10 Aug 2008
Alitteration FTW 
I've been thinking of diversifying my forest spirits to include some elves but was looking for a suitable aesthetic way to represent them, this is what I'm working on so far
Klammidhea looked around the clearing, and her heart hung heavy in her chest. Few had answered her summons, but each that stood before her, now had a heavy burden to bear. Before her stood a multi-hewed array of spites, spirits and beasts. To her left, a gaggle of Dryads who, like herself had assumed their natural aspect, eschewing the delicate features of humanity for the wicked thorns and barbs of bark. To the right, four treekin stood unmoving, the spirits which drove them to battle hanging in the air before them, unfettered by the constraints of physical form. And in the far corner, standing away from the circle of forest spirits, stood might Gwyndor, a wise and ancient treeman. All around their feet, clusters of spites danced and agitated, eager to see what the Branchwraith had to say.
Thank you, brothers and sisters, for coming at such short notice. It fills me with glee to look upon the beating heart of Athel Loren, gathered in one place, to bear witness-
Where is Drycha? Siphailis voice was coarse and harsh, in stark contrast to the sibilant whisper of the Branchwraith he was interrupting. The leader of the Treekin present was not one to stand on ceremony. You summon us here to speak of matters of great import, and the mistress herself is not in attendance? Has she become so spiteful we are to converse purely through handmaiden puppets?
My Mistress, Klammidhea continued, ignoring the insult, is otherwise engaged.
The clearing fell silent. The implication of Klammidheas words were clear to all in attendance. Drycha, Branchwraith and Mistress of this glade of Athel Loren, was not aware this meeting was taking place.
I have called this meeting to discuss the tragedy which has befallen our ancestral sanctum.
Each spirit knew the disaster of which she spoke. Not three weeks ago, as Spring has dawned on the forest, and the spirits of Athel Loren had woken once again the delight in exultance of youth, they had been greeted by a glade devoid of the life they had come to expect. All over Athel Loren, Dryads, Treekin, spites and sprites were welcomed back to their full strength by the kindreds of Asrai which shared their respective glades and gulleys. But here, in the Glade presided over by Drycha, there was no welcome. No feast of festival. Three hundred and forty-six elves, vanished. All that was left in their place was the petrified form of Ganoria, the leader of the absent kindred, turned to stone.
We must decide what is to be done
The decision of action lies with Drycha herself When Gwyndor spoke, all listened attentively. His words were slow and measured, each selected carefully by a being which remembered a time before words came to be. She has chosen inaction, and we must honour her wishes
Klammidhea swallowed hard. To disagree with one as venerable as Gwyndor was all but unheard of. Almost as unheard of, as a loyal handmaiden holding a clandestine meeting under the nose of her mistress. My Ladys distrust of the Asrai is no secret. But her inaction threatens to appear as condoning our current predicament. Sooner or later the other kindreds will learn of what has happened here, and they will come seeking answers. Had this happened in any other glade, their fingers would point outwards, but I fear that Drychas enmity to the Asrai will give them cause to blame her.
The wind whispers that her meetings with Coeddil have become rumour throughout the forest. If she is tried in Ariels court, we risk the dissolution of the ancient accords between our two peoples. I know that all here present can imagine what were to happen, were Athel Loren to fall to civil war once again
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. All, save Gwyndor, nodded in agreement. Klammidhea stretched out her hands and looked at each of them. We must not let the Asrai learn of this until we can discover what has caused their disappearance. We must be able to prove our innocence before the impetuous, young elves destroy all we have worked for
Your words are wise Siphailis was calmer now, his tone more respectful but we must entertain the possibility, that the blame does lie with us. Drychas feelings are well known, and as she does not stand here to defend herself, we cannot rule out her involvement
The Mistress would never betray the peace between us. She cares only for the preservation of the forest. She could not have been involved in a plot that risks its very survival
If you truly believe that, Klammidhea, then why do we meet here, in secret, and not before the Mistress herself? Klammidhea was struck silent by Gwyndors words. She had no answers for him. Her only thoughts, since the mystery had been discovered, had been of protecting her mistress from the unfounded accusations of others, yet, in the back of her mind, did she not share their fears?
