The Wicker Man's Tree

[than]

"It's said, that deep in Duskwood, there grows a tree..."

A young lad carrying a wrapped bundle in his arms scurried through a thicket panting heavily. He occasionally looked over his shoulder as if expecting someone to have followed him.

"No one knows where it came from, it just seems to have appeared there one day..."

The child finally passed through the dark briar to a clearing, barely lit by a beam of moonlight. At the center of the clearing was a large tree. A strange carved symbol adorned the center of its trunk. Its bough seemed to reach on and on towards the sky.

"People say the tree is magical. Some think it's demon-craft..."

The child fell to his knees gasping for air and panting, still clutching his bundle to his chest. He gave a soft sniffle as he cooed at the motionless, swaddle and got back up to his feet. He approached the tree cautiously looking around him as he moved forward.

"Others say it has the power to grant wishes..."

The child cradled his bundle in one arm and reached up to the intricate carving in the bark. His hand tightened into a delicate fist and rapped upon the mark three times. The child called into the bough. "Wicker Man! Wicker Man! Wicker Man!"

"Everyone calls it 'The Wicker Man's Tree'."

The child stepped backwards nervously, peering around as a breeze seemingly rustled the leaves of the great tree... but seemingly, only that tree. The child looked down at the ground seeing a small sapling sprout, spreading tiny spade-shaped leaves. The tiny sapling began to grow rapidly. The branches stretched on and on, entwining amongst themselves, spreading more leaves of larger size until finally it was vaguely shaped like a man shrouded in a cloak of foliage. His face resembled a plain wooden mask, featureless and without expression. Long fronds hung from the top of its head and dangled infront of the strange man's face. A single hand that resembled wood twisted into wicker protruded from the cloak of leaves holding a helix oaken cane.

The child stared in awe at the being before finally regaining a little bit of composure. He held out the bundle and spoke in a broken and choked voice.

"M-Mister Wicker Man, my k-kitty, Snuffles, was attacked by wolves. Please, could you help Snuffles? Everyone says y-you're evil, but I don't believe them!"

The child placed the wrapped cat at the being's base and took a few steps back. The Wicker Man reached down with his free hand, which creaked and groan as it warped with his actions, and picked the delicate white kitten up. The wooden countenance scanned the tiny feline briefly with its seemingly empty eyes before allowing the cat to fall back to the ground. Just as the feline fell, it landed on its feet and sprung to life giving off a contented meow as if nothing had ever befell it.

The young boy scrambled for the kitten and cradled it in his arms as tears welled up in his eyes.

"Thank you Mister Wicker Man! Thank you so much!"

His words were interrupted by rustling in the bushes. The child turned quickly to see what was approaching. The rustling grew louder and louder. The child clung to his kitten fearing what may emerge from the brush.

As the rustling drew closer, the bushes just before him began to shudder. A thinly framed woman emerged with gentle eyes emerged from the bush and went straight to the child.

"There you are Timothy! How many times have I told you not to run off like that? Your mom would kill me if she knew I let you out of my sight!"

"Miss Amanda! Look! Snuffles is better! The Wicker Man cured her! See? He's right-... ?"

The child turned around to introduce the wickerman, but there was no one or nothing there. Not even a shed leaf.

"Timothy, there's no one there. Lets go home now, ok? I'll make you some cocoa."

"Ooh alright... You do believe me though right? I really did see him! I saw the Wicker Man! You believe me right?"

The young lady patted the child on the head and smiled down at him.

"Of course I do, Timothy."

She trailed after the child as he began to babble incoherently about his encounter. She gave the occasional nod and "Mhmm?" To make it seem as if she paid him mind. She looked back at the old, giant tree and smiled before turning her attention back to the child and disappearing with him into the brush.

[catrily]

(( This was awesome. I loved it. ))

[Bricu]

Oooooh.
more.

[Yva]

((azka's man is a tree.

no really.

amazing story.))

[than]

10 years earlier

Darkshire seemed to be a town of eternal twilight. The streets were luminated dimly by candlelight shining through windows and through the cracks beneath doors.

The tavern was open late tonight. Patrons were drowning their past week's toil and hardships away to enjoy their weekends. The door creaked open as a heavily clothed figure stood in the doorway. Clad head to toe in dark leather with a long cloak draped over the shoulders. A gaping hood sagged loosely over the figure's countenance, which was wrapped in a faded green bandana. One of the traveler's eyes seemed slightly luminescent, shedding a gentle amber glow. The other eye was covered by a cloth bandage with ominous stains spotting over where the eye itself would be.

As if someone had screamed bloody murder, every pair of eyes in the tavern turned to the stranger. Dead silence gripped the entire room. Not even a breath was taken. The stranger scanned the room full of dumbfounded tavern-goers, his single eye glowering at every pair. He strode past the foyer and throngs of gawking people and stood at the bar. A burly man with a bushy mustache enjoying a lager turned to the stranger. He offered a smile and extended a hand to the stranger.

"Howdy! Name's Reginald."

