Waking in the City of Trees

 Trystan’s Charisma Score: 2 + 4 + 2 + Wayfarer Bonus 3 = 11 – PASSED!

And if Trystan’s plea for food needed any amount of accentuating, his stomach released a roar of discontentment over the lack of food it had been offered since before the shipwreck. The man’s tan face grew pale from a mix of embarrassment and fatigue as his knees began to buckle beneath him. The ancient oak tree’s eyes went wide with bewilderment before it released a cackle that disturbed the birds that had nested in the nearby trees. “You are indeed hungry, young one!” The tree noticed the human start to sway, hinting he might fall. With a long, low branch, it swept in to gently break his fall and lift him from the ground. “You are a blessed child, young man,” the tree gently chuckled, cradling the human who passed out on his branch. “You shall be safe and cared for this night,” the oak cooed sympathetically as it uprooted from the spot between the bushes and used the call of the woods to summon someone from within the City of Trees.

The twittering of birds roused the young wayfarer from his deep slumber. He swallowed hard, his throat still parched with thirst. The blinding colors of white, gold, and red, while his eyes were closed, warned him of the brilliant presence of sunlight. Trystan groaned and rolled over, and was surprised to feel a plushness of a feathered mattress beneath him and a soft fabric blanketed over his skin. All of his skin. In a way he didn’t expect a blanket or sheet to feel if he were wearing a leather jerkin, pants, and boots.

His eyes shot open, then slammed shut when the golden light of the sun filling the room caused his sight a sharp streak of unexpected pain. No, he should have expected that. Anxiety fooled him into opening his eyes under such hazardous conditions. A low, mirthful chuckle tumbled into his ears from the far side of the room. Someone must have noticed that he was awake. “Where am I?” Trystan muttered, groaning with soreness as he sat up in the bed and rubbed his eyes. “In the City of Trees, young friend,” an elderly voice responded, made deep with time and wizened with experience. That definitely didn’t sound like the old oak tree Trystan last remembered speaking with. The City of Trees strangely made sense when he thought about the tall thorn bushes with the ancient, rooted guardian. He smiled and released a raspy chuckle, but couldn’t voice his thoughts just then. “You’re parched. Our guardian explained your situation to us,” the elderly man stated as much and gestured toward the bedside table. “Drink. The mulberry and gooseberry tea will soothe your throat and replenish your appetite,” he offered with a tender, welcoming tone.

Did Trystan’s appetite need replenishing? It was an odd thing to think about, considering he couldn’t remember the last time he ate. Opening his green eyes, blinking briefly to ease their transition to the sunlight, the young man looked about his surroundings. The room was simple yet not small. It was made of wood, and based on the curvature of one wall, was built up against the trunk of a massive tree. A large opening in the ceiling let natural daylight pour in, though it seemed it could be easily closed with a simple, heavy shutter to keep out the rain. Beside the bed was another window, through which he glanced to find that he was nowhere near the ground level, but high up among the branches of the tree. “Drink up, before you lose your constitution,” the elderly voice suggested when he noticed Trystan’s face grow ever paler.

Dark, shaggy hair flapped about his face and neck as the wayfarer whipped his head around to meet the gaze of the elderly man sitting nearby. “City. Of. Trees,” Trystan repeated, reminding himself before asking why or even how they managed to get up so high above the ground. “Correct,” the other man agreed with another warm chortle. He then gestured to the cup of juice on the bedside table. As if finally realizing his cue, the young man reached for the cup and noticed that his muscular, tan arm was bare. His long, calloused fingers gripped the wooden cup while his green eyes strayed to confirm that there was nothing more than a sheet covering his otherwise naked form.

Trystan was not a prude. However, finding himself in the company of a complete stranger without an article of clothing he would find comfortingly familiar made him feel a little uneasy. Before the other man could repeat himself, the younger fellow brought the cup to his lips and drank deeply of the honey-blended tea. The berry beverage's sweetened tartness was unexpectedly soothing and reminded him of home. The anxiety eased from his chest for the moment as his gaze finally settled on the old man sitting in a comfortable-looking armchair. His face was wrinkled and worn like cracked leather, his hair snow-white, his long beard woven with numerous small downy feathers and young sapling leaves, and his eyes were pale with blindness. This startled Trystan some, as it made him wonder how the older fellow managed to realize that he had stirred awake. “My hearing has become better, with the loss of my sight,” the elder responded, as if able to hear the thoughts in the lad’s mind. “I-” The younger man was instantly cut off when the elder raised his gnarled hand. “There is no need to apologize, young friend,” he sighed, smiling kindly. “I am known as the Oak Druid, the leader here in the City of the Trees,” he explained as Trystan noted the heavy, woven robes that were layered over the man’s thin yet sturdy form. Beside him, against the wall, rested an oak staff.

