It had been three days since they had reached the borders of the woods, and they had gotten lost twice, but eventually, they had found a wood trail, that they believed led to the Elorean Druid Camp.

"Are we almost there?" Faramaurea questioned, after they had walked for nearly an hour.

"I hope so, Faramaurea. This is a long journey, and I am growing impatient."

Faramaurea thought for a moment, her mind racing ahead. Although her social skills left her in a state bordering on naivete, Faramaurea was probably the most intelligent living member of the line of Estelondo. "Maybe that is the point, Percival. Maybe patience is what they are testing, in order to see if the person being tested is worthy to be entered into their fold."

Percival considered her words with a grimace, although he was thankful for the distraction from the monotonous nature of the journey. "You are probably correct, having had more experience with the Druids than I have. " He sprinted ahead, and forced Faramaurea to run with him, so that he could see what lay before then.

Around the bend, the road continued on for an indefinite amount of time, with no end in sight. Faramaurea handed Percival the reins of the horse that she had been leading on the narrow road in the woods, and began to listen to the sounds of the woods.

She stopped abruptly, and hailed Percival, her voice tight in alarm. "There is no noise."

Percival turned around, just in time for a white blur, to strike him down onto the ground. Without seeming to settle, the blur dove off of his chest, and Faramaurea felt the sharp crack of wood across her face as she fell to the ground.

Moaning as she tried to arise, she felt the touch of cold stone against her chin, and opened her eyes.

Before her stood a human male, dressed in white robes. He was tall, and neatly dressed, but he had some dirt around the golden trimmed hems of his white robes, that showed he had been living in the woods for a long time. He held a wooden staff, topped with a large sculpted piece of holly blue agate, which he currently held under her chin. His tall humanoid form was topped by a face with green eyes, that had smile lines around them, but even that was not enough to counter his fearful visage. "Mannasilcë?" He demanded, his rage at their intrusion evident in his baritone voice. "Mananasë induinencca mielorean?"

Faramaurea gazed into the human male's eyes, while Percival struggled to get out from under the magic-user. After a moment of terse silence, Faramaurea decided to trust him. "We are the Heirs of Meneltarma, Faramaurea, and Percival," The Man stepped off of Percival, and away from her slightly, so she pushed herself up into a half sitting, half reclined position. "and our purpose here, is to seek refuge, from Gary Gygax, False King of Meneltarma."

The man did not kneel, as was customary to do before royalty, instead gesturing for them to rise, which they quickly did. "My name is Simon, and I have met you before, and you have met me, though you were both much younger at the time. That was back before the death of your mother, my dear friend, many years ago. I am the current leader of Elorean, or rather, I am the Senior Council Member, of the Council that was created, after the death of your mother. I apologize for the unfortunate welcome you received, but we are on high alert, due to a troll that has been terrorizing our village, for the past week. Come with me, I will take you to safety, at least for a time."

Faramaurea grinned, and teased, "That welcome was a little more than 'unfortunate,' Simon. In fact, I would say that it was quite painful, if I am being completely honest." She rubbed the bruise appearing  on her jaw, while Percival spat out a globule of blood.

"Vou put Vour Voot Vin Vy Vouff." Percival remarked in irritation, his words barely comprehensible underneath his growing fat lip. 

Simon spared him a glance, before returning his attention to Faramaurea, and replied with a slightly eccentric smiled, "Yes, and for that I apologise. I may have been slightly overzealous in my protection of these woods, but I suppose no permanent harm will come of it." While they walked, he took a sharp left turn, off of the dirt road. When the siblings looked at him questioningly, he laughed. "We are druids, and therefore prefer the natural road. You would never have reached us if you continued on the tri-part route that we installed as a labyrinthine deterrent." Resting his hand against the nearest tree, a tall, thick, redwood, he whispered, "Transport Us, Oroalda, to the City in the Woods, and under stars." All at once, the Weave around the tree began to swirl and thicken, condensing in a whirling vortex that resembled water draining from a funnel, and before Percival, and Faramaurea's eyes, a portal opened, that they were quickly ushered through. 

