  I commend you on having one but know that a master expects all good fighters to have a back up plan...and a master always has a counter!"  He says with excitement as he snaps his blades back into their scabbards. 

"You are truly gifted, my friend.  Green but gifted.  I could have had your head a dozen times or, for that matter, your ears or your nose, hands or anything else I may have been shopping for."  He says laughing and walking up to you.

His eyes soften and he pushes the air down in front of him with his left hand in bid to calm any hard feelings.  "Don't be frustrated, bhuel of Tynbrook and please...forgive my elven jesting at your expense.  You're really very good and you have great potential.  You are worthy of those katanas.  Unfortunately, in this duel you were cruelly over matched.  I've been cutting my way across the plane of Erde for over 400 years. 

Covered with the blood of orcs and hill giants I stood by King Tarimoor when he laid waste to the evil kingdom of Chult 7 or 8 human lifetimes ago.  A century after the fall of Chult when Mount Kor exploded in the north and the skies of the world were dark for a year, I fought blade to claw against the lich lord of Arabast and threw him down forever. 

With the Prince of Janthyra I sailed the Sea of Stars and fought for 12 days straight in the battle of the Red Corsairs of Baator.  I've scaled the Claws of Prukhan and, with a crew of 13 brave warriors, slew Krisvyre, the green dragon and bane of Sun Lee.  I then gave the worm's vast treasure hoard to the people of the kingdom of Sakura whom she had terrorized for 3 times your life on Erde. 

And, I've done many many other things, my young friend.  Some that I would be happy to tell you about over a tankard and many others still that I don't care to think about or remember."

"So..."

Sovioli takes another step forward and extends a gloved hand.  Now that he is closer you can see a hint of crinkling around the bright violet eyes.  With that seemingly unquenchable smile and his hand in reach he continues,

"Will you put your swords and hooks away, Bhuel of Tynbrook, and shake an old elf's hand in friendship?"

At The Feet of the Master
The Smiling lightning bolt

The venerable elf, as easily as a young boy, climbed down from the tree from which he had just cut two 4 foot long branches, mostly straight and about the thickness of a human thumb.  He swished and swooped them back and forth in front of himself and smiled at the sounds they made as they tore at the air.  Suddenly he leapt up high and came down spinning, dancing and whirring the sticks about him in an incredibly graceful choreography reminiscent of perhaps a mountain lion and a ballerina. 

 

Singing a song in his Elvin tongue he laughed and danced lightly around in a wide circle while beautifully chopping, slicing and killing imaginary foes.  Two farmers in a field about 100 yards away stopped what they were doing and watched with mouths slightly open.  Savioli ended his song and his deadly dance in a final leap into a crouch, one arm behind and across his lower back with the "blade" pointing off to the left and the other arm across his front with the "blade" pointing off to the right.  With power and control he stood up straight, eyes closed and crossed his arms like an Egyptian pharaoh across his chest pointing the two sticks diagonally upwards on either side of his head.

 

He stood in that pose for a minute, eyes closed, arms crossed, feet together, posture upright and straight.  Opening his eyes he looks right into Buel's and grins a wide grin.  Relaxing, he walks about as though mildly drunk now indirectly closing the distance between the two of you.  "It's been said at least twice that we Grays take ourselves too seriously", he chuckles.

 

Straightening his walk and stride he walks to within 10 feet of you.  "I apologize for my brethren's rude commentary back at the tavern. My people can be so conceited in their 'Elvin-ness'.  It's one of the reasons I have been on a walk about for most of my 5 centuries." 

 

Looking more serious now, Savioli takes up a formal fighting position.  "Now, apprentice, it is time you learned your first kata.  And, while we go through these steps I will tell you some of my life and of my philosophy; The Way of Strategy."

 

"There are various Ways. There is the Way of salvation by the law of

Corellon Larethian, the Way of Labelas Enoreth governing the Way of learning, the Way of healing as a doctor, as a poet teaching the Way of Fea (Elvish classical poetry), tea, archery, and many arts and skills. Each person practices as they feel inclined. It is said the warrior's is the twofold Way of pen and sword, and he should have a taste for both Ways.

