Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

The forest was watching him.

It watched him as he looped corded rope around stray branches. It watched him as he dug holes to set those wishbone-shaped branches into place. It watched him as he twisted the rope into loop, measuring out a space big enough for a deer's neck. It watched him as he baited the ground, anchored the snare, and set himself high into a neighboring tree not far from the game trail. Every movement, every action, every breath, Russel could feel weighed underneath the forest's eyeless gaze.

Unsettling, but not unwelcome. Russel knew what horrors could emerge from a silent wood. Better to be appraised than surprised.

The trees themselves seemed to be sapped of life as Russel navigated into their higher branches. Everything around him in this spirit-rich Sacred Forest drained of vibrance, of color, of brilliance as he ran his cursed hands over the study limbs of which sprang from the solid trunk. Slowly, steadily, Russel reached the security of the high branches of the canopy. He was far enough away that his carrion-scent would not be a deterrent to his trap, and that any unintended aspect of his malady would not affect the spirit dense forest. Here, amidst the peak of the branches, catching the gentle bend and sway of the trees, he would be hidden from his prey.

The forest may have had eyes everywhere, but he was more than certain that deer rarely looked up.

It was deer, and not attention, that would be Russel's quarry for this trial. Another notice had been issued to his garrison, requesting every able-bodied hunter to aide in mitigating an explosion in deer population. The youth figured it would be a good opportunity to sharpen some of the country skills he had let fall to the wayside when he enlisted all those cycles ago, and joined up with the litany of would-be rangers heading towards the Sacred Forest. Plus, the quiet of the wild air would do him some good. Chaos clung to him like a burr in the city, and over the last two weeks his life had changed rapidly.

Russel's mind always cleared in the woods. He hoped the time it took to hunt by snare would bring about some much needed clarity. With the trap already set, and the morning sun barely cresting beyond the horizon, Russel would indeed have breaks aplenty. Breaks to hide, breaks to think, and breaks to avoid the memory of his last encounter in the woods.

"G-gonna be a l-long trial," he sighed to the listening leaves. He tried not to notice that his hand was halfway to his own throat, tugging at the echo of a noose that still plagued his waking thoughts.

It was fascinating, watching the world waver in response to his presence. In a space that was about ten feet in either direction of him, vibrance was sapped from leaves and shining chestnut bark turned a dull brown under his influence. Russel found an idle enjoyment from moving his hand through the canopy, watching color flee from his touch like ripples in a pond. The Sacred Forest was spirit-rich, and every inch of it was drenched in rich Ephemera. And every inch of it retreated whenever Russel moved.

He never really had a chance to experiment with some of the benefits of his curse. There was the initial test between himself and the trapped ghost back in Cahryst, an event that still occasionally haunted his dreams, but beyond that there wasn't much in testing those abilities. He supposed his mentor, Captain Yssera, wanted to let him recover from the incident and integrate with his unit a bit more before pushing him farther. He imagined she would be intrigued to hear about how the Sacred Forest lurked around the edges of his presence; each testing the shape of the other's influence.

A casual eye drifted back down to his snare as he continued to idly chase the color of the canopy. The construction was fine, amateur but adequate, the bait set well, but it remained empty of prey. Russel estimated it had been at least a break since he set the snare initially, and while it was perhaps a foolish hope that he would snare an over curious young buck or doe, it was a hope he had all the same. Patience was the better part of hunting, and positioning the rest of it. He thought it was perhaps time he got further distance from the trap, incase that the corpse-stench that stalked him was scaring off prey.

Swinging his legs down from the bough that bore his weight, Russel began his descent. Again, the wood of the tree faded in vibrance as his cursed limbs descend its healthy ones. Russel wondered if that was an intentional effect of Ashan's wrath; to force the affected to live absent of the color that spirits brought to life? He had never even noticed the subtle paintbrush of spirits flitting in and out of the world until they were ripped from his life. Of course the Immortal didn't think the near constant pain of vines spreading through one's body was enough of a punishment, his hate had to extend to realms Russel hadn't even realized he walked through..

