Post by Leb on Jun 24, 2016 20:17:28 GMT
A work in the making since last year, my god has it been a hell of a year, between Maur, Blacknoise, and I.
THE TREANTS
History:
In times of old, large tree like beings roamed the realm. Treants, they were dubbed locally, Guardians of the forest and their mother's keepers. They kept the forest healthy and alive where their mother could not be. It wasn't until after the Great Burning that they had appeared into the world, when man set forests ablaze in their foolish belief of ridding the plague brought forth by 'spores'. It was said that they were born from her tears. It wasn't long after when Timore had caught wind of such beings, the petty fool. He sought their mother, Azalea, for the secrets behind her children and of her other skills for selfish reasoning beyond her comprehension.
Azalea sensed the impending danger as she felt a sickness enter her forests. Her children were falling ill and she needed to protect them somehow. A congregation of Treants formed within The Great Forest- named so by the impressively enormous trees that grew there. Each one from a different region affected by the disease. Azalea had called for them in hopes to understand the severity of the disease and how differently it affected them all as well as warn them of the dangers it may bring. However, the meeting never began as Minnafy of The Marsh was missing. An unfortunate event really. The small wispy Treant had learned of the premise of an ambush underway. The sapling never made it, and a tear was shed soon after.
Too late it was for those who gathered. Beings of rotted flesh oozing black death that tainted the very soil it fell upon had entered the sacred ground, the very earth bed from which Azalea was birthed. They reeked of The Lord of Fear. Quick to action, Azalea rose against the beings. She called out to the embedded roots and low hanging branches and vines. The world seemed to quake under her influence as the ground shifted and a barrier rose to keep the beings out. Her children were the priority here as they were weakened by this disease. As she contemplated their presence, she finally realized the origin of the disease and the earth began to crumble away in her anger.
Her children would not heed her pleas to run. They instead stood their ground against the swarming beasts that slipped through the openings. They begged for her to escape instead but she would not. Mothers do not abandon their children. And so she would stay to protect her children, at a heavy cost.
She made quick work of the Fear Lord's creatures, they were in her domain after all. No matter how many that gathered nor how many would dare attack her children, she wrought upon them the wrath of her vines and roots. None were swift enough to escape. Tied down and pinned to the earth was all too easy for her. Too simple of an attack for Timore to have left her with. And that would be her grave mistake.
The fear mongrel himself apparated behind and greeted her with his grated voice that would send shivers down any spine. The very stench he released was sickening. It permeated her body dulling her senses. Her hold over the earth wavered and wilted away as toxins he released upon her ran its course. The foul creatures were freed soon after, and screech-like laughter bit the air as Timore placed a heavy and clawed hand on her shoulder. The vile thing leaned in closer as a wide smile splayed across his features, the lips curled back disgustingly over rows of crooked, sharp, yellowed teeth.
"Azalea-" The low hiss of his voice just barely above a whisper was enough for her skin to crawl, thorns prickled and pricked several of his fingers. "How are you?" he asked after removing his hand away from her. He stared down at his hand, watching the punctures dissipate only to smile wickedly as Azalea greeted him in turn. He vanished as she swung out her arm, the left over image whisked away into thin air.
"What is it that you want, fiendish terror?"
The horrid grin kept to his face as he circled her. Shadowy entrails followed after his movements poised to strike at a moment’s notice. The Lady of the Weald was still slow to react, the miasma he developed specifically for her had taken its toll. It was clear she was disoriented and her once elegant movements swayed at a slower pace, almost unnoticeable to the trained eye. And so she would not be able to manipulate the world just as he thought would happen.
“You wound me, Lady Azalea,” he feigned a hurt look. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?” At the mention of friend, roots and thorny vines shot out from beneath his feet forcing him further away as he weaved out of their range. Azalea turned her head to the side and spat black liquid onto the ground. She had been collecting the nauseating waste into her mouth and expelled the fluid in its totality.
