Different Eyes : Forestwatch

By: Blackharp Posted on: April 08, 2005

((This was a story i wrote cause i wanted to try and have people look at life through different eyes. Eyes that most people wouldn't normally think of looking through. I in no way claim that the following story is accurate, but i have tried to stick to the facts where i found them.))

The voices ring in the distance and once more I wonder why it was my people ever got involved in this war. It seems that every day a new leader must be elected from among our people, those in ally with our enemies raid us continuously, we flee as our swordsmen buy us time, but they always seem to know when we return to our homes among the fortress.

"Guards! Guards!..." The voice of one of my peoples youth rise into the air along with a fearful snarling, I pray to the Divine for the youth's life but know even before the shouting is cut short that no one arrived in time to help the young one.

My Guards are starting to shift uncomfortably now at their posts, their hands slowly caressing the pikes that are the sign of their rank. They are good fighters and I know that they won't run in a fight, they are loyal to their people and will die rather than let more of our people suffer.

A terrified scream rings out down the barren halls of our underground keep, and above us there is the sound of thuds and a pitched battle. A bemused smile crosses my face at the thought of how our visitors will be received by those humans who remain in our keep...the humans we came to serve and protect and in the end betray.

We took their fortress in these woods as our own, slaughtering those who would keep us from our newly acquired home, the dryads our unwitting allies in this struggle for once. There is a heavy thud from above and then there is once more silence. As I wait upon my throne and listen to the silence I once more pause to reflect on how my people got into this state...

We were a lost people, wandering, looking for refuge, willing to fight if we ever found a new home. One of our leaders heard the sound of a battle as we entered a great forest and we slowly followed the sounds of the struggle, of the clash of swords, the growls of animals, the screams of those who are in pain and dying. Our blood boiled as we came upon a clearing in the woods and there beheld lovely dryads and humans in the middle of a pitched battle surrounding a large fortress that had been built into the forest. Before our eyes the dryads and humans seemed to reach a stalemate and slowly the battle slowed and the Dryads began to fade back into the woods followed by their forest friends. In the end only the humans were left and their faces had a tired haggard look about them. This was our chance and our leaders knew it.

We advanced as a small column upon the humans weapons sheathed except for the swordsman here and there. The humans turned to meet what they perceived as a new threat and our leaders quickly raised their hands and stepped from the column. I remember watching as the leader of the humans met with the leaders of my people, and I remember the relief that broke through me as our people were welcomed with open arms into the fortress.....

A new scream sounds from down the hallway closer than any of the sounds before and a smug smile splits my features as I imagine the horror that this new raider must be feeling at the sight of the slugbeast bearing down upon the spot through which they had fallen through the path above. The slugbeast was one of the prouder moments in the struggle, and as once more the scream rips through our fortress and is cut short I recall how he came about to be our first line of defense.

Our witchdoctor was then just an apprentice really, but slowly his power was growing as he stole his energy from the dead and dying dryads as well as the surrounding forest. His first creation was the Dryad zombies that protect the lower halls of our fortress. There is always something about having to fight the re-animated corpse of one you used to call friend, and there was no difference with the Dryads. Their horror at the zombies was obvious and at first they refused to fight them, but then as the zombies destroyed the forests and more of their old companions the Dryads were forced to react. Now the fear is no longer there, but the zombies always have an amusing effect upon those that come to raid us.

The Witchdoctor's next attempt was the slugbeast. For this the dryads were unsuitable and so a volunteer was taken from among the human's then living at the fortress. When warned that there would be no changing back the man simply shrugged and claimed his life was no longer worth living anyways. With a shrug the Witchdoctor lifted his arms and began the ritual, a slow green light pulsed from his hands and a staff he had been holding, and then the light left him and surrounded the human. A look of extreme pain contorted the man's face and a shrill scream tore from his throat. All of us, especially the humans, slowly started to back away, and then the man's skin started to melt. His arms and legs melted into his body and he fell with a thump. Lying there withering on the ground the scream continuing to issue from his throat, a wet squishing sound sounded from inside the man as his bones slowly disintegrated, and a green foam started to flow from his mouth. I am ashamed to admit that I shut my eyes at this point and did not open them until there were no more sounds. By then the change was finished and the man was no longer human, but instead a large slug creature was before us. It was with trepidation that some brave souls lead it to the pit that had been dug beneath the path leading to the fortress, and later that night he had his first victim.

