All things that exist were made, in some way, by the Universe. Raw and
untamed, they are formed and order is created from chaos. The story of
Baltroki is one that begins with his creation. Normally, when speaking of a
sentient creature one might say birth, but in fact, he was not born of any
mother or father, instead he was created as the final plea, of a dying
woman.
She lived alone, old and beginning to fade in a small house, with a twisted
chimney. Outside of her home which lay just outside of an ancient forest,
she had dug a decent garden of all the rare and exotic herbs that one would
expect of one of her profession; a Witch. She sat one night, late into the
autumn, staring out at the forest and sighed, thinking of the ending that
was coming to her. She knew it was nearly time, as she had been sick for
some years and with the practice of many years, at many sick beds, she would
not fooled into hope. Instead she contemplated the stedding that had been
her charge for so many years. She had fought off men and demons, to keep it
safe for those beings that called it home and she was now worried, because
she had no successor to pass on her knowledge. The one she had been
training had died, taken by a plague created by one of the dread knights
from Darkhaven.
Grumbling in pain, she stood up and grabbed her staff from behind the door,
grabbed a bag with all that she would need, wrapped a cloak about her
fragile frame and set off into the woods. She was slow, and each step was
misery, but she would do what needed to done. After many miles, exhausted
and near death she fell to her knees at the base of a massive apple tree.
It had survived for longer then she and she knew it was ancient even as a
child. The fruit it bore was sour now, long since past the prime of its
fruit giving, but it would do well in the task she would give it.
Opening the bag, she took out some herbs and sprinkled them at the base of
the tree muttering. It seemed the wind mirrored her words. Finished, she
took a deep breath and pulled a long bundle wrapped in satin from the bag.
Moon light glistened off the blade of a glass blade, twine wrapped about the
handle. It looked delicate, like a single wrong movement would shatter it.
Looking up at the tree, she said aloud, By blood and bark, you are needed.
By breath and air, you are called, By flesh and earth, you must serve. With
that simple invocation, she thrust the blood into her stomach. For a
moment, she wavered and then with a sigh she fell forward.
The moment seemed to last as she fell, but with a graceful and quick
movement, a branch cradled beneath her. A solemn face looked out from the
branches. Then lifting itself from the earth, brought the body beneath its
massive base and settled on top of it, closing its eyes once more. The only
trace of what had been done, was a glistening knife of glass sitting in a
pool of blood at the base of an ancient apple tree.
Description:
An ancient apple tree knotted and scarred shakes in the wind here. It
seems that even without the breeze it would be liable to fall over, in fact,
even as you watch it seems about to fall! Wait, no, it is not falling, but
stepping forward! It is no tree, but a Treant. A long look would show that
there is a face that seems to be carved from the knots and the branches that
waved so fiercely before, are limbs, each ending in smaller branches, like
fingers. To say that the legs are trunk like, is obviously not simile, but
a literalism that holds true here. Instead of feet, the trunk like legs end
in stumps, each one showing root like feelers that seem to aid in balance by
bracing against the ground it walks upon. The carved face is impassive,
eyes too appearing carved, yet also so smoothly roll in their sockets,
taking in its surroundings with a stony countenance.