“Our guardian explained your situation as you were ushered through the gates. We have tended to your sores and bruises, we are repairing your clothes and gear, and we will make sure you do not leave here hungry or without provisions,” he promised in a reassuring tone that made Trystan think of his grandfather. Checking himself as he lifted the sheet covering his figure, he silently marveled at how clean and healthy his skin looked. Even the bruises around his wrists and ankles were gone. “Thank you,” Trystan croaked in appreciative embarrassment over how much of a burden he must have been while he slept. “You’re welcome, young friend,” the Oak Druid responded sincerely.

Trystan spent three days recuperating from the trauma of being abducted by bandits and the most recent shipwreck. At least, that was what he admittedly assumed, as the memories of those events remained unconfirmed. The Oak Druid and the citizens of the City of Trees understood that he needed time to process what he believed had happened and how he had managed to survive. He was thankful for the assistance they offered him, and did his best not to take it for granted.

The City of Trees itself was a marvel in his eyes. The druids had not only created a community and settlement but had also built sturdy, reliable dwellings high in the branches of strong oak trees. Trees that were unbelievably larger than anything the wayfarer had ever witnessed before. As blind as he was, their leader did not seem at all hesitant or wary of the rope bridges and ladders used to travel from tree to tree, or return to the ground level to assist with the farming. What would have been deemed a disability offered the Oak Druid greater strengths that were a marvel to the abled-bodied youth. The druid also had an undeniable trust in his community. When he requested assistance for anything at all, someone stepped in without hesitation or a negative retort. One might think Trystan had fallen into a utopian society, though the Oak Druid denied such accusations. They strived to find balance with nature and civilization, but it was a struggle.

The young man did what he could to show his gratitude toward the Oak Druid and his community. They had fed him, clothed him, and, on the morning of his departure, ensured he would not leave without the gear and provisions needed to leave not just the forest but the island as well. This included a finely crafted bow and a quiver of arrows, a pair of gloves, a rucksack, bedroll, and several days' worth of trail rations. There was also a world map that would surely come in handy. “I don’t have much coin,” Trystan said as he and the Oak Druid strolled through the small market of vendors who had set up near the gate leaving the hedged community. “Only the vendors here would accept such an offering,” the older man said with a delighted chuckle as he used the oak staff to determine how clear the path was for him. “How can I repay you?”

The elderly man smiled kindly as they stopped at the gate. He stopped leaning on the oak staff and held it out toward the young man with the dark hair and green eyes. The pole of wood was gnarled toward the top, but straightened out into a subtle wave of curves toward the bottom.  Intricate runes in a language the younger fellow did not recognize traced along the natural grain of the wood, swirling in complex patterns around the knots.    

“Deliver this to the Willow Druid for me,” he said, his pale eyes eerily looking into those of Trystan’s emerald hues. There was an expression of disbelief and confusion on the young man’s face as he asked, “There’s a Willow Druid? Where or how can I find him?” There was a chortle as the Oak Druid gently shook his head. The man was so young and had yet to see the world. “That map will help you. She,” he said poignantly, “can be found in the Forest of Larun. You found your way to us even when you weren't looking. I have no doubts you will find her sacred grove with as much ease.” He was confident in the lad’s skills and determination. “She will take this oak staff in trade for something. Whatever that might be, you must return here to me. Then, your debt will be paid.”

Was it truly as simple as that? Trystan had to have faith that it would be. He took the staff from the old man. “Very well,” he said with a bow of his head. “Until I return, then.” With that, the ancient, sentient oak tree opened the gate for the young wayfarer. While the Oak Druid waved and wished him farewell, Trystan returned to the forest to find his way to the Trading Post he was given directions to.

SCOUTING DIFFICULTY - 10



Name: Trystan Afon
Profession: Wayfarer
God: -none-
Rank: 1
Defense: 7
Charisma: 2
Combat: 5
Magic: 2
Sanctity: 3
Scouting: 6
Thievery: 4
Stamina: Max – 9/Current - 9
Money: 16 Shards
Possessions – Max 12: Sword, Leather Jerkin ( Defense +1 ), Bow/Quiver of Arrows, Map, Oak Staff
Resurrection Arrangements: -none-
Titles: Outcast
Blessings: -none-
Description: Dark, shaggy hair, vibrant green eyes, ruddy, caramel-hued and freckled skin, over five and a half feet tall. His facial hair is in a state of perpetual stubble. Generally wears muted earth tones, made of worn leather and comfortable fabrics. Is proficient with a bow, handy with a sword, and fairly skilled at hunting, tracking, and general survival in the wilderness. The last thing he recalls before waking up on the shores of the Isle of Druids is encountering a band of brigands while tracking a boar. His likely capture, enslavement, and becoming cargo on a ship isn’t as clear in his memory.