The Tree Speaker

 

I was traveling through an unfamiliar part of Salvania, north and east of the White River Castle, seeking new herbs for my apothecary. Storm clouds were gathering, and distant thunder echoed over the swaying wheat stalks. I stabled my horse at a tavern and settled in for a night with the regulars.

I sipped a leather jack of frothy ale, and listened to the chatter nearby. A group of obvious adventurers was drinking heavily near the fireplace.

"I tell ya, I seen it myself," a scarred Dwarven man-at-arms said as he ran his dagger over a whetstone, his voice raised as if launching into a well-worn debate. "I was part of the Duke's timber crew before I got started in this line of...business."

"Yes, yes. And the trees attacked the timber crew," a woman in a blue robe with matching eye coloring said with acid sarcasm, her many bracelets jingling as she waved away the idea. A small Yunni laughed as he continued to stitch a leather patch over a gash in his bracers.

"No, no, no. If you'd listen for a change, you'd understand," the Dwarven fighter said, wagging his dagger at the witch like a finger of reprimand.

"You tell her, Lorran," a bearded wizard said. He winked at the witch, and she made a rude gesture.

Another man, maybe a Northman from the frozen wastes, lay prone on a bench nearby, his head resting on crossed arms. A Yunni artist with braids in her hair used a sharp instrument to hand poke a tattoo on his left buttock. It was almost the only place left on his muscled body without ink.

I was intrigued by the conversation, so I stepped over to the group. They fell silent immediately.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I heard you talking about trees attacking a timber crew," I said. They stared suspiciously at me. "Sorry, my name is Oswolt. I am just passing through." They continued to stare. "Uh, I am a healer seeking rare herbs, and I have heard similar tree stories."

"Veddy good to meet choo," the Northman said as he raised his head. "Maybe you can poultice me ass when zis little pixie is done." He yelped as the Yunni slapped his raw skin in indignation.

The Dwarven fighter called Lorran welcomed me, saying, "Good. Now maybe you'll all believe me. Tell us your version, Healer Oswolt."

"I was told a Bard of the Circle of Oak was able to call upon the trees and animals to fight his enemies," I said.

"What was his name?" the witch asked, her blue-lidded eyes narrowing.

"They called him Darv the Tree Speaker."

Lorran slapped his hands in victory. "Ha! See! Well met, indeed Master Healer. I've been trying to convince this lot for a week."

I fetched another ale and we compared stories about Darv the Tree Speaker: how he invoked the spirit of the stag god Cernunnos, how spectral antlers sprouted from his head. Then birds and beasts began to appear, surrounding him like an army surrounds the king.

"And when did the trees attack this Bard?" the witch asked.

"Like I said, the trees did not attack," Lorran said with a dramatic sigh. "A hail of arrows poured out of the trees. Something we could not see was up in the trees firing on us."

"Maybe it vas the Yunni folk," the Northman said, raising his head from his folded arms. "They seem skilled with things that poke."

His Yunni tattooist smiled. "And don't you forget it," she said, wiping a trail of inky blood off his skin. "But it was not Yunni in the trees," she said. "If it was, you would not be here. We don't miss." The almost forgotten Yunni patching his bracers also laughed.

"That's the point," Lorran said. "They didn't try to kill us. They dropped a line of arrows at our feet as straight as a paladin's haircut."

Lorran took a long drink, his gaze going to the fireplace, his focus far away. "I know when I'm beat. There weren't none of us that could stand up to those powers."

The wizard slurred, "Here, here. Good story." He winked at the witch, and she winked back. Soon they wandered unsteadily to the rooms upstairs. I wondered if it was the same room.

The Northman paid his Yunni artist and, holding the front of his buckskin trews, his bare behind still oozing blood, drank an entire flagon and bid us good night.

The Yunni with the patched bracers struck up a conversation with the tattoo artist at another table.

Lorran sat silently, still staring deeply into the fire. Then he said, "Ya know the funny thing, Master Healer? I wasn't scared of the Bard. He really seemed like a decent chap, and we might have been friends in some other place."

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Copyright

Inspired by the introduction to Druidcast #150 by the Adventuring Guild.