Maxxob
The Overseer
As dawn’s first light struggled to pierce through the dense canopy of the ancient forest, the village of Erithis stirred, cloaked in an eerie silence. Nestled deep within the See of Fae, close to the contested border with the East Empire, the village had once been a place of serene beauty. The towering trees, whose roots intertwined with the very foundations of the village, now loomed like silent sentinels, their leaves tinged with the brown of late autumn—a season that seemed to have come early, brought on by the war that had crept ever closer to the heart of the See.
Erithis, once vibrant and full of life, now bore the scars of conflict. The cobblestone paths, once meticulously maintained, were now cracked and overgrown with wild vines. The homes, built in harmony with the trees that housed them, were battered and worn, their wooden walls charred in places from the embers of a distant battle. Smoke from the nearby battlefield had tainted the air, giving it a bitter, acrid taste that clung to the back of the throat.
The village square, usually a place of gathering and celebration, now lay empty and desolate. The fountain at its center, once a source of crystal-clear water, now trickled weakly, its basin stained with grime. A group of villagers, their faces gaunt and hollow from weeks of fear and hunger, gathered around a small fire. They whispered in low tones, their voices filled with despair and anger.
“Did you hear? The East Empire troops are just a day’s march away. If they push the front any further, we’ll be caught in the crossfire,” an older villager muttered, his eyes darting nervously toward the forest’s edge.
A younger woman, her hands trembling as she clutched a child to her chest, shook her head. “We should have left when the others did. The elders said we would be safe here, but look at us now. The forest offers no protection from fire and steel.”
A weary-looking man, his clothes tattered and smeared with dirt, spat on the ground. “Where would we go? The roads are no longer safe, and the portals… We would only be able to use them if we manage to get into the neighboring village of Eraza. We’re stuck here, just waiting to die.”
The child in the woman’s arms whimpered, and she shushed him gently, her voice barely concealing her own fear. “Hush now, little one. The spirits will protect us… They must.”
But even as she spoke the words, they sounded hollow, devoid of the conviction they once carried. The great primordial spirits, the ancient guardians of the See, had grown silent in recent weeks, their blessings and protections seemingly withdrawn. The villagers had once felt their presence in the rustle of leaves, in the gentle sway of the trees, but now, only an oppressive stillness remained.
As the morning wore on, the few remaining villagers emerged from their homes, drawn by the need to scavenge what little food and water they could find. The war had cut off all supply lines, and the once abundant forests now seemed barren. The fauna had fled, and the once rich soil had grown hostile, refusing to yield its bounty.
An old woman, her back bent with age and hardship, knelt beside the dying fountain, murmuring a prayer to the Spirit King. “Oh, great protector, why have you forsaken us? We, your faithful, suffer in this time of need. Please, grant us a sign…”
But the waters remained still, her plea unanswered. She sighed, her breath catching in her throat, and slowly rose to her feet, her movements labored.
In the distance, the faint sounds of war echoed through the trees—clashing steel, the cries of the wounded, the roar of fire consuming the land. It was a reminder that the war was never far, a constant specter that haunted the village of Erithis.
As the day wore on, the villagers went about their tasks with a heavy heart, their hope dwindling with each passing hour. The See of Fae, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cage—its magic, its nature, and its people all suffering under the relentless march of war. The future was uncertain, and the villagers could only wait, their fate bound to the whims of forces far beyond their control.
The village of Erithis, a place that had once thrived in harmony with the ancient forest, now stood on the brink of collapse. The war had left its mark, and the scars it had inflicted on the land and its people would not soon heal. The Fae, once proud and powerful, now faced a future as uncertain as the shifting borders of their war-torn homeland.
Erithis, once vibrant and full of life, now bore the scars of conflict. The cobblestone paths, once meticulously maintained, were now cracked and overgrown with wild vines. The homes, built in harmony with the trees that housed them, were battered and worn, their wooden walls charred in places from the embers of a distant battle. Smoke from the nearby battlefield had tainted the air, giving it a bitter, acrid taste that clung to the back of the throat.
The village square, usually a place of gathering and celebration, now lay empty and desolate. The fountain at its center, once a source of crystal-clear water, now trickled weakly, its basin stained with grime. A group of villagers, their faces gaunt and hollow from weeks of fear and hunger, gathered around a small fire. They whispered in low tones, their voices filled with despair and anger.
“Did you hear? The East Empire troops are just a day’s march away. If they push the front any further, we’ll be caught in the crossfire,” an older villager muttered, his eyes darting nervously toward the forest’s edge.
A younger woman, her hands trembling as she clutched a child to her chest, shook her head. “We should have left when the others did. The elders said we would be safe here, but look at us now. The forest offers no protection from fire and steel.”
A weary-looking man, his clothes tattered and smeared with dirt, spat on the ground. “Where would we go? The roads are no longer safe, and the portals… We would only be able to use them if we manage to get into the neighboring village of Eraza. We’re stuck here, just waiting to die.”
The child in the woman’s arms whimpered, and she shushed him gently, her voice barely concealing her own fear. “Hush now, little one. The spirits will protect us… They must.”
But even as she spoke the words, they sounded hollow, devoid of the conviction they once carried. The great primordial spirits, the ancient guardians of the See, had grown silent in recent weeks, their blessings and protections seemingly withdrawn. The villagers had once felt their presence in the rustle of leaves, in the gentle sway of the trees, but now, only an oppressive stillness remained.
As the morning wore on, the few remaining villagers emerged from their homes, drawn by the need to scavenge what little food and water they could find. The war had cut off all supply lines, and the once abundant forests now seemed barren. The fauna had fled, and the once rich soil had grown hostile, refusing to yield its bounty.
An old woman, her back bent with age and hardship, knelt beside the dying fountain, murmuring a prayer to the Spirit King. “Oh, great protector, why have you forsaken us? We, your faithful, suffer in this time of need. Please, grant us a sign…”
But the waters remained still, her plea unanswered. She sighed, her breath catching in her throat, and slowly rose to her feet, her movements labored.
In the distance, the faint sounds of war echoed through the trees—clashing steel, the cries of the wounded, the roar of fire consuming the land. It was a reminder that the war was never far, a constant specter that haunted the village of Erithis.
As the day wore on, the villagers went about their tasks with a heavy heart, their hope dwindling with each passing hour. The See of Fae, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cage—its magic, its nature, and its people all suffering under the relentless march of war. The future was uncertain, and the villagers could only wait, their fate bound to the whims of forces far beyond their control.
The village of Erithis, a place that had once thrived in harmony with the ancient forest, now stood on the brink of collapse. The war had left its mark, and the scars it had inflicted on the land and its people would not soon heal. The Fae, once proud and powerful, now faced a future as uncertain as the shifting borders of their war-torn homeland.
