Restless Trees (lvl 2 Druidism training)

[Tomasyn Storm]

Tomasyn had taken up residence in the Cathedral to Carmylea, which otherwise was mostly empty. She had plans for some dynamic new services and hoped to revitalize the local populace, but unfortunately her plans required some money and her supply was getting scant.

She had discovered that by leaving through the back of the cathedral, she could find her way through a dense forest into an enchanted glade, a place she found appealing despite the possibly dangerous magical powers at work in such places.

This brightening found Tomasyn lying on her back on the wide branch of a tree of an unfamiliar species, gazing up through the leafy canopy overhead. It was a lazy sort of day, as many days were, but the list of things she planned to do intruded upon her languid mood and marched through her mind. She sighed. “I must get around to seeing about a promotion as a druid,” she said aloud. “My other plans will go easier then.”
A voice spoke below her, somehow transmitted through the wood of the tree. “This can be arranged.”

All at once, the shackles of Tomasyn’s mind fell away as she was unbound. The muscles of her stomach spasmed as she attempted to sit up in alarm, and then unconsciousness overtook her.

[Tomasyn Storm]

Tomasyn found herself having tea in a café built in the interior of a large barrel. Her table was on the top floor, and most of the light came through the opening made by a section that had been cut away and turned into a balcony, although a skylight made of a cut glass candy dish did its part in dispelling the gloom. Tomasyn sipped a murky brew from a bone china cup, which was inhabited by a surly frog.

The amphibian raised a protest when she raised the vessel to her lips. “Have a care! I do not wish to disappear down your gullet!”

Tomasyn, scowling, drank daintily, her lips close enough together to filter out any wayward frogs.

“If you can’t stand the sipping, get out of the teacup,” Tomasyn retorted. “It isn’t as if I asked you to sit in my tea.”

The frog favored her with a weighty stare. “I am a tea frog,” it said in a voice that indicated that it found explaining things to imbeciles tiring.

“True, but not compelling,” Tomasyn replied. “The world is full of tea, and cups as well, and yet here you are.”

The frog made a gruff sound in the back of its throat.

For a fact, the tea frog added a pleasant tang to the brew, and Tomasyn let the matter drop.

“Say something profound,” she said. “Tea frogs are said to be profound.”

The frog turned its weary gaze upon her.

“Or tell me a story.”

The frog, looking much beleaguered, began to speak.

“Once there was a man who came to the City of Truth, for which he had been searching his entire life. In rapture he entered through the golden gates and walked in wonder down streets cobbled with great flags of ruby, sapphire, and topaz. The beauty of the architecture was such that it almost overwhelmed him, and he was forced to squint.”

“The inhabitants of the City of Truth were creatures of pure grace, that seemed to float rather than walk, their forms elegant wisps of luminous vapor, and the man marveled to see them pass though the splendor of the city.”
“The man walked in a straight line, down the broad main street of the town, and at last came to a large town square. In the center of this square was a magnificent cathedral, with spire of amber, jet and ivory stretching a thousand feet into the sky. The door to the cathedral was closed, and from beyond the sound of gentle music wafted on the fragrant air.”

“With reverent fingers the man slowly opened the door and gazed inside. What god, what goddess could such noble citizens pay homage to? For how could it be otherwise than theirs would be the truest and most noble religion of all?”

“In the center of the great hall, surrounded by a thousand singing supplicants, was a raised dais on which sat a great icon, a statue of a beautiful woman stroking the forehead of her recumbent child, and gazing with love upon his face. The man stepped into the cathedral, and drawing nearer could make out the inscription upon the dias, which read “Our glorious Lady of Lies.”

Tomasyn waited, but apparently this was the end of the story. She freshened her tea from a stone pot, pouring the hot liquid directly over the frog which seemed to lift its spirits somewhat.

“That seems rather cynical, even for a frog steeping in tea.”

“Not at all. Truth, lies, both are human fancies with little real importance. In the right conditions either may be preferable to the other, and both are subservient to the cold force of reality which is not susceptible to reasonable understanding.”

“Sugar?” Tomasyn asked

“Please,” said the frog.

Tomasyn stirred a lump of sugar into the cup, causing the frog to swirl momentarily in the vortex.

“That still seems cynical, but I shall not badger you about it. The tea is good and the day is fine, why should I argue?”

The frog at last smiled, although perhaps a bit smugly.

[Tomasyn Storm]

Tomasyn awoke on her branch to find herself being watched by a dryad. She felt drained and lazy, with a gently smoldering ember of resentment somewhere far down within her over having been unbound so sneakily.

“Have some fruit,” the dryad recommended, placing a fistful of huckleberries on the branch near Tomasyn’s head.