Even if a person has no natural ability he can be a warrior by sticking assiduously to both divisions of the Way. Generally speaking, the Way of the warrior is resolute acceptance of death. Although not only warriors but priests, women, peasants and lowlier folk have been known to die readily in the cause of duty or out of shame, this is a different thing.

The warrior is different in that studying the Way of Strategy is based on overcoming your enemy. By victory gained in crossing swords with individuals, or enjoining battle with large numbers, we can attain power and fame for ourselves or our lord. This is the virtue of strategy."

Much kata instruction, philosophy and sparring ensues...and at it's end:

 

Buel, tired now but not giving up, makes a complicated 1, 2 parry and attack with his katanas only this time, when Buel's weapons strike Savioli's sticks one stick is batted off into some bushes and the other is sliced in half.  Without even batting an eye Savioli turns and, with a smile, tosses the remains of his last stick in the direction of the group of farmers that has accumulated silently watch your practice with awe.  

 

He walks towards the two large water bladders the two of you have been taking swallows from for the last 3 hours of various instruction and gives you a nod.

 

 "You're a fast learner.  Excellent!  I knew I hadn't wasted my time picking you.  I thought at one point I might have to cut new practice swords. " says a beaming Savioli as he raises one of the bladders to his lips .   

 

For the last hour you and Savioli had sparred, you had used your katanas against his sticks .  You never managed to touch him but he did give you a few swats.   In the process, of course, you learned a few things.  One was a new kata for you to practice daily, another was a portion of the Way of Strategy and finally an advanced fighting move.

Visions Of The Coatl And Eve's Boon

Visions Of The Coatl And Eve's Boon

“Mastery of life is found in stillness”  The voice says.

All is silent and your movements are slow…Dreamlike.

Bird song filters through the gauzy silence from a distant meadow.  You float.

…A coiled serpent strikes…white fangs.  Droplets of blood explode through the air like liquid shrapnel from a source just beyond your site…

.  

Loamy, earth smell fills your nostrils.  You’re standing on the edge of a meadow. 

The low, orange orb of sun creates a golden spray of mist which hovers and drifts ghost like over the grasses.  Creeping at a glacial pace the shimmering, vaporous veil silently weaves itself among branch, bowl, leaf and stone.

…knot-work carved into a stone…distant lightning...A dragon/serpent slowly coils on a stone…lightning flashes from it's eyes and booming thunder...only knot-work on stone remains...

Aching exhaustion weights your limbs but a far away voice calls your name.  There!  Through the trees something moving...  The golden haze parts briefly to show a sun drenched series of buildings.  A silhouetted figure stands facing away from you in a darkened building.  Beyond the figure a high fitted stone wall with sculptural relief.  The figure turns to face you and a sharp glint of light flashes briefly from where the eyes should be.  The face begins to lighten just as the rolling, golden mists reclaim the vague imagery. 

…The serpent again...coiled about a column of white segments…peaceful now…satiated...

...small, smoldering red coals for eyes...It’s head rests against one of it’s coils…

...spring like...patient..

The golden orb is gone and the mist with it.  More commotion from the darkened, far wood line.  Several birds fly from the shadows.  An old looking crow observes you from a high branch.  Ice water races through your veins.

A whisper, barely audible, tickles the hairs on the back of your neck.

“Be still now...I would have your eyes”

The old crow spreads huge black wings like a cloak of fear and on a draft of malevolence it drifts down directly towards you.  Growing larger and larger it's black wings finally block out all light and all life.  You feel sharp stabs of pain.  Something like worms crawl on your skin.  All is black.  You feel nothing.

Within the abyss, a growing sensation.  Refreshing...cool.  A liquid.  Morning dew.  Creeping between your lips it finally touches your parched tongue.  It tastes of earth and sky…and blood.

Through the dark haze of fading sleep you hear a distant ringing in your ears as dreams fade and the memories of desperate battle return…Something moves on your chest.