As described in the last chronicle, In between the portal entrance, and its destination, lies a alternate dimension, where things such as time, space, and perception, are all relative. "It is a bright realm, filled with what appear to be elves, but they all have horns that are shaped differently. The grass is a unique lavender color, that is almost gelatin in consistency, and the sky is bright orange, like a perpetual orange sunset. The studies that have been conducted show that it is a stable 72, but it has a magical property to appear as your ideal temperature, but only to you" ~ The Tales of Saironelloistya, Chapter III. The reason teleportation is able to occur in that realm, is that space is relative, and therefore by jumping from one dimension, to the Teleportation realm, you can bypass distance in space, and then open another portal to the next location, which you will arrive at having witnessed no perception of time. It has been theorized, that even if two individuals, arriving at the same time, left at different intervals, they could still appear at the destination, simultaneously, but this has yet to be tested.

Percival and Faramaurea had often been read the Chronicles of Saironelloistya, by their father, and his father before him, but although they had heard the realm described, they had never actually witnessed it. When they finally arrived in the village, they barely noticed the village citizens bustling around them, as their eyes, and minds finally connected what they had witnessed, in the 2.3 second gap elapsing during their transportation.

"Amazing, is it not? The dimension left me speechless on my first trip through it, as well. Come along, the village has changed since your brothers birth." Simon gestured for them to follow, but instead Percival reached over, and grasped Faramaurea's hand, as though he was testing to see if they had returned, to the material plane. Taking a deep breath, Faramaurea stepped forward, still holding his hand, into a image from the past.

. . .

Two hundred years later, Percival and Faramaurea were still living in The Village of Elorean, with Simon, and 211 other druids, all of ages from 7, to 7,000, dependent on race, and abilities. Simon, despite being human, had barely aged at all, due to his magical capabilities as a highly skilled druid. Magically speaking, the 223 year old actually had a stronger connection to the Weave than Herulepilin had, and Herulepilin was the most powerful wizard in Meneltarma. Was.

Over the course of the day, which happened to be the 13th of Mornie, they had received reports, that Gygax was heading a force, of nearly 5,000 men and elves, with 1,000 of them being magic users, including at least 7 druids, who appeared to be leading the force to Elorean. "So it ends." Simon said, rage filling his voice. He turned to the children, his teeth gritted, and continued. "You both must leave. I will buy you as much time as I can, but they outnumber us four to one, and can still send four magic users against each of us."

Percival immediately objected. "You will all be slaughtered, like ants in the drinking pool currents, down to the last woman, and child." He faced Faramaurea. "Dearest one, I am afraid that we must turn ourselves in."

"No!" Simon bellowed, his voice carrying throughout the woods, frightening a nearby flock of cardinals, which took off in a startling flash of red. His voice was tight with anger, and irritation "You must retake the throne, Percival. Do you know, what keeps the people of this land going? It is simple, unreliable, and illogical, but we rely on hope." He reached down and began tracing in the dirt, symbols, that were unknown to either of the siblings. "Hope, is what makes us plant the next crop, raise the next flock or herd, protect those we love in hard times, because we have to, we have to hope, that sometime, things will be better, if not for us, than for our families. Hope, is what revolutions are based off of, and Hope, is what teaches us loss. Many people hope, that the Line of Estelondo will return, and many people, will die for it to return, so you must not let there deaths be in vain." He stood up and dusted off his hands. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out what appeared to be a small journey. "Inside of this ledger, lies a list of every villagers names,  and child. Make sure they are honored, when you are king." He held open the hut's door, and concluded. "Go. Now! Live, and Let hope be your light, in times of darkness."

