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The forest was ancient, stretching further back in time than any living thing could recall, save for the eldest trees. Even they were only saplings as it formed though, and the spirits that lived within them had no memory of those early times before they gained consciousness. So to all who lived in or around the forest, it had always been there, a permanent fixture in the landscape, sitting at the base of a mighty mountain chain, running up the slopes of a few of it's peaks but mostly pooling at it's feet. It was expansive, a place where those who were unfamiliar with it's paths could easily get lost and never be seen again. Few ventured so far under the shadows of leafy canopy, many considering it a sacred and forbidden place.
Even the Elves before them had regarded the forest with reverence and respect, before they moved over the mountain range and continued on into unknown lands. To humans it would likely be strange that the Elves so easily gave up their homes and left, some remained, but most did not. Elves though were long-lived and wise, able to look at the patterns of history and apply it to their present and future. So when the humans arrived and saw the both creative and destructive potential for their race, the Elves left the lands to them, rather than fight for them and potentially doom their entire race. To go to war with the humans would be like going to war with the ocean, wave after wave would be thrown at them, never ending, until they were worn down and erased from the annals of history.
So the Elves left, leaving only a few behind, and while those that remained diverged into many different paths, one that stayed took on a life of solitude and protection. The humans, in their determined need to own and control everything in their sight, destroyed many things, and killed many creatures. The forest still stood though, and became a bastion for the creatures that had once roamed the land so freely in the days of the Elves. A few still lived outside the forest, but many retreated inside it's border. Together they worked to keep it safe, none thought worked so hard as the Elf who had taken on the duty of protecting the forest.
A Druid, Guardian of Nature, kept the forest as pure as possible, trying to keep the damage done by humans as low as possible. Most stayed away, but some come to the forest trying to cut down trees for their timber, or hoping to kill one of the animals for food or pelt, or worse they were after one of the more magical inhabitants, even if they were intelligent, to capture as a slave or to kill them for some part of their body that was prized for magical qualities. That had been Valaethia's task for some thousand years now, protecting the forest from the encroaching humans, it had become as much a part of her as her own heart, in tuned enough that she could sense the slightly disturbance, aided by the various creatures of the forest that acted as guards and look outs, mostly smaller creatures like birds and squirrels who could watch without being noticed.
When not dealing with a human threat, she was handling the politics of the forest. It was not naturally meant to sustain such a diverse and dense population of creatures, so it took careful balancing to keep the peace. The satyrs, centaurs, dryads, kelpies, and other various residences were constantly vying for resources and space, and war would have broken out long ago if it were not for Valaethia's constant attention, acting as a neutral force to guide and protect her charges.
Valaethia ((imagine this with red hair and gold eyes)) was a beautiful as any of her people, with soft yet refined features, wavy red hair, and bright golden eyes. Her garb was simple and made from the forest, nothing like the fine silks she had once worn when the Elves still ruled these lands. She had the perpetual look of being in her early 20's, as it would be many centuries yet before she began to show any true sign of aging and eventually die. And she had dedicated herself to protecting the forest until her last breath. So much of herself was in this place that if it were destroyed, surely she would die with it.
Today, things were quiet, and as she walked out of her home, made out of a large natural hollow high up in a giant oak in the middle of the forest, she thought that it would be a good day to do the things she normally didn't have time to do. This included checking in with some of the more distinguished inhabitants of the forest. At the top of her list was a dragoness named Imizael, who lived in a cave high on the slopes of the mountain. Normally, Valeathia would see her every few days, flying over the forest, either hunting among the trees or on her way to hunt in the landscape surrounding the forest. She had often told the dragon not to wander far from the safety of the forest, but she knew that lately she had begun to grow bold, which was unwise as she had a clutch of eggs incubating among the hoard of gold and jewels that dragons gathered as a nest of sorts.