You come to the surface of consciousness quickly and fling yourself over and into a crouch startling a half dozen crows as you do.  The left side of your head throbs with pain.  Exploring with your fingers you find a patch of flesh missing from your scalp.  Dried and caked blood is in your hair and on your face.  Feeling dizzy and vulnerable you take in the surroundings.  Though it appears that you are not in immediate danger, your heart fills with sadness and dread at the scene.  Family and friends lie about pale, cold and unmoving.

"Oh, no..."  Not far away, among still smoldering ruins, you see familiar forms.  

The couple lay together.  The arm of the larger wrapped protectively around the shoulders of the smaller.  Your father still holds the weapon of his fathers in his other hand.  His wounds are many and deep.  Looking about the immediate area you see the bow carried for years by your mother.  Highly ornate, it lays broken and trampled.  No surprise to you, they had both gone down fighting.  From the marks on the ground your mother had likely crawled to the side of her husband and they had passed on together.  You speak softly to them your goodbyes.

After a good search, your brother's body is nowhere to be found which gives you hope but the loss of so many of your kin is overwhelming. 

“No bodies of our attackers..?” you croak.

Fleeting memories...What attacked us?  Your head is aching, you run through the bits and pieces of memory and then you hear your father’s words again. 

You replay the moment:  There is commotion, shouting and screams in the background and he is telling you to run to the Mountain of the Sun. 

"Climb the eastern side at dawn and find the golden thread.  The rest will be made known to you but you must escape these lands of our heritage until such a time that it will be made whole again." 

He kisses your forehead and looked you in the eyes for a second.  With the weapon that was passed down for many generations in his hand, he stepped through the doorway.  Confused you decided to stay and fight.  All of your memories beyond that are sketchy.

"What am I going to do..?"  You ask.

Lord of the Forrest

The Meeting at Marivelle's Grove

Running up through the circle of participants of the rite of spring, the maiden, completely nude and absolutely beautiful was a site to behold.  None who saw her were left unmoved by the power of her raw beauty heavy with magic.  Now, as fast as a leopard, she dashed through the the circle and stopped abruptly in front of the druid who had been leading the rites.

Barely even breathing heavy after her run, her eyes found those of the druid. She smiled a playful smile at him and slowly lowered herself to the ground before him reclining back onto her elbows. She giggled ever so softly while looking up at him coyly from beneath her brow. Licking her lips and raising an eyebrow, she let the toe of one delicate foot slide exquisitely along the length of the opposing thigh and back again. Finally the seductress beamed a smile that could have lit up a room, flipped her hair across her face hiding an eye and slowly, seductively and brazenly spread her legs for him.

Several in the crowd gasped at such raw sexual power. A few chuckles were heard also. There was absolutely no denying the tangible pull of her (or his, depending on the observer's persuasion) powerful spell of passionate lust on any who saw her.  Tugging at them, pushing them, the scene enticed them with a delicate madness to rush over and take her with abandon and, although the spell inflamed the observer to consume her and themselves be consumed by the flames, those around the circle were not so ensorcelled.

Looking down upon this embodiment of seduction from mere feet away, the druid’s eyes left those of the maiden as he allowed his senses to drift down to drink in the perfection of her form, its flavor, its aroma. Shaking his head ever so slightly, his eyes again met hers. “You know I can’t do that, you naughty little fox.” He said with a wry smile.

There was a smattering of laughter and light applause among the congregation and the spell was broken. The maiden laughed again, whirled and was up on her feet. In two powerful strides she covered the distance between herself and the alter. Without pause and in a single motion she stepped up, placed the toes of one foot on the edge of the alter and thrust herself powerfully like an arrow into the night air.

The length of her body stretched out showing the perfection of both curves and muscle, and she seemed to sail through the air in slow motion. With a sudden flash and loud pop she shapechanged into a large, white owl and flew off into the shadows of the trees. Marking the spot of her startling transformation in the air a handful of soft, white feathers slowly spun their way to the ground.

The circle of congregants cheered and applauded at the spectacle and shouted, “Merivelle has returned to us! Hooray! Merivelle is here!” and “The King of Aradia has returned!”. To this the druid gave a playful, overly dramatic bow and smiled; beaming affectionately at them all as many began to approach him.