We are not here to debate Drychas innocence. We stand arrayed here today, to decide how to guard this secret from the Asrai. Klammidhea faltered. She knew her dissembling was far from successful. She had clearly changed the subject to avoid the question she couldnt ask herself. I believe we have a solution
Before Siphailis could raise his voice in protest, Klammidhea beckoned to the assembled dryads, and one stepped forwards. As if from nowhere, the wind picked up and fallen leaves, branches and earth were scooped up in its wake. They crossed in front of the dryad, circling her twisted form until she was blocked entirely from view. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the wind died away. A halo of twigs and leaves cascaded in front of the dryad, but where before had stood the gnarled form of a war aspect, now the delicate features of a human woman stood in the clearing, naked save for the thorns binding her dark green hair.
Siphailis was still not impressed It is no secret our Dryad sisters can change their shape. Many of us here present have laid in ambush as they have lured the men of Breton into our traps.
Klammidhea grinned and nodded, almost imperceptibly, to the Dryad. Before the eyes of the congregation she grew taller, her features stretched. Her once voluptuous form now had a slighter, more elegant build, and she stood a good foot taller than before. Her eyebrows arched and her ears swept back, lengthening to points at the tips. Were it not for the thorny hair, and the slight twinge of green in her skin, the dryad was now all but unmistakable from an elven maiden. She bent down and played her long, thin fingers through the leaves at her feet, knitting together a tapestry of the forest floor, before sweeping the creation over her shoulders where it fasted tight. The cloak hung delicately from her shoulders as soft skinned arms hefted the hood into place.
The Asrai will know the difference. They will see she is not of them
They will not be given cause to look. My sisters will disguise themselves thusly and the other kindreds will not come looking for missing kin. It is not a permanent solution, but will buy us time to discover what has truly happened to the Kindred
And what do we tell Drycha?
Klammidhea fell silent. Not for the first time that night, she had no answers to give.
Thanks
Corai
I've been thinking of diversifying my forest spirits to include some elves but was looking for a suitable aesthetic way to represent them, this is what I'm working on so far
Klammidhea looked around the clearing, and her heart hung heavy in her chest. Few had answered her summons, but each that stood before her, now had a heavy burden to bear. Before her stood a multi-hewed array of spites, spirits and beasts. To her left, a gaggle of Dryads who, like herself had assumed their natural aspect, eschewing the delicate features of humanity for the wicked thorns and barbs of bark. To the right, four treekin stood unmoving, the spirits which drove them to battle hanging in the air before them, unfettered by the constraints of physical form. And in the far corner, standing away from the circle of forest spirits, stood might Gwyndor, a wise and ancient treeman. All around their feet, clusters of spites danced and agitated, eager to see what the Branchwraith had to say.
Thank you, brothers and sisters, for coming at such short notice. It fills me with glee to look upon the beating heart of Athel Loren, gathered in one place, to bear witness-
Where is Drycha? Siphailis voice was coarse and harsh, in stark contrast to the sibilant whisper of the Branchwraith he was interrupting. The leader of the Treekin present was not one to stand on ceremony. You summon us here to speak of matters of great import, and the mistress herself is not in attendance? Has she become so spiteful we are to converse purely through handmaiden puppets?
My Mistress, Klammidhea continued, ignoring the insult, is otherwise engaged.
The clearing fell silent. The implication of Klammidheas words were clear to all in attendance. Drycha, Branchwraith and Mistress of this glade of Athel Loren, was not aware this meeting was taking place.
I have called this meeting to discuss the tragedy which has befallen our ancestral sanctum.
Each spirit knew the disaster of which she spoke. Not three weeks ago, as Spring has dawned on the forest, and the spirits of Athel Loren had woken once again the delight in exultance of youth, they had been greeted by a glade devoid of the life they had come to expect. All over Athel Loren, Dryads, Treekin, spites and sprites were welcomed back to their full strength by the kindreds of Asrai which shared their respective glades and gulleys. But here, in the Glade presided over by Drycha, there was no welcome. No feast of festival. Three hundred and forty-six elves, vanished. All that was left in their place was the petrified form of Ganoria, the leader of the absent kindred, turned to stone.