Valaethia sighed and stretched, her arms over her head, her lean and lithe body working out the last snatches in her muscles, before she shook off the last vestiges of sleep and leaped from the branch that she had walked out onto. Through centuries of training, Valaethia was able to take the form of many animals, and she now took the shape of a hawk, her feathers as red as her hair had been. She soared on the wind, looking down over the forest as she did, monitoring the state of things, before banking up the slope of the mountain at the edge of the forest, ascending quickly on the updrafts. As she reached the mouth of Imizael's cave she landed, back in the form of an Elf, peering in cautiously. She was friends with the enormous dragon, but they were a territorial sort, and disliked uninvited guests.
“Imizael?” she called, hearing her own voice echoed back to her as it bounced off the cave walls. She waited, but there was no answer, perhaps she was out hunting? “Imizael, it's me, Valaethia!” she called again, louder this time, and then waited again. The Elf's pointed ears listened carefully for the sound of scale or claw against stone, but there was nothing but an oppressive, almost eerie silence. Valaethia felt a shiver run up her spine, something wasn't right, but she wasn't sure what it was until the wind shifted, and the smell of death reached her sensitive nose.
Valaethia's gold eyes went wide, “No,” she whispered and hurried inside, shouting the dragon's name. The smell thickened and she fought back the urge to gag, stopping suddenly at the sight that greeted her inside the cave. Imizael lay motionless, her once brilliant red scales now dull and lack luster. There were ways to preserve dragon skin and it's scale, which was often used to make nearly indestructible and fire proof armor, but it had to be done quickly and through magical means, if left on the body though, it rotted with the rest of the dragon's flesh.
The Elf stood staring for a few long moments, seeing with horror and disgust that among her numerous injuries, her head was missing, hewn off by whatever 'hero' had come here to claim her for glory or pay. Valaethia's head spun, she took every death hard, life was precious to the Elves, and one as old as Imizael was an especially sharp loss. Then she remembered the young lives the dragon had been guarding, and quickly climbed over her tail to get to the back of the cave, lifting her hand which began to glow with flames to provide her some light. The cave split off and she took the left, where Imizael kept her hoard, which served as a nest for her eggs. Most of the hoard was still there, she doubted that the dragon's murderer could have managed to take much with a dragon's head to haul, but he would likely want to return. She wouldn't let him.
The gold was of little concern to her, she would protect it because she wouldn't want that monster or anyone else to profit from Imizael's death, and because it was important to her, it was the eggs she was worried about though. Climbing up the slope of the massive pile of gold and jewels, she looked down into the depression that the female dragon had formed to hold her clutch. To Valaethia's dismay, the eggs were all shattered. Bits of bright shell were strewn about, with small hacked up bodies of nearly fully formed dragons laying among them. A few had their mother's bright red scales, others were golden, and a single green body lay among them, a recessive throw back carried by both parents. The Elf sank to her knees and wept, shaking in her grief.
Then she felt something, a small pull of life among all this death, and her head lifted, staring down into the depression. She nearly missed it, a golden egg, half buried in gold and jewels just under where she was sitting. It seemed that the knight had missed it, the egg no doubt being covered as he slid down into the nest. It would be easy to miss, the metallic shell blending in with the treasure it was buried in. Valaethia scrambled down the side and pulled the egg free, it was about the size of her torso, and would be too heavy for the average human to lift, but the Elf did so with some effort. It was warm to the touch, still alive.
Relief washed over the Elf and carefully she climbed out of the nest, carrying the egg in her arms as she left the cave and it's dead mother and siblings behind. Making her way down the mountain side and then to her tree took most of the day, Valaethia making it back as the sun began to sink behind the mountains, and setting the egg on her bed of furs and old silks left over from her days as a courtier in the Elven kingdom. She sighed as she set the egg down, laying a hand on it's shell, “It's alright little one, I'll keep you safe,” she told it resolutely.