“Is this any way to knock upon your neighbor’s door?” she asked in turn. If he will not answer her then she will take it by force if she must. Her children, in the time she was affected, had been outnumbered by Timore’s creations. If the Treants had been at their full strength, Azalea wouldn’t have had to worry as much, but that is not the case for they are ill and weakened by disease. The beasties swarmed the large tree folk, they clawed and bit at them. A few of the Treants had keeled over from the effects of their disease before the creatures even reached them, but those that stood, did so with honor. Fenfur of the Great Forest allowed vines to shoot from his body, encasing the creatures in them and squeezed the life out of them as they clawed for freedom. Blightgren billowed poison gas from deep within him, and brought the creatures down before they could even touch him. Cailya of the Northern wood swung her many great branches to and fro and decimated her enemies. The Tree Herders slayed their foes with grace and ease, but their brethren did not share the same fate. Trouble was had, as hundreds of twisted beings dashed beneath their feet and between their legs, the smaller ones were easily pulled to the ground, their branches snapped and trunks chewed as more and more piled onto them. Black and green ichor muddled and mixed, sprayed in horrid display upon the battle scarred ground.
With each passing death, Azalea held her own against the waves of pain that washed over her. Her children would all perish at this rate if she did not stop Timore now. She cursed his name as her arms elongated and split apart into several thorned vines entangled together into thorned whips. She angrily yelled and rushed after Timore and reached out to him, the tentacle like vines all surged forward with a hunger to draw blood. Timore cloaked himself with an impenetrable shadow long enough for the onslaught to pass before he extended his arm out with his own swarm of inky shadowy tentacles. Azalea retreated to the ground and traveled through the dirt to avoid entanglement altogether. Timore knew that she knew his knowledge of her tactics. She would surprise him no doubt and so he would prepare for anything and everything.
Fenfur swung one of his great vines with incredible speed, and wrapped around a beast's neck. He then pulled swiftly and off it popped, blood spurted from the thing's wound. He did not look to see what happened to it after that, as he pinned another to the ground with his massive arm, and pressed until it too gave a satisfying pop. Three more went for the great tree's leg, but as they leaped to attach themselves, vines shot out from their target and pierced each of them in turn through the core of their bodies. More vines sealed the deal as they pinned the creatures to the ground and wove themselves in and out of the beasts' fleshy bodies. Fenfur then picked up two more and mashed the beings together with his immense strength and hands. He could not stop all of them, no matter how many he killed, three more took their place.
He called out to his Mother, pleading for her to flee as he stepped on another horrid creature, he could only hope she heard him as he could not spare a moment to look back at her. A wave of the buggers hit him all at once and dragged him down, pulling his legs out from under him. Fenfur hit the ground as the beasts crawled on top of him and began to ravage his struggling body, the great tree allowed his gaze to drift in what he was sure were his dying moments, and saw Cailya, stilled and dismembered. Her once bright eyes had been clawed out by the terrible creatures.
Fenfur closed his own eyes, awaiting the same fate, yet it never came for Blightgren had swept all of the crawling creatures off of Fenfur's massive frame with one fell swoop. He swiped up one of the beasts and breathed directly into its face. The creature shriveled into a viscous black mass before direct contact with something as foul as the poison bearer, Blight incarnate. Wordlessly, Fenfur stood by Blightgren as the two of them plunged into the fray together. Their kindred were dragged down and murdered before their eyes as the two noble beings fought together in a whirlwind of devastation. It seemed as if hundreds had fallen before their might, but the two beings were not invincible. Eventually Blightgren became weary, nearly thirty of the creatures hung from his tangled mass of branches. They, along with others, drug him down as well. A pile formed on top of him so massive that one could not see the struggling tree beneath, Blightgren however, was not one to be outdone. The creatures ravaging him melted from his powerful emissions, and solidified into a large mound of a hard, dark black substance.
The ground stirred beneath Timore's feet to which he moved away as roots and vines shot out from below. Almost typical really. He was nearly gutted as thorned vines whizzed past only to have been ensnared by waiting vines. Azalea had tightened her grip on him and intended for her thorns to grow and puncture his dark carcass. She drew the same black inky ichor that coursed through his necrophages and to her surprise, was burned by it. She yelped in response to his blood and had to quickly let him go in the process lest he burn her more. The minute Azalea had let him go, Timore had leapt away as a concentration of swirling dark mass formed in his hand. Azalea barely had time to react when he sent the spiraling pallid column of fear incarnate right for her. Wall after wall of earth and wood were erected to slow the attack before it met with a sifting pillar of dirt and vines that matched it in force.
As twin bolts of power struck and bashed into each other, so simultaneously battled the wills of the two firstborn. Light and dark clashed in the same manner it did every day, from the mundane to the world changing. As one began to overpower the other, one begins to slip beneath the pressure. Throughout this ordeal, Fenfur had struggled to reach his comrade, but alas, he too was drug downwards and swarmed by the mass of vile beasts, they tore him apart, limb from limb, even his vines could not save him, as he was dismembered, much like Cailya, with his eyes removed in a similar fashion.