Tomasyn took a berry and bit into it. “You could warn a person,” she said at last.

“I suppose I could,” replied the Dryad. “I have a number of talents.”

Tomasyn ate another berry. “Are you going to instruct me, or just jiggle my brain about for your amusement?”

The dryad considered a moment. “Instruct. It wasn’t all that amusing to jiggle your brain about.”

“I suppose that means that you have a vestige of decency in you somewhere, although I will hold off on planning a celebration until we see if it was a fluke.”

“Let me know what your final conclusion is when you reach it.”

Tomasyn lay on the branch and ate berries at her leisure. Dryads, she knew, were not prone to boredom or impatience, a condition which stemmed from their tie with trees. At last she felt a bit more vigorous, and sat up.

“First,” said the dryad, “You will make a magic circle.”

[Tomasyn Storm]

"A circle of Arcana," the dryad explained, "Is a arcanic device that forbids the passage of things, either into or out of the circle according to your choice. At your level of understanding a circle will exclude or trap everything but air, sound and light. At a more advanced level of training you may set different criteria. If you wish though, you may make one circle within another to prevent movement in both directions."

"That seems a handy sleight," said Tomasyn. "If I am lonely I need only surround myself with a circle and passersby will gather by a process of accretion."

The dryad was rarely lonely and took a long moment to consider this idea. "It would work, but your visitors might well be vexed."

Tomasyn blew out her cheeks. "Vexed people are sometimes the most interesting, although there is always the danger of fly swatters."

"No doubt. In any case we shall make our circle now, and take our chances. Start by carving your circle in the ground. Here use this twig." She handed Tomasyn a small stick of wood, which Tomasyn took with a due look of reverence on her face. Dryads could be sentimental about wooden mementos.

She flittered down off the tree branch, and began upturning the soft forest loam in the shape of a circle. It took her a good bit of time, as she made it large enough for both her and the dryad.

[Tomasyn Storm]

When Tomasyn had finished inscribing her circle, she turned back to the dryad for further instruction.

"Now you must cast the magic into the circle. This is done in much the same way as a spell, and I have imparted the technique in your mind. Enter clara and create your mana."

Tomasyn struck a dramatic pose, and willed herself into Clara. It seemed easier now, perhaps as an effect of having been unbound. Gathering essence to her vis, she formed it into the pattern of the circle, and then cast it into the inscription, slowly retracing her path as she did so. At last the circle was complete.

The dryad nodded in approval. "I have taught you this sleight first, because when you cast here it should be in such a circle. Things will be drawn to you by the magic, and will watch for a chance at an advantage. It is best not to give them one."

Tomasyn gave an elaborate shudder. "That sounds rather ominous! Perhaps we could go to a friendly place to learn. Except, your tree..."

"Yes," said the dryad.

[Tomasyn Storm]

Over the next several brightenings Tomasyn cast the various spells Apprentice Druids were commonly taught. The process was the same with Apprentice spells as it had been with initiate level spells; first she reached a state of clara (a procedure that became easier as she practiced) formed mana by creating an arcalysis reaction between her vis and the essence of the plane of nature, then fashioned the mana into the spell she sought according to pattern instilled in her by the dryad. Always the dryad had her start by creating a magic circle, and inside of this Tomasyn cast her magic.

The dryad sat idly by as Tomasyn did her work, not obviously paying attention but offering advice from time to time. Despite their playfully antagonistic banter, the two shared the bond of being creatures of the forest, and their communication went easily.

“Do that one again,” the dryad said. “This time with more crispness.”

Tomasyn turned her a haughty glance. “Crispness? How does one ally with an animal more or less ‘crisply?’”

The mouse on which Tomasyn had been casting her spell, sat eating a peanut that Tomasyn had provided and paid no particular attention to the discussion.

“The bond between you should become sharp and definite, not a muzzy-headed relationship that might develop one way or another.”

“You can judge that quality from way over there, can you?”

“As far as you know I can.”

“Humph!”

Wearily, Tomasyn drove her tired mind once more into a state of clara.

[Tomasyn Storm]

Tomasyn was in the habit of complaining about being forced to do work, but in reality the lessons were not especially strenuous. Or rather if they were, they at least were not lengthy of duration. Occasionally the dryad asked her to cast initiate spells, but for the most part they worked on the Apprentice repertoire. As such, Tomasyn could cast at most three spells before having to call it a brightening, and with her new and quicker ability to get to clara this only took her a handful or so of minutes.