The dark man looked at him. His cold, blank eye leered through the shadows of his hood. Reginald quickly withdrew his hand with a sharp gasp and stumbled backwards. He backed away from the bar and withdrew to a distant corner. The bartender reluctantly approached the stranger. Nervous sweat glistened off his brow as he adjusted his collar and cricked his neck.

"H-hi... Uh, what can I do ya for? Drink? Some food?"

"...I'm not hungry." The cloaked man's voice sounded hoary and low, like breath being blown through a hollow reed.

"But you look like you haven't eaten in weeks."

The stranger placed a hand on the bar calmly, palm-down. Even completely covered, one could easily tell that the man was emaciated.

"I said I'm not hungry..."

The bartender shuddered under the piercing glare of the eye, boring its contempt right into his cornea.

"...I'm looking for someone." The man continued.

"Well, I-I uh, meet a lot of people. Maybe I can uh, help?"

"I'm looking for a night elf... a druid who secludes himself."

"There's a treemender over there in uh, B-Brightwood grove. H-he-"

The shady interrogator didn't wait for him to finish. He disappeared out the door and into the night. The bartender stared at the entrance with his mouth agape. Reginald crept meekly back to his spot.

"W-what was that about?"

"He was asking about the Ol' Man Thantrus..."

[than]

How quiet Brightwood Grove is. It was the perfect for place for an old weathered druid to retire to. A small hovel sat humbly in a clearing, with candlelight peaking timidly out of its single window. A lantern light danced freely about in clearing, shining through the brush. It settled on the ground next to the worn sandals of a decrepit looking elf.

He stooped down to one knee examining a fern tenderly, murmuring something as if to encourage its growth. The perfect peace of the grove was disrupted by the snapping of twigs under a pair of boots and the rustling of brush and bramble. The elf stood up and turned to the noise as a shadow emerged, making no effort to conceal his presence.

"I don't get many travelers through here, wanderer, but all are welcome in this grove."

The figure emerged from the brush fully. His single eye pierced the darkness, fixed on the druid.

"I see. The Deathstalkers still have a warrant out on my life."

"I'm not here for the Deathstalkers, old man. I'm here for myself..."

"If you're looking for the cure for undeath I haphazardly stumbled overe decades ago, I must apologize... I cannot remember its contents."

"You cured nothing Tantrus..."

"Nothing? Then how am I here today? Alive and not rotted away like you?"

"You were never dead..."

The shadow's sneer could be detected in his voice. The old elf's amiable expression turned into a look of dismay and then into doubt.

"What are you saying, strang-"

He was cut off by a raspy snarl.

"You're not even Tantrus... I am, you old fool."

The druid's expression of dismay turned into beffudlement. He regained his composure and look up at the stalker.

"I may be old, but I'm not feeble minded, Deathstalker."

The shadow scoffed, almost drawing it out into a cackle.

"You remember Westfall? You remember the gallows? But do you remember death itself? You remember Silverpine but do you remember what it was like to claw your own way out of the grave, old elf?"

The elf looked down, bewildered. His mind raced through his memories. He could recall them, but he could not see them in his mind's eye.

"You're not Tantrus..."

"But how... ? How did this happen?"

"Faranell's elixir of tongues..."

The druid's mind returned to the moment he could recall but not see: Taking Faranell's falty potion and passing out, only to awaken mysteriously in Teldrassil.

"The bastard made an extremely potent Dreamvision potion. My psyche was projected all the to way Teldrassil... and made an imprint right into your mind. You have forgotten who you are, but have my memories."

Thantrus clutched his head as if the epiphany caused him physical pain.

"And I suppose you had a reason for informing me of my false life?"

"No, but I couldn't take my revenge properly without first informing you of your misdeeds: I was branded a traitor because of your actions in my name. I shall take my toll..."

The shadow clenched his fist in frustration. His leather glove creaked under his grip. A sly smirk spread across the elf's face as he let out a chuckle.

"Or is it that you're upset that I have done more with your life than you have?"

The elf's chuckle erupted into laughter which echoed through the woods.

"Atleast I can die knowing that your grim atrocities, your murderous deeds aren't mine to atone for, Tantrus!"

The shadow growled as a boney hand quickly snatched a jagged shiv from his belt and lunged towards the elf. The sound of rusted metal digging into flesh was barely audible. The elf fell back onto the grassy forest floor with a thud.

The Deathstalker flicked his blade as he slide it back into its sheath.

A breeze blew through the boughs of the trees. The rogue looked up and around at the wavering foliage. The breeze became louder and more defined, sounding as if the trees were whispering. He looked around more frantically as he began to make out words in the breeze.

"The Mender is slain..."

"Murderer!"

"Murderer!"

"He must pay!"

"He must be punished!"

"Fiend!"

"You shall mend these woods in his place!"

"For all eternity!"

"Eternity!"

"Give him a body of twisted wicker!"

"Twisted Wicker!"

The rogue's head snapped to and fro searching for an escape, but his legs wouldn't move. Roots reached from the soil beneath him and entwined around his ankles. He struggled in vain as he was pulled into the earth.

"Serve your penitence, Wicker Man..."

~End