This last death was enough to affect Azalea as she slipped in power, her will had wavered as twinges of pain came and went. However, a newer and fresher pain had washed over her entirety when the power finally connected and sent her crashing into the solidified pile of blood encasing Blightgren, with enough force to shatter it. The damage Azalea had taken claimed her entire right side from her torso to her cheek. Vibrant green blood seeped forth and spilled to the ground. The blood’s contact with the earth caused for the once dead soil to freshen and fertilize as blooms of all sorts grew in a matter of seconds. It would take some time before she would be able to regrow her lost appendage and side due to their obliteration.
No longer did she face Timore, the rage that burned had been replaced with horror as she finally saw the calamity and chaos running rampantly around them. The corpses of her children burned deeply to memory. She was rooted to the spot, anguish and pain racked her tiny frame as her innermost fears came to light. Her children will all die at the hands of Timore, and he would be sure to make it as painful and wretched as possible like the monster he is.
Blightgren had been freed from the aftermath and was enraged by the state she was reduced to. He, the tree of death, whirled on his enemies and knocked them to and fro. He hoped to allow his Queen time enough to regain her composure, his mere physical prowess would not suffice. However, as Blightgren saw this, he began to dig deep into the ground. He expunged various plumes of toxic gas from his very core as the spores spiraled outwards, they escaped from his palms, arms, legs, and eyes. The entire battlefield was coated with the powerful agents, creatures fell in droves as the chemicals cascaded from Blightgren's impressive form, but it wasn’t enough.
Within minutes, it all stopped, he no longer had the ability to produce any more of the acidic toxins, and that which he had released was scattering upon the four winds. Blightgren backed up as the beasts began to close, the ground ran with rivers of their liquefied kindred, yet they moved incessantly forward. They crossed fords of their fellows to reach the remaining Treants, Blightgren called out for the survivors to rally around him, and so they did, the creatures managed to cut off a good portion, and they went down like their Brothers and Sisters before them, toppled, mangled, ripped to shreds piece by piece, torn from limb to limb. Azalea’s breath had hitched as she watched it unfold. The few who remained however, formed a circle around Blightgren and Azalea. They all felt it and she knew it too. They would all perish this moment.
“No.. Blightgren!” she cried. “I beg you! Take the others and leave this place!” Blightgren shook his head in response, he would rather die beside her than leave her behind. The others shared his sentiment.
"You have only one thing to fear my Queen, Fear." Blightgren said as he rushed to aid his battered comrades. Azalea shook her head in disagreement to his statement, yet stayed silent rather than voice her thoughts. She stepped forward slowly, her feet barely gained her distance. With each step, she raised her hand and reached out for something. Her blood continued to flow slowly, though not as intensely as earlier.
“My child..” she whispered. “I don’t wish for you to perish..” She stumbled forward to the waiting Fear Lord who had taken his time to savor the once great Lady of the Weald fall to such miserable depths. It gave him pleasure and a deep sense of satisfaction now that he bested her. She was practically one foot in the door already, why not take what he came for and have fun while he was at it?
Timore's signature grin split his grayed face and mockingly bowed to her. "Please, by all means, take all the time you need my dear. I won't be leaving without what I've come for."
"You'll regret for ever crossing me." Azalea muttered. She gathered strength from the world around her, tapping into the flow of life energy. This action was of a last resort for she dared not take more than what was needed.
As the energy began to gather and form before her, Azalea struck without warning. Vines and roots shot up from the ground as it crumbled away. The thorned vines had bound Timore to restrict any movement. While the thick roots impaled him. Bloodied roots littered across his body. The howls of agony she drew from him startled and unnerved her. What has she done?
In her hesitation and lack of focus, the raw energy she held backfired and burst upon itself. The brute force of the explosion sent her flying back, and unto her demise. The forest stilled to an eerie quiet at the horrific sight before them.
A sickeningly dull thud seemed to reverberate throughout the silent clearing. The once lively earth had been hushed as the very will of the land perished. Widened forest green eyes drooped down to a sight that chilled the remaining Treant to his very core. Azalea blankly stared at the clawed hand wrapped around her very being, her seed, still attached by several tendons to her mangled body. She slowly glanced up to Blightgren, her typical serene face skewed by fear and regret. Slow tears were shed yet before she could utter a single word, Timore tore away what gave her husk of a body life and cast her body to the side.