A cycle after the lessons had started though, this abruptly changed, as the dryad taught Tomasyn to unweave a spell and use the mana to recast another. Doing so was tricky, and Tomasyn sat on a low branch with eyes bulging in a way that she would have been embarrassed about if she had been aware of it, struggling to pull the insubstantial threads of her last spell loose so they could be reformed.

“You are too intense,” the dryad chastised. “Treat it as an interesting puzzle and try to relax.”

“This is not my way,” Tomasyn replied. “My parents were murdered by a puzzle and I was exiled from the family home. I have sworn vendetta on their kind.”

“Then play with it as a cat does a mouse. This you should understand, O feral shaman.”

“I’m not that sort of cat. I’m the sort that lives in volcanoes where rodents are in short supply.”

“In that case, try being more stubborn each second than the last. When you reach a state of invincible stubbornness the spell will yield.”

“A sensible policy for a happier tomorrow,” Tomasyn said, concentration forcing her features into an aspect similar to one she had once made when served a glass of brussels sprout champagne by her older brother, who had been trying to achieve fame by inventing a startling new drink.

The dryad held her hand together, making a circle between her thumbs and index fingers. The air in between shimmered, and a disc of water condensed from the surrounding air, creating a shiny reflective film no thicker than the finest of hairs. This she held so that Tomasyn could herself in the reflection.

“Gah!” yelled Tomasyn in surprise. “You sit idly by and let me make a face like that?”

“I teach druidism, not facial comportment. Now, back to work, this time with less grimacing.”

[Tomasyn Storm]

In due course, Tomasyn learned to unravel her spells and then put them back together. The sense of triumph was short lived, as now her teacher could work her harder, making her reuse the mana over and over until at last it evaporated into the resident ara of the grove. Tomasyn’s work load increased, and it was a weary fairy who dragged herself into bed of an evening.

A cycle of hard work later the druid pronounced herself basically satisfied with Tomasyn’s technique.

“Am I graduated then? With highest honors and a throwing of hats into the air?” Tomasyn asked eagerly.

“No,” said the dryad. “Your casting is acceptable, but I cannot be done with you until you have gone out into the world and used what you’ve learned to suit the wishes of Carmelya."

“But that is what I intend to do when I’m finished here! That is the work of the next thousand or so eras of my life!”

“Then show me you can do so well, without further guidance, and I shall let you go.”

[Tomasyn Storm]

As much as Tomasyn hated to admit it, the will of Carmelya was not always obvious to her. Or then again perhaps it was, but the question of what a person was to do about it was not always easily answered. Tomasyn then began her pilgrimage, if it could be called such a thing, with a period of communing with nature.

Flying to the forest outside of Trysvale, Tomasyn found a stump that had recently been produced by a local woodcutter, and alighting on it cast a patraling spell on herself. She sat crosslegged on the stump, and in a moment her mind drifted away into clara, and she allowed the magic to flow through her and into her spell. She felt her toes enlongate, burrowing down into the wood of the stump, and her body extend and harden into wood. her fingers and wings branched and split at leaves formed at the tips, until she had become a huckleberry bush.

For a time she allowed her mind to drift, enjoying the experience of planty life. The dim sun of the forest floor caressed her leaves, nurishing her, and the imperceptable ebb and flow of respiration played about her extremities.

Carmelya, she thought, I am yours to guide as you will. Your desires are my desires. I am a tool of the green mother that nurtures our land. The thoughts came gentle, feelings rather than words, and perhaps they were answered in kind.

Tomasyn was never sure if what followed were real or a dream. In the long run she supposed that it really didn't matter which it was, at least from her perspective. Still, she thought about it often as she lay in bed of an evening.

[Tomasyn Storm]

When Tomasyn finished her Patrailing, she once again became a fairy. For a time she sat upon her stump and thought about very little. As she sat, a rabbit came hopping into the clearing. It was a very large rabbit- white with a few splotches of grey, and it took up a position facing her and sat chewing with the peculiar side-to-side motion that rabbits tend to use.

"Well?" Tomasyn said to it.

The rabbit continued chewing.

"Is there something you want? I an not equipped with a carrot."

The rabbit did not seem disturbed by this news.

"OK," said Tomasyn wearily.

Before she mounted the rabbit, she fit herself out with a Tough Skin spell, then followed it with Ally Animal. Even an Allied rabbit tended to dash through thorn bushes, it was in their nature to do so.

Having cast her spells, she flittered up into the air, and landed gently on the rabbit's back, her legs hanging down on each side of its neck. The rabbit sat placidly chewing.

"Well," she said. "Do something why don't you? AAAIIIIIIEEEEEEE!!"

The rabbit sprang forwards without warning, rocketing out of the clearing and through the bushes. Branches whipped at Tomasyn from all sides and she was obliged to cling to the creature's ears to keep her seat.

