Tall Tree

Lore & Dialog
For more lore on the Tall Trees, see Deru Trees of Marae Lassel.

The dead leaves of the trees above you rustle in the wind. A sibilant, chattering voice breathes, "A sapling shall stand before the seeds of the warmer light. The sapling is bent to loathe its sap, the man of the south, and all seeds of the cleaner light. Weights of earth and anger shall be tied to it, and the sapling shall bend in pain and confusion. But there shall be none to comfort, for the planters are lost to feversleep."

The dead leaves of the trees above you rustle in the wind. A sibilant, chattering voice breathes, "How death comes: the great sap of the earth runs to dust, the maw yawns like the idle hunter, branches of eternal feversleep rake poison across the writhing bark of the world."

The dead leaves of the trees above you rustle in the wind. A sibilant, chattering voice breathes, "Seek the dead one where the waters twine and twist into their own life."

The dead leaves of the trees above you rustle in the wind. A sibilant, chattering voice breathes, "The saplings of the warmer light and the cleaner light shall crowd each other out."

The dead leaves of the trees above you rustle in the wind. A sibilant, chattering voice breathes, "When all the circles are broken, she comes. The air smells of her. Her children smell her. They pour across the blighted land in numbers greater than the leaves of a forest. Alas, alas. This mote is safe no more."

The dead leaves of the trees above you rustle in the wind, as if a sibilant, chattering voice were saying, "Auraken. Wind-Lord. Go not among your people evermore. Fly, fly to the high home. Too late, too late. The spore's mark has run its course among them. They fall and bite. Your kin shed lambent tears, and are forgotten."

The dead leaves of the trees above you rustle in the wind, as if a sibilant, chattering voice were saying, "Beast you are, Watcher, and no planter of stones. We shall have our own. Her eyes shall be clear water. She shall stand at the side of the great and chosen, though not always both at once. She shall whisper in the dark, and that shall resound evermore."

The dead leaves of the trees above you rustle in the wind, as if a sibilant, chattering voice were saying, "Cold..."

The dead leaves of the trees above you rustle in the wind, as if a sibilant, chattering voice were saying, "Marked was the coming of you, man no longer man. Your seedbearer's sap stains still your leaves. The women teach you false and foolish things."

The dead leaves of the trees above you rustle in the wind, as if a sibilant, chattering voice were saying, "Where be the women with the totems in their hair?"

The wind blows mournfully through the trees.