Author’s Note: Seeing how I’ve been inspired by an image this time, I split the the link into two parts. The image and the reddit post where it originated from. The latter you’ll have to click on The Forest Spirit, then click on the link in the body. Have a gander if you want.
“The ravens caw in the blue forest.” The Elder frowned. He clutched his wooden stave as his body shook with joy. “Storyteller! Keep the children occupied, the spirit awakens!” All the able-bodied men tensed at the words. Their glee beginning to infect the atmosphere. The air grew more and more suffocating. The Storyteller gently held me by the hand, whispering sweet comforts into my ear. If he knew.
The Storyteller motioned for children to sit, for us to join with him. I am the first to sit, I am seemingly one summer away from manhood, but my eyes betray me true age. The fire-air burned hot, but my skin endured. The Storyteller motioned to me, I pick up the bowl full of powdered memories and threw them into the fire.
“In the heart of the Blue Forest where the tongueless ravens reside, where the light-flowers bloom once a darkened moon, lives the Golem Spirit. He would slumber, in quiet solitude, for he is the last of his kind.” The Storyteller guided the flames into images of the forest, the ravens, the spirit. He danced around the flames, bending and guiding the rainbowed flames.
“Not a soul knows who the spirit is or when he’s come from. The knowledge is lost to the ages, ever since the Great Divide.” He plunges his hands into the flames, the flames turn black. The children gasp.
“Some say the divide came about because the Gods were angry at the humans for entering into the domain of the divine. The Gods sought to punish the humans but the Gods were outmatched, outsmarted, outplayed. In an act of desperation, the Gods wove a curse to banish any with the potential to overcome the Gods into the Ground of the Forsaken beyond the Blue Forest.” The children hissed. I remember the actual battle when I was a child. The Gods died, one by one. And with them, the anchors holding life withered with them.
“Truthbearer what say you?” He called upon me. I had promised Gaenayth, the last of the Gods that I would not tell humanity that the Gods were dead. That the pestilence, famine, wars could not be fixed. That the God of War was the guardian against true war. That the God of Bounty protected them from famine. I would not tell them that the Golem was their last link to survival. Gaenayth the God of Survival.
“The Truth is the truth. What you say is story.” The Gods are hated, but they protected you lot from your own madness. Even now you aspire to kill the last of the divine. All for the Life Orb within the stomach. Giving dominion over an aspect of reality. And even now, my grasp on the truth slips. My Life Orb stolen. The stories corrupt me slowly until my kin and I are but figments of imagination. Whisperings of an era gone by.
I…. don’t know what to do anymore. I need your help father, but you are lost to me.