Blightgren howled in anguish for his fallen mother, her blank stare fixed upon him. He no longer had the energy to fight back and had been pinned down before the fear mongrel. The Dread Lord held his prize high, inspecting it with glee. They had all fallen to him. His despised laughter rang through the trees surrounding them. The last Treant, held down by the vines that once belonged to his brethren, glared in defeat.
"Oh come now, don't give me that. You fought valiantly for her, just it wasn't enough of course." His taunt only further caused anguish and despair upon Blightgren who dared try to take a swing at the Firstborne. "Now now, had she not taught you better than to be a sore loser." He smirked as he twirled out of reach gleefully relishing in the treant's pain and half-hearted swipes. He leaned in close with the same widespread smile
"And while I feel quite merciful.." he mused. With a wave of his hand, he drew from Blightgren a dark cloudy miasma, the toxins burned the treelike flesh. "How about you run along then? Go tell your little friends that you let 'mommy' die. Tell them how useless you are and how you failed to protect her. That you let this happen." Timore's laughter would haunt the sunken treant. Timore seemingly vanished to gods know where, and the foulish creatures receded to the shadows within the forest. Blightgren was left alone to wallow in his shame.
This was long ago however, and you would do well to find a single Treant within a human's lifetime, they are secluded beings, never emerging for fear of the tainted age of Sayre's Reign. The world eater had defiled the earth and perverted the once pure flow of World Blood, their mother's very source. In doing so, the taint spread like wildfire, and like any disease plaguing the world, Treants all around perished one by one. Those who survived the terror had for the most part abandoned or have neglected their duties letting the forests run rampant, that is, all but a few. The brave still tend to their forests, awaiting their mother to come and assist them somehow.
Their mother, Azalea, had long since disappeared. Rumored that she had gone to protect the Divine Gift hidden away deep within the mountain range, but that wasn't until many centuries later. Not a soul knew what had happened between then and now but speculations could be found. Perhaps the Dread Lord sought after something beyond his knowledge? Is it safe to assume Azalea held more knowledge than he?
Physiology:
Each Treant is unique to the forest they keep, some are small for their kind, standing no more than a couple of stories, while others, those who have been given dominion over larger forests, have grown to enormous sizes. Most of these are dead now, resorting to drinking from the World's Blood once again to power their massive frames when Azalea could no longer tend to them, for it was she who fed them with her filtered life blood. In this act they would only need to be visited every decade or so until her life blood ran thin. They did not have the capability of filtering the world blood like their mother did, so when they had turned to the defiled fluid in their time of need for sustenance, it poisoned them and killed off much of the larger Tree Keepers whom relied heavily upon it for their very life energy.
The smaller ones however, managed to find sustenance with water, and soil. They would root for hours on end soaking up nutrients to last them until their next hunger pangs struck them. They never regained their full power, and very few could still tend to the trees. These loyal beings were stricken with fear, their very source could not sustain them without corruption.
And so modern Treants are very different from, well I would say their ancestors, but Treants don't have ancestors, they are the same Tree Herders that have attended their forests since the day they were planted. The only thing that changed was them.
And boy did they change.
A Treant needs fuel to power it's large body, the World Blood can no longer provide this, so they have turned to their own resources, roots, planting themselves by a body of water Treants root deeply into the soil, they spend hours digging into the earth and soaking up enough moisture to sustain them. Treants also use vines to soak up water, but this is less effective because the vines they are equipped with were not intended for such a purpose, a Treant's vines are emitted from their palms, backs, arms and legs, each one practically a limb, these can be severed easily by a blade, if you can hit one of the fast rope-like appendages, they are used primarily for defense against those who would do them harm, once severed a vine will lose all life and another will grow back in its place.
Another method of defense for these majestic beings is fog, or rather, a noxious fog, the Treants were never intended to kill, so to defend themselves they will emit a poisonous cloud of spores, this irritates the senses of most living beings, making it an uncomfortable experience for most to have. If a human is within this fog, they would have rapid tear production, a tingling sensation upon their skin, sneezing, coughing, and labored breathing. This allows the defending Tree herder to subdue the attacker with vines, and make them unconscious through prolonged exposure. Then they will stop emitting the spore cloud, and deposit the attacker in a safe location until they awake.
