The shadows grow longer as the sun slowly descends upon the western horizon, gradually melting into the ground as it descends. It grows colder as the sun’s warmth fades. The elder orc, oblivious to the increasing cold, heaves a deep sigh into the breeze. With increasing agitation the pixies and sprites flit about, buzzing in annoying and unintelligible agitation. One more brown leaf falls from the ancient oak tree, gnarled beyond belief in patterns unfathomable and deep. The brown and last leaf gradually descends and gently settles upon the earthy soil. The old orc utters, with tears in his eyes and deep sorrow, “ I release you from your burden. I release you from your burden. May you rest knowing that we will carry the burden forever more. Rest now. With deepest humility and deepest gratitude we thank you for your patron and protection. We thank you. We thank you. Rest now and slumber.”
At first quiet. But then slowly, from the deep, an earthy shudder begins. Softly, full of melancholy, a deep woodsy crackling and rumbling occurs. The very sun halts in its descent. The sprites and pixies intuitively know the occurence, they settle and cry on the branches of the old magnificent tree. Some settle upon the Orc for reassurance. The Great Oak is dying. The Great Oak who has protected them all for millennia beyond fathoming is gone. The Great Oak taught by Vvaraak herself, is no more. The Orc sits with heaving shoulders upon the roots of the great tree. He grasps the little brown leaf which fell to the earth and ponders the significance of the failing of this Great Seal.
The marsh nearby continues to pulse its unearthly sickly purple and green glowe. Unholy aura manifests as it always has.
Yet, hope is not lost. The great orc, with effort and creaking bones slowly stands. He holds the leaf to his chest and begins to hum. With closed eyes and bulging muscles he calls forth the ancient powers of nature. Powers so ancient beyond measure of chaos and Law, beyond good and evil, beyond even the will of the Titans. Dark clouds begin to form as the old Orc hums and chants incantations to protect this Earth from evil. Howling echoes from nearby woods in response to the summons, and slithering gasps come from the nearby swamps. The old Orc, respected and beloved by all of the world’s creatures, asks for help. Mighty creatures come. Some crawling, some emerge from the marsh, some glide from the depths. Some come from without, burning with a fury of vengeance. But none come too soon.
Fore as the sickly purple already pulses with deep malevolence, already challenging the living of this world.
The pixies fly. The orcs eyes’ burn red and wild. The time is now, yet again.