His boots landed with a thump, and he forced his eyes away from the noose that sat in the snare he built for his prey. His thoughts were too close to Ashan, too close to the forest, and too close to the noose of vines that left him cursed the way he was. The forest used to serve to clear his mind, but right now there were far too many memories snapping at his heels.

At least if he was moving, he would a chance to outrun them.

Taking a moment to mark the tree near his snare, so that he could find his way back to his trap should he need to, Russel turned to walk deeper into the wood and outpace his lurking thoughts.

"Traitor!"

His own voice echoed in his mind, as raw and rage-filled as the day he screamed those words for the first time. The intrusive thought shook Russel, breaking the rhythm of his walk and forcing him to place his weight against the trunk of a nearby tree for support. He was a break out from his snare, but even the distance couldn't shake the memories that were now clawing at his mind. His breath was ragged and uneven, coming in spurts as panic seeped in. He could feel his muscles tense with adrenaline, ready to run from a fear that didn't even exist in these woods. Almost in response, the vines that spread underneath his skin writhed with displeasure, tearing through his tendons and snaking through the meat of his flesh. The pain made his vision go white and his knees buckle, only kept from falling by his nails digging deep into the bark of the tree.

"Traitor!"

The words sang out louder this time. His whole body spasmed in response, and the sound sank down to his very bones. He was a fool for thinking that entering the woods again wouldn't be a trigger for him. Wouldn't send him spiraling. He thought it would be a mark of strength, of recovery, if he managed this hunting trip by himself. If we was able to enter the forest and walk out without crumbling at the very thought, the very image of his body dangling by a thread of Ashan's make.

"Traitor!"

His gaze snapped to the source of the sound, but there was nothing but the dappled shadows of the woods; gently shifting with every touch of the wind. For a moment, his eyes betrayed him, supplementing the Sacred Forest with another. The shadows became flames, the wind ash, and the ground a sea of corpses. His old unit. The ones betrayed and murdered while Russel was on patrol, the ones Russel betrayed by not returning sooner.

"Traitor!"

The sound erupted again, but this time Russel felt the strain of his own voice join the chorus. He fell to his knees, the hand that was keeping him aloft now brushing his parted lips. The other snapped to his throat. He was breaking inside. There was a reason he hadn't returned to the woods since his hanging. A reason he willfully ignored when he went on this hunting trip. He wasn't ready, his mind was still to fresh from the wound. Too fragile to face the horrors he would generate for himself.

A resounding snap shattered the thought-spiral that Russel was sinking into. The woods returned to what they were, and the fresh;y dead faces of his old unit disappeared as quickly as they arrived. There was no fire, no ash, only the gentle kiss of the afternoon wind caressing Russel's face. But even as the terror of his thoughts retreated, Russel found himself frozen on the ground. His breath hitched, holding itself hostage as his gaze turned upward towards the sky.

A deer, hanging by a thick set of rope, dangled from the trees above. It was caught in a snare. Russel's snare. But that was impossible. Russel had been walking for a break in the opposite direction of his snare. He was not so new to wandering the woods that he would get lost and double-back to where he started.

Unless.

Unless the forest changed his path. But why would it?

"Oh."

The realization sent a shiver through Russel's being. Why would the forest switch his path? Why would his memories become visions, become horrors before his eyes? Why would his snare snap now, when his panic had sent him into a frenzy?

Because the spirits of the Sacred Forest wanted to send him a message. Because they were tired of hanging at the edges of his vision; retreating from him in their own home. Because the spirits wanted him gone.

The image of a body swinging from a noose was a convincing enough argument for the youth. With frantic energy, Russel rapidly set to the work of cutting the deer down. It was a young buck, and the parrell was not lost on the fear-struck youth. With terror hot at his heels, Russel took his prey and set about to leave the woods as quickly as he had came.

He had come to the forest seeking solace, and he left with the knowledge that peace was no longer an option in his life. He was trapped, like a deer, in a noose of his making.