Some Treants do not follow this example, they allow creatures to be exposed to the fog until death, this takes roughly an hour, and some even strangle them with their vines.
THE TREANTS
History:
In times of old, large tree like beings roamed the realm. Treants, they were dubbed locally, Guardians of the forest and their mother's keepers. They kept the forest healthy and alive where their mother could not be. It wasn't until after the Great Burning that they had appeared into the world, when man set forests ablaze in their foolish belief of ridding the plague brought forth by 'spores'. It was said that they were born from her tears. It wasn't long after when Timore had caught wind of such beings, the petty fool. He sought their mother, Azalea, for the secrets behind her children and of her other skills for selfish reasoning beyond her comprehension.
Azalea sensed the impending danger as she felt a sickness enter her forests. Her children were falling ill and she needed to protect them somehow. A congregation of Treants formed within The Great Forest- named so by the impressively enormous trees that grew there. Each one from a different region affected by the disease. Azalea had called for them in hopes to understand the severity of the disease and how differently it affected them all as well as warn them of the dangers it may bring. However, the meeting never began as Minnafy of The Marsh was missing. An unfortunate event really. The small wispy Treant had learned of the premise of an ambush underway. The sapling never made it, and a tear was shed soon after.
Too late it was for those who gathered. Beings of rotted flesh oozing black death that tainted the very soil it fell upon had entered the sacred ground, the very earth bed from which Azalea was birthed. They reeked of The Lord of Fear. Quick to action, Azalea rose against the beings. She called out to the embedded roots and low hanging branches and vines. The world seemed to quake under her influence as the ground shifted and a barrier rose to keep the beings out. Her children were the priority here as they were weakened by this disease. As she contemplated their presence, she finally realized the origin of the disease and the earth began to crumble away in her anger.
Her children would not heed her pleas to run. They instead stood their ground against the swarming beasts that slipped through the openings. They begged for her to escape instead but she would not. Mothers do not abandon their children. And so she would stay to protect her children, at a heavy cost.
She made quick work of the Fear Lord's creatures, they were in her domain after all. No matter how many that gathered nor how many would dare attack her children, she wrought upon them the wrath of her vines and roots. None were swift enough to escape. Tied down and pinned to the earth was all too easy for her. Too simple of an attack for Timore to have left her with. And that would be her grave mistake.
The fear mongrel himself apparated behind and greeted her with his grated voice that would send shivers down any spine. The very stench he released was sickening. It permeated her body dulling her senses. Her hold over the earth wavered and wilted away as toxins he released upon her ran its course. The foul creatures were freed soon after, and screech-like laughter bit the air as Timore placed a heavy and clawed hand on her shoulder. The vile thing leaned in closer as a wide smile splayed across his features, the lips curled back disgustingly over rows of crooked, sharp, yellowed teeth.
"Azalea-" The low hiss of his voice just barely above a whisper was enough for her skin to crawl, thorns prickled and pricked several of his fingers. "How are you?" he asked after removing his hand away from her. He stared down at his hand, watching the punctures dissipate only to smile wickedly as Azalea greeted him in turn. He vanished as she swung out her arm, the left over image whisked away into thin air.
"What is it that you want, fiendish terror?"
The horrid grin kept to his face as he circled her. Shadowy entrails followed after his movements poised to strike at a moment’s notice. The Lady of the Weald was still slow to react, the miasma he developed specifically for her had taken its toll. It was clear she was disoriented and her once elegant movements swayed at a slower pace, almost unnoticeable to the trained eye. And so she would not be able to manipulate the world just as he thought would happen.
“You wound me, Lady Azalea,” he feigned a hurt look. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?” At the mention of friend, roots and thorny vines shot out from beneath his feet forcing him further away as he weaved out of their range. Azalea turned her head to the side and spat black liquid onto the ground. She had been collecting the nauseating waste into her mouth and expelled the fluid in its totality.
“Is this any way to knock upon your neighbor’s door?” she asked in turn. If he will not answer her then she will take it by force if she must. Her children, in the time she was affected, had been outnumbered by Timore’s creations. If the Treants had been at their full strength, Azalea wouldn’t have had to worry as much, but that is not the case for they are ill and weakened by disease. The beasties swarmed the large tree folk, they clawed and bit at them. A few of the Treants had keeled over from the effects of their disease before the creatures even reached them, but those that stood, did so with honor. Fenfur of the Great Forest allowed vines to shoot from his body, encasing the creatures in them and squeezed the life out of them as they clawed for freedom. Blightgren billowed poison gas from deep within him, and brought the creatures down before they could even touch him. Cailya of the Northern wood swung her many great branches to and fro and decimated her enemies. The Tree Herders slayed their foes with grace and ease, but their brethren did not share the same fate. Trouble was had, as hundreds of twisted beings dashed beneath their feet and between their legs, the smaller ones were easily pulled to the ground, their branches snapped and trunks chewed as more and more piled onto them. Black and green ichor muddled and mixed, sprayed in horrid display upon the battle scarred ground.
