To the Edge and Back

[Phantom Lamb]

"In our dreams, we cannot see," preaches the Keeper. He has called a meet in the great circle. Druids, priests, and even local tribe chiefs have heeded this call. They recognize their duty to the land. They recognize they are on the edge of something catastrophic.

"We see black. We are blind," continues the Keeper. "Our vision of the forest is clouded. We cannot see what lays beyond this black mist. Un-life has come, and the land wilts beneath its feet. In its wake, the great stretch of man's cities oozes onward, growing as a great cancer upon the world. We have fought many years against each--but we now face them both."

"We have called this meet to renew your pact to the circle. The elders have spoken and it is decided. The wrath, the guard, and the servants--you will each be called in defense. The Great Black must be removed. There is no greater threat to the world. We must remember what we serve--and we must now act."

With these last words, the Keeper grimmaces in pain. He falls to a knee, grasping his stomach. His eyes are clenched.

"Great One," speaks a concerned voice, "are you well?" The woman steps in to assist the Keeper. She is one of the elders--a kind devotee to Chauntee.

"I... I remember...," speaks the Keeper. He opens his eyes, and the glaze of meditation has washed away. He stares at the woman, blinking. He is focused on every line in her face. "I... I am hungry," he says.

A brief murmur goes through the crowd. Most do not understand the significance of the statement from such a man. A few do.

"Did he just say, 'I?!'"

[Phantom Lamb]

Days after the meet, the Viridale is abuzz with new life. Patrols are more frequent. Rangers and tribesmen from the mountains have renewed their committment to the land. Priests of destruction stalk the woods, eager for an opportunity to strike angrilly at the Great Black. It is quiet today, but the Wardens stand ready.

Even the Circle is active. The men and women who defend the land have used the fort above as a base of operations. They are welcome here, but eyes are always watching for intruders.

One of these eyes is a quiet doe--or so she seems. Graceful and delicate, the deer gently drinks from the stream nearby. Its ears twitch and its eyes dart here and there. It, and all the Aspects, keeps alert for any signs of the Great Black.

Something stirs within the doe--a breaking of her will. A look of panic breaks across the beast's face and it darts into the circle. It leaps about in terror and shock, darting every-which-way.

The Keeper and his Aspects prepare for what is coming. They are all bound. They already know the fate of their friend. They have felt this for weeks--their strength ebbing, their bond with the forest slipping in the fight against both man and evil. She was always the most devoted, yet never the strongest of them.

Like a great snake shedding its skin, the deer suddenly twists free of its fur. Its hide slumps off the beast in a pile at its feet. Beneath, there is no exposed flesh or bone. There is skin--human skin. A woman collapses in a heep of fur where the deer once stood.

The druid of Chauntee races to the woman's side, tending to her.

The Aspects turn to the Keeper. The glaze in his eyes is not there. He is looking back at an Aspect--the great badger. He knows who is next. His lip quivers ever-so-slightly--a rarely-glimpsed human side to the man, coming more-and-more frequently.

[Phantom Lamb]

The Strength of the Grove--a great bear--gently holds the naked woman in his mouth. He has no intention of making her a meal. He is to deliver her inside the Sanctuary.

Two great treants stand guard at the cave mouth where the Sanctuary entrance lies. The Keeper enters the Sanctuary. The bear follows him in, along with the other Aspects. They are flanked by others.

The elders--as they are now known--form the council that guides this great protective circle. Damarian is perhaps the most powerful--a man of strength and a fierce devotee to Talos. Iauron has come down from his fortress in the trees. He is the vigilant scout and a great military mind. Eidior has come from the northern temple of Geimhreadh. A trail of frost and ice is in her wake as she gracefully enters the cave. And the kind druid of Chauntee--Chesea--makes her way in as well.

As the elders disappear into the black cave, the treants move to block the door. There will be no unwanted visitors for what is about to transpire.

************************************************** ***************

A full day passes. Many have waited in the Circle for the result of this ritual. There have been no details about what is to take place in the Sanctuary, but every last observer can sense the tense and momentous air. Something will change tonight--a desperate act to renew the strength of the Aspects' bond with Silvanus.

At last, the great treants stand aside. One by one, the elders emerge. They each look solemn. There is anger in some of their eyes and sorrow in others. Something has happened.

The great cat comes out next. His whiskers are stained red.

The bear pads out slowly. His teeth are stained with blood.

And lastly, the Keeper emerges. His eyes are glazed again, and there is strength in his visage. But a ghastly trail of blood seeps down his arm.

Those standing witness are shocked, but the Keeper speaks before they can react. "I am Ra'Aman!," he shouts. His voice echoes in the woods. The silence that follows shows he has everyone's attention. "We are strong once more. Silvanus has said what must be done. There is no going back! Tonight, we begin the Reclamation!"

There is strength in the man once more, but few answers. The other Aspects are nowhere to be seen.

[EndsBeginning]

Lasala, one of the more individualist rangers, stepped up. While she had never joined the glade, she had been more than willing to defend the forest in the past and had done so on more than one occasion. A look of hurt and rage in her eyes.

"Just give me a place to start looking and I will find this threat, and help to cut it out of the forest.*

She was holding her bow, fingering her bow string, just itching for something she could turn her anger against.

[Kaizen]

He is Kaizen, Son of Storms.

He looks from Eldar to Eldar, a wild grin plastered on his face. He laughs when he passes over a broad shouldered man, his angry eyes cackling with electricity.

A fellow Stormbrother.

He is Kaizen, the Stormstar.

Vampires, gnolls, goblins … he’s met them all before. He’s killed them all before. He unconsciously runs a hand over broken ribs from where a vampire had thrown a bench at him.

He is Kaizen, the Stormdancer.

The trees weep to him. The earth drowns in foreign blood. The Great Mother demands justice.

He is Kaizen, Stormlord.

The clouded sky is split by jagged lightning bolts. Talos voices his displeasure and anger with great boomsof deep thunder. An attack against nature has been committed, and now it is time for retaliation. Revenge. Vengeance.

He is Kaizen - Son of Storms, Stormstar, Stormdancer, Stormlord.

He is going to paint the forest red with the blood of the Great Mother's enemies.

Because he is Kaizen - a druid.