A clash sounds from right outside my halls and I look up from my contemplations as one of the guards placed outside my doors slumps in holding an injury. Another good man that would never run form a fight, his wound was a terrible sight, but slowly healing before our eyes.

"Another raider m'Lord, he did not make it. Sorry for the disturbance." With that the guard was gone back to his post, more than likely sleeping to recover from his injury. A small sigh escapes between my lips as I shake my head in frustration.

Sooner or later a raider will get past that man and enter my room, I just hope when that happens that I am up to the task of protecting my people. My thoughts slowly start to drift again as a vision of how this hall looked when the humans owned it replaced my vision of it now...

I was with the group of swordsmen that attacked the human commander and forced him out. Over the years of battle we had perfected the skill of aiming our blades and found the vital spots that bled the most, now we focused more upon bleeding our opponents to death rather than slicing them. These men had the upper hand in height, but we were faster. The battle drew on for months, while the Dryads waited to see who would be victorious. Two of the clearest memories I had of that battle against the humans was of the blacksmith as he died, and his spirit came back as a ghoul to haunt the upper floors near the stables. The second once more had to do with the Witchdoctor.

The unlucky commander of the humans had been caught near death by the stables. His legs had been smashed by the ghoul who no longer saw friend from foe, and he had been trying to reach his horse when he was stumbled upon by one party of swordsmen. Picking him up, they dragged him painfully to our leader then, who was also the Witchdoctor. An evil grin split his face at the sight of his opponent, and the staff he was holding began to glow with an evil green color.

Slowly he reached forward and grasped the dying man's head in his hands the light transferring itself from the staff to the Witchdoctor's hands, and from his hands into the man's head. Slowly the commander's eyes began to roll back and his whites to show, his body convulsed and a white foam appeared at his mouth. His skin began to crack and with a last jerk he died. The Witchdoctor had him taken to his workroom, and later we saw the commander again, but he would never be the same. The rest of the humans in one piece fled at the sight of their commander's form staggering towards them as a zombie, and the fight with the humans was over.

A scream right outside my door and then a slow gurgle tells of the death of something in the halls, but of who I do not know. The question is answered though as the corpse of the guard is thrown through the doors and into the room, followed closely by one of the raiders. A derisive sneer curled his lips as he viewed us, and then he charged forward squeezing a hand in front of one of my guards.

With a cry we attacked, the guards using their pikes stabbing deep and knocking the stranger to his feet, me my nails. Earlier I had applied different poisons to each nail each had a different effect, and so with a swipe that left red gashes across the man's face I planted one of those poisons in him. The skin around the cut was already festering and starting to puss, but it was not until the man suddenly caught on fire that I knew my strategy had worked.

With elation I watched the man die before me, and a triumphant smile crossed my features. It was then that a low snarl sounded from the door, and a woman slinked in slowly. Her steps were slow and purposeful, and there was something about her that caused me to think of a Jaguar. Behind the woman entered a man, his eyes were cold as ice and a chill seemed to radiate from him freezing the air about him. It was then that I realized I was going to join those who came before me.

Sometimes I wonder why we continue to engage in the war with the dryads…I wonder why we never stop and try to call a peace, but now is not the time to wonder. I am the Buckawn Lord and it is my job to protect my people. I will do that as they flee our fortress, even if it means my life. With a cry of rage I throw myself at these newcomers followed closely by my guards. A red haze took over my vision, and I slashed out with my hand...

And so ends the record of the Buckawn Lord. A tragic leader stuck in a tragic position. I hope that his record may have in some way encouraged you to look at life in a different way, and that your life may be prosperous.