With each passing death, Azalea held her own against the waves of pain that washed over her. Her children would all perish at this rate if she did not stop Timore now. She cursed his name as her arms elongated and split apart into several thorned vines entangled together into thorned whips. She angrily yelled and rushed after Timore and reached out to him, the tentacle like vines all surged forward with a hunger to draw blood. Timore cloaked himself with an impenetrable shadow long enough for the onslaught to pass before he extended his arm out with his own swarm of inky shadowy tentacles. Azalea retreated to the ground and traveled through the dirt to avoid entanglement altogether. Timore knew that she knew his knowledge of her tactics. She would surprise him no doubt and so he would prepare for anything and everything.
Fenfur swung one of his great vines with incredible speed, and wrapped around a beast's neck. He then pulled swiftly and off it popped, blood spurted from the thing's wound. He did not look to see what happened to it after that, as he pinned another to the ground with his massive arm, and pressed until it too gave a satisfying pop. Three more went for the great tree's leg, but as they leaped to attach themselves, vines shot out from their target and pierced each of them in turn through the core of their bodies. More vines sealed the deal as they pinned the creatures to the ground and wove themselves in and out of the beasts' fleshy bodies. Fenfur then picked up two more and mashed the beings together with his immense strength and hands. He could not stop all of them, no matter how many he killed, three more took their place.
He called out to his Mother, pleading for her to flee as he stepped on another horrid creature, he could only hope she heard him as he could not spare a moment to look back at her. A wave of the buggers hit him all at once and dragged him down, pulling his legs out from under him. Fenfur hit the ground as the beasts crawled on top of him and began to ravage his struggling body, the great tree allowed his gaze to drift in what he was sure were his dying moments, and saw Cailya, stilled and dismembered. Her once bright eyes had been clawed out by the terrible creatures.
Fenfur closed his own eyes, awaiting the same fate, yet it never came for Blightgren had swept all of the crawling creatures off of Fenfur's massive frame with one fell swoop. He swiped up one of the beasts and breathed directly into its face. The creature shriveled into a viscous black mass before direct contact with something as foul as the poison bearer, Blight incarnate. Wordlessly, Fenfur stood by Blightgren as the two of them plunged into the fray together. Their kindred were dragged down and murdered before their eyes as the two noble beings fought together in a whirlwind of devastation. It seemed as if hundreds had fallen before their might, but the two beings were not invincible. Eventually Blightgren became weary, nearly thirty of the creatures hung from his tangled mass of branches. They, along with others, drug him down as well. A pile formed on top of him so massive that one could not see the struggling tree beneath, Blightgren however, was not one to be outdone. The creatures ravaging him melted from his powerful emissions, and solidified into a large mound of a hard, dark black substance.
The ground stirred beneath Timore's feet to which he moved away as roots and vines shot out from below. Almost typical really. He was nearly gutted as thorned vines whizzed past only to have been ensnared by waiting vines. Azalea had tightened her grip on him and intended for her thorns to grow and puncture his dark carcass. She drew the same black inky ichor that coursed through his necrophages and to her surprise, was burned by it. She yelped in response to his blood and had to quickly let him go in the process lest he burn her more. The minute Azalea had let him go, Timore had leapt away as a concentration of swirling dark mass formed in his hand. Azalea barely had time to react when he sent the spiraling pallid column of fear incarnate right for her. Wall after wall of earth and wood were erected to slow the attack before it met with a sifting pillar of dirt and vines that matched it in force.
As twin bolts of power struck and bashed into each other, so simultaneously battled the wills of the two firstborn. Light and dark clashed in the same manner it did every day, from the mundane to the world changing. As one began to overpower the other, one begins to slip beneath the pressure. Throughout this ordeal, Fenfur had struggled to reach his comrade, but alas, he too was drug downwards and swarmed by the mass of vile beasts, they tore him apart, limb from limb, even his vines could not save him, as he was dismembered, much like Cailya, with his eyes removed in a similar fashion.
