Empire Spotlight Series, Part 1: The Eternal Court.

The Enclave Story Team have been hard at work creating a series of short stories to give a sneak peek of the themes and attitudes of each Empire. Further information about the world lore can be found via the Quick Links Tab.

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Tale: The Ruins of Slán

It was well known in the hamlet of Slán the unusual nature of the Wyldwoods. Just beyond their fields, the wall of thick oaks and elms loomed like a barrier cutting the Courtlands in half. But it was not the forest's vastness that gave the Wyldwood its reputation.

Just beyond the final stone borders of the hamlet, where the cacophony of livestock lived, was a path that led to the nearest entrance to the Wyldwood. Nestled beyond the edge of the treeline was a series of crumbling ruins, with blue limestone walls held together by a web of ivy. The collection of ruins created the shadow of what was once a circular chamber embedded into the ground, with towering arched windows and pillars that had long since ceased to hold a ceiling. A pair of perfectly symmetrical stone stairs led down to the centre of the chamber, where there stood a long-abandoned banner pole in front of a large oak tree. Ruins such as these weren’t entirely uncommon across the Courtlands, as it was well known that a myriad of races from across the Arrivals had left their mark on the landscape. What made this particular set of ruins that  bordered the town of Slán unusual was the way that animals reacted to the place. Unlike most of the Wyldwood, which teemed with life of all sizes, creatures avoided the ruins as if driven away by some unknown force. The branches in and around the Old Oak were bereft of birdsong, the floor empty of even the smallest ant. The canopies around the ruins were still, with air whispering through the leaves so lightly it felt as if the ruins themselves were holding their breath.

The only time that any sound would shatter the quiet was during the ritual of  Sliocht.

It was an ancient custom, begun by the Gardeners that established the hamlet two arrivals ago. Evidence of the practice remained in the old decaying pieces of rope still clinging to the base of the Old Oak trunk, accompanied by a macabre garden of fungi and animal bones.

Those denizens of the Slán who used the Wyldwood’s paths to cut to other areas of the Courtlands on their journey to the cities knew the ruins well. It was custom, almost law within the hamlet, that if one were to enter the Wyldwood, an offering must be tied to the Old Oak to ensure safe passage. Though done more out of habit than anything else, some of the villagers speculated that perhaps bringing an offering of their livestock before travel brought back some semblance of balance to the Weave in disrupting the unnatural nature of the ruins and, in turn, aided the safety of their journey.

It was not long after the Mists had returned for the fourth time that the offerings from the Sliocht began to disappear. At first, the villagers barely noticed. Perhaps the animal had broken free and wandered back out of the forests, again repelled by the unique nature of the ruins that all creatures seemed to innately sense. Perhaps a hunter from another town nearby had come across it and taken it - though this seemed unlikely, as Slán had become notorious among the nearby towns they traded with for their peculiar custom. There were no tracks leading away from the ruin. There was no blood to suggest something had hunted the offerings. They had simply vanished. That was when the rumours began. 

Some travellers told strange stories of beings with pointed ears donned in garb made from the forest itself. A lumberjack, who ventured into the forest’s edge in search of wood, left his work unfinished, troubled by what he swore were eyes staring unblinkingly through the branches above him. As the tales spread, the town's wariness of the Wyldwood morphed into outright fear. Children were barred from playing in the outer fields, and fewer merchants took the Old Oak path, preferring to brave more treacherous mountain and river routes than enter the treeline. 

A name for these forest dwellers was finally learned, when a terrified and agitated farmer had gone into the trees to retrieve his prized goat, and found it in the hands of one of the long-eared folk. One who claimed to be a servant of The Eternal Court. As the farmer snatched the collar of the goat back from the hands of the long-eared man and attempted to lead it back to the town, he almost missed the changes in the behaviour of his animal. The creature walked with stiff legs as if it were wading through deep water, staring unblinkingly ahead. Try as the farmer might, the goat no longer produced milk, and its coat fell out in brittle clumps like straw. It stood silent and still in its paddock, refusing to eat or drink, until the farmer mournfully put the poor creature out of its misery.

A few days later, another of the Eternal Court was seen walking from the ruins towards the town. The townsfolk had seen what had happened to the goat. They had heard the stories from those that had ventured to the ruins and seen with their own eyes how the offerings had vanished. As the fae neared the town’s edge with a slow, methodical gait, the angry mob grew silent. The symphony of farm animal sounds, the background melody of the town of Slán, had all fallen abruptly still. Livestock, horses, even the rats that scuttled between the buildings bolted for their respective shelters, cowering in fear. The townsfolk, unnerved by the sudden heavy silence, looked at each other in confusion. A few brave voices from the mob posed the questions on everyone’s lips. “What do you want with us?” “Where did you come from?” “What kin of the fae are you to incite such fear in our beasts and vermin?” The member of the Eternal Court did not seem to notice the questions or even the people that stood before him. His eyes scanned the collection of buildings surrounding the town square, unblinking. “This town did not exist before.” he said stoically, before turning away. Bolstered by each other’s bravery and frustration, the voices of the mob returned in full, and they shouted questions and accusations at the retreating figure. Their cries went unheard as the man vanished into the treeline.

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It was well known in the town of Teacht the unusual nature of the nearby hamlet called Slán, and the rituals performed at the ruins near its borders. Despite their peculiarities, the townsfolk of Slán had always been hospitable, and a reliable source of livestock to trade with during the seasons of Terra and Ignis. So it was unusual, as the first frosts of the Season of Ferrus appeared, that no one from the town of Slán had visited over the hot and dry periods to trade. The animals should have been weaned and grown large enough to be worth trading, and there had not been any altercations between the two towns that would disrupt the annual tradings. Growing irritated at the apparent slight, a group of merchants took to the road and travelled the half-day journey to Slán. It was as they neared the border of the town that they noticed the change. Usually almost deafening in the chatter of people and animals alike, the buildings and paddocks surrounding the town were empty. Clothing blew in the wind on clothes lines as if their owners had just hung them up, the sun bleaching on the garments the only sign of how much time had passed. The bucket at a well near the centre of town had grown thick with algae, sitting nearly full next to a bone-dry pitcher waiting to be filled. As the merchants searched for any signs of life, they found the path at the border of the town. Following the path, they came upon the infamous ruins which remained unchanged, save for a white banner with a forest green motif now adorning the once bare banner pole in front of the Old Oak.

There were no tracks leading away from Slán. There was no blood to suggest something had hunted the people and animals that had once lived here. They had simply vanished.