Faramaurea looked at him in shock, for a moment at least, but Percival gripped her tightly around the wrist, and began running them towards their hut. They reached the tent, and began loading any necessities, into their bags, with a smaller third bag, for collectibles, that they had gathered on their journey. The moment they ran out of the hut, Percival pushed Faramaurea back inside, because whirling green vortexes were appearing on trees around their huts, nine in total. Drawing his longsword, he thrust the blade through the leather-hide backwall of the hut, and carved out a door, which Faramaurea ran through, and he followed her, They cut cross country, running into the woods, and laying down flat, on top of a nearby hill, where they watched the scene unfold.

The druids, led by Simon, began to form ranks around the portals, but they were tactically doomed. The nine portals were all in a circle, surrounding the entire village, and fighting odds were 194, because the children were in hiding, against 5000 at least. You could see in the way that the druids moved around, that had lost hope, of survival, but not of success.

Percival took this in like an arrow to the heart, and gesturing for Faramaurea to stay down, he stood up, and shouted, loud enough for the entire village to hear, "My brothers, my sister's, today, you are all heirs, to the Line Of Estelondo. You have fought, and died for it, the same way that my Aunts and Uncles did. Neither this land, or I, will ever forget your sacrifice, nor will we allow it to be in vain. Do this, and your names will be forever be in the annuls of History. For The Land of Aponar ar Quendie!" 

At that moment, the First of Gygax's forces marched through, but neither side attacked, as more of Gygax's forces came through, and encircled the entire village, while Percival dropped back down onto the ground, next to his sister. After a few minutes, the never-ending flow of troops ceased, and Gygax himself, strode out of the portal. "Simon!" His voice rang out, his eyes observing every movement that the druids made, and every detail of their village. "It has been just over 200 years, since my last visit, so I decided to drop by for a visit." 

Faramaurea curled up on her side in the fetal position, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, and cupping her hand over her ears, to block out his voice, and began to shake in absolute terror, images from her time with Gygax, and of the trauma she had witnessed, up until this point, flowing before her eyes, still clear despite the tears that managed to slip out between her eye lids, Percival went to touch her hand to comfort her, but she drew inside herself even further, pulling back from any physical contact, so instead he turned back to watch the discussion between Simon, and Gygax.

Simon walked forward, a courteous smile on his face, while he said, "What can i do for you, my lord?" The formality in his tone seemed strange, due to the obviously volatile nature of the situation around them. "Have you any news on the location of the children?" Surprisingly, Simon kept his voice strong and steady, despite the fact that the entire village could be wiped out 12 times over, if each of Gygax's soldiers swung their sword once.

Gygax smiled warmly, and responded, "I am merely on a routine inspection, sir, and in response to your second question, I might ask you the same. Have you heard any news of the children? It is imperative, that I find them, and bring them back to Meneltarma."

Simon's smile faded, and his tone and countenance grew dark, but he did not visibly react otherwise. "For what purpose, Your Majesty? Why would you bring the children back, to Meneltarma? It does not seem logical, when you could defeat them in the field."

"Oh, but it is," Gygax explained, reason, and prethought evident in his tone. "You see, if I slaughter the four children in the field, they will become martyrs, for revolutionaries to rally behind. But if I charge them as traitors, and execute them under due process of law, they will die in dishonour, leaving no pride for them to rally behind. That, is the only way to truly defeat an enemy; by destroying them in name, honour, and then health."

Simon sighed in acceptance. "You will kill them, then? Not while I still draw breath." Simon raised his hand wordlessly, and the druids, already prepared, began their attack. 

Vines, that had been slowly slithering down the nearby trees, darted out and began to slam Gygax's soldier through the air, and Into other trees, snapping their neck, and killing them instantly. Roots writhed forth out of the ground, ensnaring the soldiers' feet, and tripping them, before strangling them while they lay on the ground, trying to escape. Animals burst out of the forest, squirrels, porcupines, snakes, boars, turtles, birds, and three bears, all charging forth in a unpredictable, chaotic way, that caused the battle field to descend into absolute anarchy.

