By the time you reached the edge of the forest, the light you had seen from the turret was gone. It was probably a stray sunbeam reflecting off the windows of the merchants' district, you thought, and had dismissed it as such with no small degree of disappointment. But as you sighed and prepared to head back towards the centre of town, the light appeared again some distance away in the deep grove of trees that spread out before you. Curiosity getting the better of you, you gave quick chase, following it past trees and scrubs and brooks aplenty until at last you stumbled into a lazy, sunlit clearing.
Within the glen, trees stretched their graceful limbs high above you, each carrying a rich bounty of green and gold, and birds sang happily of new day in the glowing light of the waxing sun. The effect was one of overwhelming peacefulness, and you filled your lungs with the crisp fresh air of morning as you rested from your chase, leaning easily against the strong trunk of a nearby oak tree. It was then that you heard the soft rustling of leaves to your left and realized that you weren't alone.
Your new companion, little more than a waif, had long dark hair that twirled about blithely on the air of her dance. She too was apparently lost within the idyllic spell of the glade, and gasped in surprise when she saw you. Her shock soon faded to embarrassment, however, even as her face reddened in the same. You stammered out a hasty apology for startling her and gave her your name. She smiled timidly in response, allowing the hand which had fluttered to her face to float back down to her side.
"I'm Briar," she answered in a quiet voice, "and there's no need to apologize. I knew you were coming. I just didn't realize it would be today."
Your brow furrowed in confusion, an expression she must have noted, for she soon added, "I had a dream about you . . . a vision. Come with me and I'll tell you about it."
It was a peculiar claim, and you were skeptical, but then you remembered that you were in Stormpoint -- where the border between peculiar and ordinary tended to blur. At any rate, you reasoned, Briar was only a slip of girl who couldn't have yet seen a full score of years -- surely her company was harmless enough. Having thus decided your course, you followed your guide back into the thickness of the woods, through gentle-barked giants that formed a patchwork, leaf-strewn path. It was a pleasant journey, though not a long one, and you soon found yourself stepping into another clearing. This one was occupied by a small wooden cottage with a hardy thatch roof. Briar approached it without slowing, opened the garland-swagged door, and invited you to enter.
Inside, the cottage was sparsely, but warmly, furnished. Your host offered you a seat at a small, yet sevicable, oak table nestled between two mismatched chairs before she disappeared, slipping into an adjoining room. You were able to glean little from the room during her absence save that she kept a tidy home and appeared to live alone -- a curious fact given her seeming age, and one that you had little chance to ponder as she soon returned bearing a tray of simple fare.
She bid you take what you would, and, after offering a silent prayer, began to nibble at the edge of a small scone. She'd taken but a few bites when she looked at you apologetically and returned to the subject of her vision.
"It was just yester eve when the dream came," she explained. "I saw you, just as now. You were visiting someone in a house by the sea. I couldn't them see clearly, but they had a fiery gaze and they hailed from the North." She stopped for a moment, watching to see if her words meant anything to you. "I'm sorry," she added at last, "but I saw nothing more . . . save the facts," she concluded hesitantly, "that your host seemed terribly, terribly old and you appeared to be . . . agitated . . . by your visit."
Not certain what to make of the vision, you thanked Briar for her kindness and hospitality and prepared to depart for the city. She appeared somewhat confused by your response, but nodded reticently, suggesting only that you follow the forest path up a bit farther before returning to the city.
"There's a wonderful view atop the tor," she explained, "only be careful to keep to the path and return before dark. After nightfall, the forest is home to things that best not be seen."
Thinking her kind, yet somewhat naive, you bid Briar farewell, and assured her that you'd heed her advice as you set out once again.
Light and dark ... good and evil ... right and wrong ..... words all, created by creatures who sought to understand the world in which they dwelt. But they were only tags, ephemeral labels, and had only the varying and mutable significance they were given. What mattered ... what was real ... what gave meaning to all was the Balance. It was the line that marked the boundary twixt ocean and shore, twixt day and night, twixt life and death. It was the pulsing vein that nourished all of nature; and Lyral was its servant.
She'd been born to the way and raised in the path by her parents -- both druids, one human, one elven -- both servants of the Balance in the days they'd been given. They were gone now, forced to walk different paths in final service to the truth they followed, but they'd taught her well and had made her ever mindful of the sacred duty that was hers ... to walk the narrow line of the Balance, and to maintain its leveled order.
As a child of nature, she was conversant in all the tongues of the forest, and she knew both its secrets and its needs. She knew also the world beyond ... the world that often roiled against the Balance ... and she ventured there as she was called. It was such a calling that had brought her from her prior home to the port city of Stormpoint.
Truth be told, she rarely ventured into the stone-laid streets of the city, for it was not within the maze of mortar that she was called to act. Instead, she dwelt beneath the thick canopy of trees that formed the forest of Tanglewood. It was there that the Balance had called her. It was there that her current duty lay. Something within the wood was threatening too great a pull, and Lyral was there to find it.
Gryphons don't generally care for the company of humans, or anything else for that matter, preferring to live solitary lives with only the company of their own kind. It's quite likely that Augur would have lived such a life had his parents not been killed by poachers foolish enough to wander into the outskirts of the Tanglewood. The fact that the poachers never reached the edge of the fey forest with their prize was of little consolation to the lone hatchling left squawking in an abandoned nest.
A full-grown gryphon is a match for nearly any beast, but a gryphon hatchling is easy prey for any creature that can reach it. Fortunately for Augur, the first "creature" to do so was Lyral Kelazar. Raised under the protection of the druid, Augur grew quickly, relying upon instinct as well as trial and error to learn the essential skills of a gryphon. Though not yet full-grown, the leogryph's pantherous frame is sinuous and powerful, and his wings are strong enough to let him taste the sun-kissed sky. His wide-spread paws have brought down many a foe, and his fierce beak is sharp and cat-quick.
Truth be told, he has sufficient age and experience to leave his foster mother and live as a wild gryphon .... he simply doesn't want to. He's seen much at the druid's side and has helped her to aid what she calls "the Balance." He doesn't entirely understand what she means, but he knows it to be important. Besides, someone has to look out for the lone human female with an unerring gift for ending up in danger. It's not as if she has a beak or claws of her own.
The path to the tor was steep but well-trodden. It thus took but a little while to reach the spot Briar had described. It took even less time, however, for the exertion of your trip and the effect of your meal to catch up with you, and you decided to rest briefly and enjoy the view before beginning the long trek back to the city. Lowering yourself down to the soft, thick grass, you leaned wearily against the trunk of tall shade tree and listened to the songs of the birds and other forest creatures, strangely calmed by their tune and timbre and noting how even the gentle wind that cooled your brow added to their aria as it rustled softly through the trees.
And so it was that sleep fell softly upon you, even as night fell silently beneath the thick canopy of green. You awoke with a yawn, and a stretch, and then a start. Gone was view of the city below. Gone was the gentle comfort of the sun-filled glade. Gone was all sight of anything familiar. The evensong of crickets had replaced that of the birds, and their tune was strangely ominous to your ears.
Many a tale was told of the creatures of the wood -- of the fae and their kin -- and many a tale had an ending best avoided, for though the woods be bright and inviting by day, they best not be visited by night.
Lyral Kelazar
