[Worm]

Askal Dakath

The conference was long and unnecessary. He stood back, gritting his teeth as the wrinkled prunes of a committee spoke about peace. There was no peace in Kath Iten. There never has been. The raw power of the elven race had been contaminated with the needs of others. There was no use for the tangling, massive overgrowth of forest. Especially when they were more than capable of growing personal gardens. In fact, they all had gardens in the city grounds. Right in the center was a new Eden, a garden with every kind of plant known to elf and mankind. It was all they needed.

When the tangled ball of roots came to speak to the council, Askal lost it. He spat at the creature, threw him out. There was no room for his plea for sympathy in an esteemed committee. There was no way a creature such as him would have any idea how to rule the people. With the conference finally over, Askal found himself lounging in the council’s library. He flipped through books about dryad and their history, stewing and bubbling with plans for revenge. Myantha hobbled past, on her way out of the proscenium arch of a conference room. She looked in at Askal, made eye contact, and shook her head, hobbling forward. Askal scowled, brushing a strand of silver hair from his face.

Laurel Quercus

There was no need for such disrespect. He wallowed, hovering towards the edge of Kath Iten’s city center. He sighed, the last bit of hope leaving his lungs. To change anything, he had to assemble a group. And who would be brave enough to face such a powerful force, the Ancients of Kath. As he moved to the edge, the little bits of remaining free grass swooned towards him. Much like how the flowers in Eden kissed his roots. The sound of aching wood followed him into the forest. If he could find a group of fellow treefolk, it wouldn’t be enough to take them on. They would need infiltrators, gunpower and force. Dryad were peaceful healers, not meant for the brutish nature of battle.

He tried to imagine a way to train dryad into battle, but the thought was slashed by the image of a human figure. Laurel growled, roots seeping from his twig fingers. ”Who goes there?” He was prepared to whip a human down with vines, tie them up and leave them for the birds. Especially if they brought fire. He had no more room in his heart for more death.