[Tomasyn Storm]

Tomasyn rode the rabbit for a length of time that she could not determine. It probably wasn't brightenings, although it seemed a lot longer than ideal for rabbit riding. A rabbit in full stride was something like a missle, but the ride was more jarring than one would think as the feet kicked explosively against the ground.

The miles fell away, and the whipping underbrush kept Tomasyn ducking so that she had no idea where they were going. Once they came to a creek and the rabbit cleared it with one mighty leap. Once they ran under tall trees so dense that there was little underbrush to lash her poor body. And then at once they stopped.

Before the pair of travelers was a patch of light, which spilled through the forest canopy onto the ground. To call it a clearing would have been an exaggeration; rather it was a place where a tree should have been to complete the canopy above, but wasn't. Tomasyn painfully dismounted, and the rabbit made what seemed to be a bowing motion, then disappeared back the way it had come.

[Tomasyn Storm]

A city person who might have been strolling in the woods would have found nothing amiss in the dappled spot of light on the forest floor, but Tomasyn, a creature of the woods, found the occurance disturbing. It was the way of trees in a forest to seek out the light and the surrounding trees were a type that did so effeciently, filling all the gaps as far as she could see in every direction. Why was this spot left? There was no stump or sign that a tree was once in the spot.

Tomasyn stepped forward into the empty pace, and at once felt a cold chill move violently through her. She jumped back in alarm.

"Whoosh! What is this? A ghost tree?"

Once more she stepped forward, cautiously this time. The cold chill wasn't so bad when she was prepared for it, but it was there all the same. As she stood in the spot, a sense of dread began to build in her, growing slowly more intense until she fled the place, lest she break down in tears.

She stood for a while behind the bole of a tree until she felt better, then came back out to frown at the spot. What was she to do about this?

[Tomasyn Storm]

This was a bad place, and no mistake about it. Something had happened here, driving back the forest from the small circle and cursing the ground. Tomasyn did not have any spell that specifically addressed this situation, so she would have to improvise.

Flying up into a neighboring tree, a towering cedar tree, she selected a cone and returned to the spot. She set this cone on the ground in the heart of the bad spot, then and drew an arcanic circle on the ground, perhaps a foot across. It was exceedingly hard to get into clara while she stood within the dreadful spot, but when she managed it he cast magic into her circle, protecting her and cone from all that came from without.

She then sat down next to her cone and breathed gently. Was the influence exluded? She thought perhaps that it might be. Take a breath, she returned to clara, and this time cast Growth on her cone, coaxing a seed to send a shoot forth from the cone and take root in the ground.

She then stood over her sprouted sapling, and said a blessing to Carmelya.

[Tomasyn Storm]

When Tomasyn had finished her blessing, she cast Growth again, sending the shoot rapidly upwards to pierce the top of dome of her circle of arcana. As the tree grew, the bark blackened and the trunk began to twist, taking disturbing shapes.

"Oh no you don't" Tomasyn yelled. Going to Clara once more, she cast Warp Wood upon the tree, returning it to an upright straightness.

And so the battle was joined. Tomasyn slept in the forest, and in each morning would cast her growth spell, alternating with Warp Wood to keep the tree growing straight and true. The force that fought her seemed to grow weaker as the plant grew taller and taller, and at last she had no need to warp the growth.

Tomasyn felt inordinately proud of herself, but was not entirely sure what she had done. Still it was a triumph of nature over something bad, so self-congratulations were in order.

[Tomasyn Storm]

Tomasyn spent the night in a tree hollow, then set out for home. She wasn't exactly sure what direction home lay in, but it seemed likely that she would arrive somewhere, and if it wasn't interesting she knew several strategems to make it so.

Before long, she came to a small stream that wound through the forest, making a pleasant chuckling noise as it passed through the various tree roots that drank from its cool waters. Tomasyn followed the stream for a while until she came to a cottage.

The cottage was a small place, built of hewn logs with mud dabbed in the chinks and crevices. The place was obviously that of a trapper, and a thick cloud of flies buzzed around the remains of decaying animals in the yard outside, while hides nailed to the wall of the cabin dried in the sun of the clearing.

Tomasyn stopped her flight, a frown pulling down the corners of her mouth. Carmelya, at least in Tomasyn's mind, did not necessarily object to trappers, but this seemed excessive. From the type of pelts and the bodies in the yard, it seemed that this trapper was hunting the scavengers who came to feast on the remains of his former victims. This was not the way things should be- there was too much death, too much wonton killing of creatures who's fur had no large value.

Holding her nose against the stink, Tomasyn flew to a small window and peered through the dusty glass.