Seeing them approach him like happy children filled his heart with compassion and brought tears to the old druid's eyes. Raising his arms in affectionate response and anticipation he invited their embraces and yet, just before being completely encircled by friends and adorers, he managed to peek over at the southern end of the circle. Yes...good. The strangers had joined the circle. He had been a bit worried upon seeing 'the reason for his return' chasing the mischievous spirits attracted to the magic of the fertility ritual.

Any practitioner of magic knows that any ritual can attract curious spirits. This circle of practitioners was protected from such mischievousness by the cast circle and it's glowing wards at the four cardinal points. Casting a circle prior to ritual is pretty common but most here are knowledgeable enough to know those spirits for what they are and not be taken by their tricks. Not so these naive ones.

"They're very inexperienced." he thought as his view was blocked by the attendees. "This innocence must be the reason She has chosen them. Mother of Erde. I see your wisdom."

Assured of the well being of this party of strangers, Merivelle began embracing the multitude of attendees, many of them old friends, and received their calls of warm welcome. Many brought gifts which, with many apologies, he told them he could not accept. To which, of course, came distressed faces and the inevitable questions.

"Oh, come now." One of his Elven friends of years past countered. "Why can't you accept our gifts, Merivelle? We are so happy and so blessed by the goddess for your return.." And, though the druid hated to do so, he had to explain that he would only be here for a very short time and then things must go back to how the Goddess wilt them to be. The order of Nature must be kept.

As Merivelle feared when those around him heard this a cry of despair rose up from all of them in the realization that this wonderful person whom had been taken from them once long ago would now be taken once again. Several in their great sadness clutched at him as though, by sheer will and physical strength, they would not let this happen.

Freylin, one of the priestesses of the old grove and consort of his so long ago pleaded, her face buried in his robes, "No..! No, Merivelle. Stay with us! Please don't go back." A tall and able bodied yet very old man reasoned, "Merivelle we can have sacrifices in your place. A hundred bulls. A thousand fine bulls! So, you see? You don't have to go... Merivele?" And another elf of the city of Aradia argued, "Please don't leave again. Aradia needs you. Erda needs you!" And there was heavy weeping a

mong the now even larger group surrounding him.

Quickly, Merivelle did accept one lone gift brought to him by Lyra Merilwen, an elven princess of Aradia who had only just returned to Aradia having cut short a long journey of diplomacy to attend the evening's rites. The princess returned to him his old, long coat, rich and shining with forest colors which she had taken at his passing of the veil and had kept preserved in his honor for these many years. This gift alone was accepted but it was only on condition that she would take it back at his departure. Wearing his beautiful old coat of brilliant greens, maroons, red ochre, autumn gold and yellow as he had done for many of his final years brought joy to many who had known him well.

Going to each and everyone of them, he hugged them and kissed their cheeks. There were even a few to whom he gave a new name from the goddess herself. And, though they called Merivelle's name again and again in a vain attempt for him to "Listen, Merivelle... Merivelle... Wait a minute... Be reasonable, Merivelle... Merivelle, don't leave us again... Please… Merivelle...", it slowly became clear to them that this was beyond his control...and theirs.

Although touched deeply himself the old druid managed to hold back his own tears and through a persistent smile and much laying on of hands was able to console many of them. Slowly their smiles returned even as they daubed at tears. Yet, there were still a handful who were just too distraught. These were lead with great affection into the druid's home that rested embraced in the arms of the fantastically huge yew tree that dominated the grove and were made as comfortable as possible.

Following them in were many friends and comrades of theirs who brought them food and drink from the feast which was quickly growing outside. Eventually, even these came to realize and understand the will of the Goddess and the short and sweet mission of the great druid of Aradia. In the process, they were fortunate in that they would be allowed a night and a final rite of spring with Merivelle, the favored servant of Gaea.

Outside, the friends, loved ones, pupils and followers of the druidic order were beginning to fire up the forest spirits and bring them in close for a true woodland bash of epic, magical proportions and the five guests, never having been exposed to a feast of this nature, were in for a wild ride indeed.