A boar turned towards The False King, and with a cry of rage, charged him at full speed, Gygax rolled out of the way, his cloak being torn on one of its tusks, before the boar fell dead, filled with thirteen crossbow bolts, and four arrows. Dusting himself off, and surveying the scene, Gygax quickly cried out: "Rally to me!" but his cry was immediately lost in the rising din. He glanced around the scene, and did not see Simon, but the vigor that the now one hundred druids fought with was impressive, so he suspected that Simon must have already fallen in combat. Hearing a roar of anguish, he turned his crowned head just in time to see one of the bears fall, twenty units from him, pierced with easily a dozen spears, and, three times as many arrows.

Meanwhile back on the hill, Percival felt a hand on his shoulder, and turning around, saw Faramaurea looking at him, with blood-shot eyes, without a word, they fled into the forest, fleeing this new pain that Gygax had brought into their lives.

. . .

At 2,720, Percival and his sister, at 1,500, fled from Elorean, and from a distance, watched the smoke rise in the distance. Tears flowed freely down Percival's cheeks, but Faramaurea appeared to be resolute. "It is not your fault, Percival. We are not accountable for Gygax's actions, regardless of his motivations."

Percival wiped his tears and looked into her eyes, his own dancing around as if searching her features for some sign of distress, but his eyes, finding none, instead settled on the ground near his feet. "It is not so simple, Faramaurea, to turn off our emotions, as you so effortlessly do. However, Emotional Control was one of the things you learned in Elorean, so I suppose that you can not be held accountable for that." Percival turned toward the smoke, and wiped his eyes again, prevent anymore tears from falling down his broken countenance. "But, Faramaurea, you are wrong, in this case. Had we not intruded on the village, Gygax would not be destroying the last remaining remnant of our childhood." Sparing naught but one last glance toward the village, Percival sighed, and picked up both of their bags, much to Faramaurea's discontent. Then he began marching North.

"Percival, wait!" Faramaurea exclaimed, sprinting to catch up with him. "Where are we going? I will go wherever you go, but I would like to know first." She saw the tears in Percival's eyes, and felt her own vision begin to blur, with the same tears that plagued him, but she could not allow herself to cry. Taking a deep breath, she tried to hold in her feelings, but a sob slipped out of her lips, before she could stop it.

Percival put a hand on her shoulder, and his own tears flowed freely, as he commanded her: "Let yourself weep, Oronënya. Tears of mourning are not a sign of weakness, but of strength, because they will help you to heal, and healing makes you stronger."

Another sob escaped her lips, but this time, she made no attempt to hold it back, nor did she attempt to stop her tears from breaking free of her eyes, and flowing down her cheeks like dew droplets off of leaves on a cold, grey, morning. She opened her mouth to speak, but her mind was unclear, so no coherent thoughts came out. Instead, Percival embraced her, than he turned North, and continued, toward a destination that he had in mind.

Later that night, when they had set up camp, Percival looked up at her, and said, "Enough people have died for our sake, Faramaurea. I am taking us to the safest place in the Land, The Skybridge. Gygax's numbers will mean nothing, in a city with no allegiance to him, so far from the capital of Meneltarma. We go to Le Elyanme, and to safety, at least for a while." Then with a sudden, sharp movement, he threw the stick he was fiddling with into the fire, and marched into the night, to take the first watch.

Dear Readers,
Firstly, I would like to apologize for how incredibly late this chapter is. I planned to have it done by Friday, but then I decided to run my phone through the washing machine, so I had to get a new one. Even then, the chapter would about three to four weeks late, which is unacceptable, and for that I apologize.
Secondly, I would like to thank
18Duncjw,  for creating, and allowing me the use of the character, Simon in this novel. Shout out to him on that front.
Thirdly, I now possess a new phone, but that doesn't necessarily mean that my update times for this story, will change. I am still great at procrastinating, and terrible at keeping a schedule, so I will probably be just as sporadic as usual, on that front, which is awful of me, but I am an awful person in general, so Eh.
Finally, I hope you have enjoyed the story so far, and I hope that you continue this journey with me.
S

incerely,
Isaiah Oakley.
Live Long and Prosper.