This last death was enough to affect Azalea as she slipped in power, her will had wavered as twinges of pain came and went. However, a newer and fresher pain had washed over her entirety when the power finally connected and sent her crashing into the solidified pile of blood encasing Blightgren, with enough force to shatter it. The damage Azalea had taken claimed her entire right side from her torso to her cheek. Vibrant green blood seeped forth and spilled to the ground. The blood’s contact with the earth caused for the once dead soil to freshen and fertilize as blooms of all sorts grew in a matter of seconds. It would take some time before she would be able to regrow her lost appendage and side due to their obliteration.
No longer did she face Timore, the rage that burned had been replaced with horror as she finally saw the calamity and chaos running rampantly around them. The corpses of her children burned deeply to memory. She was rooted to the spot, anguish and pain racked her tiny frame as her innermost fears came to light. Her children will all die at the hands of Timore, and he would be sure to make it as painful and wretched as possible like the monster he is.
Blightgren had been freed from the aftermath and was enraged by the state she was reduced to. He, the tree of death, whirled on his enemies and knocked them to and fro. He hoped to allow his Queen time enough to regain her composure, his mere physical prowess would not suffice. However, as Blightgren saw this, he began to dig deep into the ground. He expunged various plumes of toxic gas from his very core as the spores spiraled outwards, they escaped from his palms, arms, legs, and eyes. The entire battlefield was coated with the powerful agents, creatures fell in droves as the chemicals cascaded from Blightgren's impressive form, but it wasn’t enough.
Within minutes, it all stopped, he no longer had the ability to produce any more of the acidic toxins, and that which he had released was scattering upon the four winds. Blightgren backed up as the beasts began to close, the ground ran with rivers of their liquefied kindred, yet they moved incessantly forward. They crossed fords of their fellows to reach the remaining Treants, Blightgren called out for the survivors to rally around him, and so they did, the creatures managed to cut off a good portion, and they went down like their Brothers and Sisters before them, toppled, mangled, ripped to shreds piece by piece, torn from limb to limb. Azalea’s breath had hitched as she watched it unfold. The few who remained however, formed a circle around Blightgren and Azalea. They all felt it and she knew it too. They would all perish this moment.
“No.. Blightgren!” she cried. “I beg you! Take the others and leave this place!” Blightgren shook his head in response, he would rather die beside her than leave her behind. The others shared his sentiment.
"You have only one thing to fear my Queen, Fear." Blightgren said as he rushed to aid his battered comrades. Azalea shook her head in disagreement to his statement, yet stayed silent rather than voice her thoughts. She stepped forward slowly, her feet barely gained her distance. With each step, she raised her hand and reached out for something. Her blood continued to flow slowly, though not as intensely as earlier.
“My child..” she whispered. “I don’t wish for you to perish..” She stumbled forward to the waiting Fear Lord who had taken his time to savor the once great Lady of the Weald fall to such miserable depths. It gave him pleasure and a deep sense of satisfaction now that he bested her. She was practically one foot in the door already, why not take what he came for and have fun while he was at it?
Timore's signature grin split his grayed face and mockingly bowed to her. "Please, by all means, take all the time you need my dear. I won't be leaving without what I've come for."
"You'll regret for ever crossing me." Azalea muttered. She gathered strength from the world around her, tapping into the flow of life energy. This action was of a last resort for she dared not take more than what was needed.
As the energy began to gather and form before her, Azalea struck without warning. Vines and roots shot up from the ground as it crumbled away. The thorned vines had bound Timore to restrict any movement. While the thick roots impaled him. Bloodied roots littered across his body. The howls of agony she drew from him startled and unnerved her. What has she done?
In her hesitation and lack of focus, the raw energy she held backfired and burst upon itself. The brute force of the explosion sent her flying back, and unto her demise. The forest stilled to an eerie quiet at the horrific sight before them.
A sickeningly dull thud seemed to reverberate throughout the silent clearing. The once lively earth had been hushed as the very will of the land perished. Widened forest green eyes drooped down to a sight that chilled the remaining Treant to his very core. Azalea blankly stared at the clawed hand wrapped around her very being, her seed, still attached by several tendons to her mangled body. She slowly glanced up to Blightgren, her typical serene face skewed by fear and regret. Slow tears were shed yet before she could utter a single word, Timore tore away what gave her husk of a body life and cast her body to the side.
