The root cause.

Deep in the western Serin forests, there is a small village. A village lost to time, and forgotten by most. The people there live a peaceful, hard working existence. The local druids have, for centuries, healed the sick and eased the passage of the dying. Their enclave, deeper in the forest was but a half days walk, on a well trod path. This druid commune was once home to many people. Time past and fewer young adults showed up to join. Their numbers dwindled, until finally there were just two men left. One was young, with a zeal for life, and a love of learning. The other, old and tired, had trained two generations of apprentices and now, somehow, needed to train a third. The elder druid did his best to impart the required knowledge, but his time was quickly passing. He could feel his life ebbing away. At the woodland shrine the druids had meditated in for centuries there were many species of tree. A giant oak flanked by elm and pine, a willow tree along the creek. Birch, maple, ash and walnut trees grew side by side, all competing for sunlight. In the fall, among the many colorful displays put on by this myriad of trees, one stood out. This single ginkgo tree, with a double trunk. It had fan shaped leaves of saffron yellow, richer in color and depth then all the rest. In his last autumn, the old druid and his apprentice spent most of the day sitting under the ginkgo, talking and listening in turn. All the while the ginkgo meditated, hearing without ears, seeing without eyes. He had grown fond of the druids, especially the old druid and his apprentice. This tree had been in the shrine for over a century, and was nearing an awakening. The old druid, in his last day, sensed something within the tree. A feeling from nature was not new to him, but this was different, this was special. He sensed the tree was changing, was awakening. As the autumn moved into winter, the old man grew sick. Distraught, the apprentice tried to brew remedies that would not work. The elder druid knew his time was long past, and he could not fight this. Yet he continued to ask his apprentice to forage for ingredients to make different elixirs, if only to continue his training. A few days after the last snow fall of the season the druid died. His apprentice brought him to the shrine and buried him below the ginkgo tree. Shortly after the ceremony a rider came charging down the dirt path. This was the first visitor the druid had seen in over six months. The rider, dressed in leather armor and splattered with blood, bellowed, DRUID! We need healers, bring everyone. The rider wheeled his horse and rode away at a thundering gallop. The apprentice sprinted to gather some supplies and left quickly after him. A day passed, and the ginkgo tree was stirring. He felt like he could MOVE! He felt like he could SEE! Yet the young druid had not returned. A week, and the tree could see, could move. He was sure the apprentice was not about, it was quiet. He could HEAR! Two weeks had passed, and he was restless. As his range of motion and speed increased his location under the boughs of the larger trees was too limiting. So he pulled at his roots and took his first steps. He took one large stride forward over the still fresh grave of the druid and turned. Looking at the small marker he saw a name, Halka. The treant walked through the forest following the path toward the village. When he arrived he was dismayed at the destruction. Burned buildings, shattered carts and bodies littering the streets. Halka waited watching from the tree line for a day. There was no movement with the exception of scavengers coming to get a free meal. Halka had been present for hundreds of burials, and innately knew what should be done. The treant set about the solemn task of burying the dead. With the druid not among the dead, the young treant set off. Walking among the trees he followed along the only road that leads from the village.

A winter in solitude

Halka the Treant traversed trails, dirt tracks, and paved roads to reach Seringale where he promptly joined the druid guild. With his previous knowledge, he quickly ascended the ranks and became the Grand Hierophant of the Forest. Once he exhausted all he could learn from the druid guild, he applied to join the Consortium and was pleasantly surprised to be accepted. He diligently tackled the tasks assigned by the Heralds and the Mystics and upon completing their tests, he was fully inducted into the Consortium. Halka relished in the camaraderie of fellow members and enjoyed exciting adventures and projects for a few months, until a shift occurred. Research became tedious and communication was laborious. As fall gave way to winter, Halka's desire to retreat into the forest intensified. He yearned to plant roots and let his mind wander aimlessly. Without warning, he left and discovered a serene glade where he could immerse himself in silence for weeks at a time. With winter's full arrival, Halka shed his bright, yellow-green leaves and drifted into a self-induced slumber. Without any possessions or leaves, even his closest friends would have struggled to find him in the wilderness. His mind wandered aimlessly as he drifted deeper into his trance. As spring arrived and new leaves began to emerge, Halka's spirits lifted, and he slowly emerged from his deep sleep. He retracted his roots and took his first steps in months, feeling revitalized and re-energized.