Valaethia sat on the bed for the rest of the night, keeping close to the egg, she knew from the state of it's siblings' carcasses that it would hatch soon, so she talked to it and sang and played the various instruments she had, her flute and her lute being her favorites. The Elf desperately tried to erase any trauma it might endured during the slaughter. Finally though she put out the lights in her home and went to bed, curled up around the egg, enjoying the warmth it gave off, her chest pressed against the shell so that her heartbeat carried to the unborn dragon, letting it know it wasn't alone.
Even the Elves before them had regarded the forest with reverence and respect, before they moved over the mountain range and continued on into unknown lands. To humans it would likely be strange that the Elves so easily gave up their homes and left, some remained, but most did not. Elves though were long-lived and wise, able to look at the patterns of history and apply it to their present and future. So when the humans arrived and saw the both creative and destructive potential for their race, the Elves left the lands to them, rather than fight for them and potentially doom their entire race. To go to war with the humans would be like going to war with the ocean, wave after wave would be thrown at them, never ending, until they were worn down and erased from the annals of history.
So the Elves left, leaving only a few behind, and while those that remained diverged into many different paths, one that stayed took on a life of solitude and protection. The humans, in their determined need to own and control everything in their sight, destroyed many things, and killed many creatures. The forest still stood though, and became a bastion for the creatures that had once roamed the land so freely in the days of the Elves. A few still lived outside the forest, but many retreated inside it's border. Together they worked to keep it safe, none thought worked so hard as the Elf who had taken on the duty of protecting the forest.
A Druid, Guardian of Nature, kept the forest as pure as possible, trying to keep the damage done by humans as low as possible. Most stayed away, but some come to the forest trying to cut down trees for their timber, or hoping to kill one of the animals for food or pelt, or worse they were after one of the more magical inhabitants, even if they were intelligent, to capture as a slave or to kill them for some part of their body that was prized for magical qualities. That had been Valaethia's task for some thousand years now, protecting the forest from the encroaching humans, it had become as much a part of her as her own heart, in tuned enough that she could sense the slightly disturbance, aided by the various creatures of the forest that acted as guards and look outs, mostly smaller creatures like birds and squirrels who could watch without being noticed.
When not dealing with a human threat, she was handling the politics of the forest. It was not naturally meant to sustain such a diverse and dense population of creatures, so it took careful balancing to keep the peace. The satyrs, centaurs, dryads, kelpies, and other various residences were constantly vying for resources and space, and war would have broken out long ago if it were not for Valaethia's constant attention, acting as a neutral force to guide and protect her charges.
Valaethia ((imagine this with red hair and gold eyes)) was a beautiful as any of her people, with soft yet refined features, wavy red hair, and bright golden eyes. Her garb was simple and made from the forest, nothing like the fine silks she had once worn when the Elves still ruled these lands. She had the perpetual look of being in her early 20's, as it would be many centuries yet before she began to show any true sign of aging and eventually die. And she had dedicated herself to protecting the forest until her last breath. So much of herself was in this place that if it were destroyed, surely she would die with it.
Today, things were quiet, and as she walked out of her home, made out of a large natural hollow high up in a giant oak in the middle of the forest, she thought that it would be a good day to do the things she normally didn't have time to do. This included checking in with some of the more distinguished inhabitants of the forest. At the top of her list was a dragoness named Imizael, who lived in a cave high on the slopes of the mountain. Normally, Valeathia would see her every few days, flying over the forest, either hunting among the trees or on her way to hunt in the landscape surrounding the forest. She had often told the dragon not to wander far from the safety of the forest, but she knew that lately she had begun to grow bold, which was unwise as she had a clutch of eggs incubating among the hoard of gold and jewels that dragons gathered as a nest of sorts.
Valaethia sighed and stretched, her arms over her head, her lean and lithe body working out the last snatches in her muscles, before she shook off the last vestiges of sleep and leaped from the branch that she had walked out onto. Through centuries of training, Valaethia was able to take the form of many animals, and she now took the shape of a hawk, her feathers as red as her hair had been. She soared on the wind, looking down over the forest as she did, monitoring the state of things, before banking up the slope of the mountain at the edge of the forest, ascending quickly on the updrafts. As she reached the mouth of Imizael's cave she landed, back in the form of an Elf, peering in cautiously. She was friends with the enormous dragon, but they were a territorial sort, and disliked uninvited guests.