Blightgren howled in anguish for his fallen mother, her blank stare fixed upon him. He no longer had the energy to fight back and had been pinned down before the fear mongrel. The Dread Lord held his prize high, inspecting it with glee. They had all fallen to him. His despised laughter rang through the trees surrounding them. The last Treant, held down by the vines that once belonged to his brethren, glared in defeat.
"Oh come now, don't give me that. You fought valiantly for her, just it wasn't enough of course." His taunt only further caused anguish and despair upon Blightgren who dared try to take a swing at the Firstborne. "Now now, had she not taught you better than to be a sore loser." He smirked as he twirled out of reach gleefully relishing in the treant's pain and half-hearted swipes. He leaned in close with the same widespread smile
"And while I feel quite merciful.." he mused. With a wave of his hand, he drew from Blightgren a dark cloudy miasma, the toxins burned the treelike flesh. "How about you run along then? Go tell your little friends that you let 'mommy' die. Tell them how useless you are and how you failed to protect her. That you let this happen." Timore's laughter would haunt the sunken treant. Timore seemingly vanished to gods know where, and the foulish creatures receded to the shadows within the forest. Blightgren was left alone to wallow in his shame.
This was long ago however, and you would do well to find a single Treant within a human's lifetime, they are secluded beings, never emerging for fear of the tainted age of Sayre's Reign. The world eater had defiled the earth and perverted the once pure flow of World Blood, their mother's very source. In doing so, the taint spread like wildfire, and like any disease plaguing the world, Treants all around perished one by one. Those who survived the terror had for the most part abandoned or have neglected their duties letting the forests run rampant, that is, all but a few. The brave still tend to their forests, awaiting their mother to come and assist them somehow.
Their mother, Azalea, had long since disappeared. Rumored that she had gone to protect the Divine Gift hidden away deep within the mountain range, but that wasn't until many centuries later. Not a soul knew what had happened between then and now but speculations could be found. Perhaps the Dread Lord sought after something beyond his knowledge? Is it safe to assume Azalea held more knowledge than he?
Physiology:
Each Treant is unique to the forest they keep, some are small for their kind, standing no more than a couple of stories, while others, those who have been given dominion over larger forests, have grown to enormous sizes. Most of these are dead now, resorting to drinking from the World's Blood once again to power their massive frames when Azalea could no longer tend to them, for it was she who fed them with her filtered life blood. In this act they would only need to be visited every decade or so until her life blood ran thin. They did not have the capability of filtering the world blood like their mother did, so when they had turned to the defiled fluid in their time of need for sustenance, it poisoned them and killed off much of the larger Tree Keepers whom relied heavily upon it for their very life energy.
The smaller ones however, managed to find sustenance with water, and soil. They would root for hours on end soaking up nutrients to last them until their next hunger pangs struck them. They never regained their full power, and very few could still tend to the trees. These loyal beings were stricken with fear, their very source could not sustain them without corruption.
And so modern Treants are very different from, well I would say their ancestors, but Treants don't have ancestors, they are the same Tree Herders that have attended their forests since the day they were planted. The only thing that changed was them.
And boy did they change.
A Treant needs fuel to power it's large body, the World Blood can no longer provide this, so they have turned to their own resources, roots, planting themselves by a body of water Treants root deeply into the soil, they spend hours digging into the earth and soaking up enough moisture to sustain them. Treants also use vines to soak up water, but this is less effective because the vines they are equipped with were not intended for such a purpose, a Treant's vines are emitted from their palms, backs, arms and legs, each one practically a limb, these can be severed easily by a blade, if you can hit one of the fast rope-like appendages, they are used primarily for defense against those who would do them harm, once severed a vine will lose all life and another will grow back in its place.
Another method of defense for these majestic beings is fog, or rather, a noxious fog, the Treants were never intended to kill, so to defend themselves they will emit a poisonous cloud of spores, this irritates the senses of most living beings, making it an uncomfortable experience for most to have. If a human is within this fog, they would have rapid tear production, a tingling sensation upon their skin, sneezing, coughing, and labored breathing. This allows the defending Tree herder to subdue the attacker with vines, and make them unconscious through prolonged exposure. Then they will stop emitting the spore cloud, and deposit the attacker in a safe location until they awake.
Some Treants do not follow this example, they allow creatures to be exposed to the fog until death, this takes roughly an hour, and some even strangle them with their vines.