Heart of Oak

Not Alone Anymore

Standing before him was a dark elf, tall and gray-skinned with raven black hair that draped down her back ever so elegantly. She looked down at his crumbled form with almost sorrowful yellow eyes and wore a long black dress speckled with the twinkling lights of the night sky. She stretched out a hand, thin and skin tight to her bony frame, but not starving gaunt. Rather, she wore her thin frame with an air of grace and beauty, as if she chose to be thin. Kneeling beside him, she lifted his chin, brushing aside the leafy vines that made his beard. "I knew I felt your return. We are opposites in many ways, but I remember you fondly."

In an instant, his eyes were open and staring directly at the midday sun. It blinded him, forcing him to close his eyes. Yet he still saw the orange and yellows of the light shining through the shields of his eyelids. It was uncomfortable. His body ached and groaned as he sat up. Relentlessly, his ears rang and blurred colors obscured his vision, even with the sun no longer blinding him. It took forever for him to recover from the disorientation.

The monastery's ruins laid bare before him, all the destruction the dragon caused surrounded him. The dragon's actions destroyed a portion of the city. Guards and residents gathered around the area, attempting to determine what exactly happened. Sitting beside him was a familiar turtlekin. "Father Rodgers?" Oakengrove tilted his head, trying to get a better look at the turtlekin's face.

The elder turtlekin spun his head around and smiled widely. "Oh, good, you're awake."

The treant looked at the surrounding area. It was unusual to be crowded by so many people. He looked down at his left arm. The corruption injected into it by the necromancers was gone, and the arm moved and felt normal again. Just a few feet beside him was the decapitated head of a green-scaled dragon. It was rotten and stank of burnt corpses and basement mildew. Oakengrove rolled over onto his knees and pushed himself upright, taking the dragon's head into his hands, and scrutinizing it.

Khar walked up to him. "You good?"

Oakengrove's concentration broke, and he placed a reassuring hand on Khar's head. "Thanks to you, I am."

Ciez and Cedrik were in the house's doorway where the dragon had fallen into showing each other the 'war trophies' they'd collected. When they realized their master had awakened, they rushed over. "That little mushroom of yours works miracles!" Cedrik said. "Where can I get one?"

Enoki. Oakengrove's mind raced to remember where that little one was when he was last awake. Poking out of a crevice in his shoulder was the white cap of the tiny mushroom. He sighed with relief, knowing that the mushroom was safe. "This one is not of my creation but a gift from the moon itself, a gift from Velnyr."

"Velnyr? The egotistical celestial goddess?" Ciez was surprised. "The hell she do that for?"

Oakengrove threw a side-eye glance at the goblin. "A gift is a gift. You do not question it. That being said, however, I know I am not alone."

Khar's head tilted at that comment. "What do you mean? You've always had us."

Oakengrove shook his head. "Alone in a different way." He then walked over to the monastery's ruins and began sifting through the rubble. "First things first. I came here for new magic."

Khar looked at both Cedrik and Ciez with a concerned expression, and they looked back in kind. "Oakengrove, why are you looking for necromancy?"

"If I can understand it and learn it, I can use it and counter it for good." He said, lifting a trap door beneath some of the alcohol barrels. Peering into the darkened space, he saw a ladder down and wall-to-wall bookshelves filled with hundreds of texts.

The home tree was silent that night. The events of the day were still being unpacked by those who'd witnessed it, and Oakengrove was busying himself away with the studies of unfamiliar magic. Frida's forge had produced an outdoor cooking grill and a smoker oven, and both were cooking dinner. Around the cooking patio were tables and chairs, grown into shape by Oakengrove himself, as it was easier than trying to go through the whole wood processing cycle. "And I'm telling you, it's not normal for dragons to be hiding in the open like that. Worse yet, it was a necromancer!" Frida said, waving a two-pointed fork around.