We must decide what is to be done
The decision of action lies with Drycha herself When Gwyndor spoke, all listened attentively. His words were slow and measured, each selected carefully by a being which remembered a time before words came to be. She has chosen inaction, and we must honour her wishes
Klammidhea swallowed hard. To disagree with one as venerable as Gwyndor was all but unheard of. Almost as unheard of, as a loyal handmaiden holding a clandestine meeting under the nose of her mistress. My Ladys distrust of the Asrai is no secret. But her inaction threatens to appear as condoning our current predicament. Sooner or later the other kindreds will learn of what has happened here, and they will come seeking answers. Had this happened in any other glade, their fingers would point outwards, but I fear that Drychas enmity to the Asrai will give them cause to blame her.
The wind whispers that her meetings with Coeddil have become rumour throughout the forest. If she is tried in Ariels court, we risk the dissolution of the ancient accords between our two peoples. I know that all here present can imagine what were to happen, were Athel Loren to fall to civil war once again
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. All, save Gwyndor, nodded in agreement. Klammidhea stretched out her hands and looked at each of them. We must not let the Asrai learn of this until we can discover what has caused their disappearance. We must be able to prove our innocence before the impetuous, young elves destroy all we have worked for
Your words are wise Siphailis was calmer now, his tone more respectful but we must entertain the possibility, that the blame does lie with us. Drychas feelings are well known, and as she does not stand here to defend herself, we cannot rule out her involvement
The Mistress would never betray the peace between us. She cares only for the preservation of the forest. She could not have been involved in a plot that risks its very survival
If you truly believe that, Klammidhea, then why do we meet here, in secret, and not before the Mistress herself? Klammidhea was struck silent by Gwyndors words. She had no answers for him. Her only thoughts, since the mystery had been discovered, had been of protecting her mistress from the unfounded accusations of others, yet, in the back of her mind, did she not share their fears?
We are not here to debate Drychas innocence. We stand arrayed here today, to decide how to guard this secret from the Asrai. Klammidhea faltered. She knew her dissembling was far from successful. She had clearly changed the subject to avoid the question she couldnt ask herself. I believe we have a solution
Before Siphailis could raise his voice in protest, Klammidhea beckoned to the assembled dryads, and one stepped forwards. As if from nowhere, the wind picked up and fallen leaves, branches and earth were scooped up in its wake. They crossed in front of the dryad, circling her twisted form until she was blocked entirely from view. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the wind died away. A halo of twigs and leaves cascaded in front of the dryad, but where before had stood the gnarled form of a war aspect, now the delicate features of a human woman stood in the clearing, naked save for the thorns binding her dark green hair.
Siphailis was still not impressed It is no secret our Dryad sisters can change their shape. Many of us here present have laid in ambush as they have lured the men of Breton into our traps.
Klammidhea grinned and nodded, almost imperceptibly, to the Dryad. Before the eyes of the congregation she grew taller, her features stretched. Her once voluptuous form now had a slighter, more elegant build, and she stood a good foot taller than before. Her eyebrows arched and her ears swept back, lengthening to points at the tips. Were it not for the thorny hair, and the slight twinge of green in her skin, the dryad was now all but unmistakable from an elven maiden. She bent down and played her long, thin fingers through the leaves at her feet, knitting together a tapestry of the forest floor, before sweeping the creation over her shoulders where it fasted tight. The cloak hung delicately from her shoulders as soft skinned arms hefted the hood into place.
The Asrai will know the difference. They will see she is not of them
They will not be given cause to look. My sisters will disguise themselves thusly and the other kindreds will not come looking for missing kin. It is not a permanent solution, but will buy us time to discover what has truly happened to the Kindred
And what do we tell Drycha?
Klammidhea fell silent. Not for the first time that night, she had no answers to give.
Thanks
Corai
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