The Old Druid's Cottage

Connor Greyarrow wrote:As they made the trek through the woods, glowing lights faded in and out of sight around them, and orbs of pyreflies skittered about the enclosed wooden path. An invisible, yet shimmering wall came into view, before the three passed through it as if nothing occurred.

"I've... taken to my isolation. Perhaps a little too well. Then again, I'm never truly alone. We have an audience, even as I speak." The young man replied to Hrothor, pointing up at the trees above them. Little heads popping curiously over the edges of tree limbs quickly vanished upon observation. The glowing lights continued, and soon, they were standing before a massive tree with a home jutting out from it:



"It belonged to a Druid who died in the time of Scar'd supposedly. It isn't much, but... its what I've called home. You can hitch your mount over there." Connor states, pointing to a small stable of sorts that lacked a mount, turning away from Hrothor and then passed through the door set into the base of the tree.

He took a flight of steps up into the home proper, the kettle was still stewing the gunky contents he had prepared earlier that morning. "Make yourself at home." he added.

The old man opened his eyes, glancing up at the decaying old home high in the treeline. He could remember his last meeting with Hrothor as clear as any day, he may have lost memories of other people, of relations of merriment... but he had never, forgotten the face of his master that final night, the passing of the torch. The several pixies and sprites looked sad, hovering around the old druid who was sitting on the stump, pipe in hand, blowing smoke rings like an old wizard... like Hrothor. "I never did get as magnificent as a beard as old Hrothor the Honored... but I dare say, its a mighty fine one." He chuckled to his old friends, some of them he had unfortunately forgotten... their names a blur in his ancient mind. He sighed. He missed his wife, the Elf he met that very night. "Aurien never did care for it, thought it tickled her chin when I came into kiss her..." he frowned, closing his eyes. They had a few children, a couple half elves who flew the coop centuries ago... he hadn't seen them since she passed. He reopened his tired, but still wonderous blue eyes. He could sense the change returning... the chaos of the laylines. Nature was stirring towards the darkness, the darkness was... returning. "Well... I've lived long enough." He says, picking up his father's sword from the side of the stump, and slipped it around his waist, picking up the bolt-action rifle he had slung around his shoulder. "Its time for another to pass the torch... time for another druid to take up residency..." he says, as he carved 'Connor was here', on the stable's pole. He felt nostalgic... and a little excited. He hadn't stepped out for nearly two centuries... not since he laid his wife to rest in the lake. He closed his eyes, racked the bolt on the rifle, and turned away. Now I know... this home chooses the next Druid... may my replacement take all the knowledge of the forest I left for them wisely... and take care of my friends... He sniffled, wiping a tear from his eye... before making a stern face.



Tsynolf Greyarrow was leaving the Kilwood Depths for the final time.

As Tysnolf was leaving, a shade of a long dead man appeared standing on the deck of the house.



Hrothor Brightblade stood there, watching Tysnolf disappear into the woods, with a smile on his ghostly face. One of the faries, his old friend yota flittered about the spirit of the long dead paladin.

"Greetings, Yota. Yes, I am glad I could still be here for this moment afterall. It is time for a new Kilwood guardian to emerge. Tysnolf has done his duty, and now his watch will end. He has earned his rest."