“Imizael?” she called, hearing her own voice echoed back to her as it bounced off the cave walls. She waited, but there was no answer, perhaps she was out hunting? “Imizael, it's me, Valaethia!” she called again, louder this time, and then waited again. The Elf's pointed ears listened carefully for the sound of scale or claw against stone, but there was nothing but an oppressive, almost eerie silence. Valaethia felt a shiver run up her spine, something wasn't right, but she wasn't sure what it was until the wind shifted, and the smell of death reached her sensitive nose.
Valaethia's gold eyes went wide, “No,” she whispered and hurried inside, shouting the dragon's name. The smell thickened and she fought back the urge to gag, stopping suddenly at the sight that greeted her inside the cave. Imizael lay motionless, her once brilliant red scales now dull and lack luster. There were ways to preserve dragon skin and it's scale, which was often used to make nearly indestructible and fire proof armor, but it had to be done quickly and through magical means, if left on the body though, it rotted with the rest of the dragon's flesh.
The Elf stood staring for a few long moments, seeing with horror and disgust that among her numerous injuries, her head was missing, hewn off by whatever 'hero' had come here to claim her for glory or pay. Valaethia's head spun, she took every death hard, life was precious to the Elves, and one as old as Imizael was an especially sharp loss. Then she remembered the young lives the dragon had been guarding, and quickly climbed over her tail to get to the back of the cave, lifting her hand which began to glow with flames to provide her some light. The cave split off and she took the left, where Imizael kept her hoard, which served as a nest for her eggs. Most of the hoard was still there, she doubted that the dragon's murderer could have managed to take much with a dragon's head to haul, but he would likely want to return. She wouldn't let him.
The gold was of little concern to her, she would protect it because she wouldn't want that monster or anyone else to profit from Imizael's death, and because it was important to her, it was the eggs she was worried about though. Climbing up the slope of the massive pile of gold and jewels, she looked down into the depression that the female dragon had formed to hold her clutch. To Valaethia's dismay, the eggs were all shattered. Bits of bright shell were strewn about, with small hacked up bodies of nearly fully formed dragons laying among them. A few had their mother's bright red scales, others were golden, and a single green body lay among them, a recessive throw back carried by both parents. The Elf sank to her knees and wept, shaking in her grief.
Then she felt something, a small pull of life among all this death, and her head lifted, staring down into the depression. She nearly missed it, a golden egg, half buried in gold and jewels just under where she was sitting. It seemed that the knight had missed it, the egg no doubt being covered as he slid down into the nest. It would be easy to miss, the metallic shell blending in with the treasure it was buried in. Valaethia scrambled down the side and pulled the egg free, it was about the size of her torso, and would be too heavy for the average human to lift, but the Elf did so with some effort. It was warm to the touch, still alive.
Relief washed over the Elf and carefully she climbed out of the nest, carrying the egg in her arms as she left the cave and it's dead mother and siblings behind. Making her way down the mountain side and then to her tree took most of the day, Valaethia making it back as the sun began to sink behind the mountains, and setting the egg on her bed of furs and old silks left over from her days as a courtier in the Elven kingdom. She sighed as she set the egg down, laying a hand on it's shell, “It's alright little one, I'll keep you safe,” she told it resolutely.
Valaethia sat on the bed for the rest of the night, keeping close to the egg, she knew from the state of it's siblings' carcasses that it would hatch soon, so she talked to it and sang and played the various instruments she had, her flute and her lute being her favorites. The Elf desperately tried to erase any trauma it might endured during the slaughter. Finally though she put out the lights in her home and went to bed, curled up around the egg, enjoying the warmth it gave off, her chest pressed against the shell so that her heartbeat carried to the unborn dragon, letting it know it wasn't alone.
