The Accursed Trickster of Elder Wood
Within the forgotten realm of Elderwood Forest lies dangers and delights for unwary mortals straying off trails well-trod. For 'tween gnarled oaks and fallow thickets dwell capricious woodland beings wielding power over human senses and souls - if legends whisper true. Descend too deep through mossy hollows and one risks never retracing steps as familiar paths twist queerly...only strange flora sprouting where none should thrive naturally along the fey passageways. Here the ordinary rules warp fantastically. Elemental guardians both nurture and test mortal integrity in their ageless duties maintaining harmony. Woe unto those showing arrogance against primal forces.
One such guardian named Rune fulfilled irreverent niche, his wooded duty being the orchestration of mischievous tricks luring proud interlopers from intruding too brashly upon sacred Elderwood groves where ancient stones gather rare magic essences from deeper bedrock strata and dark cthonic realms churning underneath.
Though appearing humanoid himself behind emerald mask adorned ornately with deer antlers and wood knot whorls when projecting physical form to wayward hunters or foraging herbalists and children straying out, Rune hailed instead from a capricious race of quick silvered sylvan creatures dwelling through seasons untold behind mortal perceptions. Their lifespans exceeded ephemerality allowing them luxury experimenting wildly with ephemeral souls they charmed exploring near hallowed copses. To naive eyes the winsome beings seemed curious at first blush.
As self-styled sovereign of the woodlands' central apex where ley lines converged to twist perception kaleidoscopically for sport, Rune interpreted his august duty protecting groves and inhabitants alike seriously, yet often through unpredictably fey approaches baffling human rationale. This vast privilege to shepherd realms crashing required cunning balancing benevolence and bite - nurturing forest citizens within while repelling the outer hordes ever encroaching.
Rune's elaborate ruses unveiled sundry faces reflecting the hapless individual needs of those wandering under his leafy care. Usually such vivid charades simply led prideful outliers emerging humbled 'pon village byways again sans harm done. But consequences often prove slippery as the trickery itself when dabbling in fates and consciousness unhinged. For mortal souls meet unmaking readily as pliant pines.
Such tragedy befell a blustery Baron's son one Walpurgis Night when the haughty youth goaded comrades invading Rune's own eternal lair protected by labyrinthine illusions and knotted tree sentinels deterring all but the irredeemably bold. In his hubris the young lordling failed heeding spirit guardians' increasingly dire omens projected mentally from the haunted ether. Drunk on mead-fueled invulnerability, their reckless laughter and axe blows recklessly tore ancient glyphs from reforged schist veins along Rune's sanctuary perimeter seeking to claim a long-sought occult trophy proving so-called "nobility" conquers all.
Amidst outraged leafy murmurs as arboreal guardians shuddered witnessing such desecrations, the shaken trickster desperately wove increasingly garish deterrent visions from the minds' fertile loam itself to shock the vandals turning back from their destructive folly while forest equilibrium yet remained salvageable.
But alas the profane arson only redoubled vigorously, now seemingly targeting the very avatar manifesting to obstruct further mayhem through imploring illusioncraft. Surging chaos reflexively fed by violence, adrenal fever dreams and sadism ignited their untempered cortices as blood-dimmed eyes discerned fresh quarry where once stood only verdant ally. With guttural howl the brigands attacked without hesitation, barreling headlong through Rune's camouflaged stronghold to snuff out the insolent "demon" interrupting their conquest as fiery brands struck bone and branch alike.
Yet when the last ember fizzled midst swirling cinders exposing the broken trickster corpse behind its shattered emerald mask, clarity pierced their drunken rage suddenly beholding not a vanquished hellion but rather unfortunate consequence of their senseless frenzy. Ashen and aghast, the perpetrators scrambled desperately towards sanctuary of starlight where haunted conscience dare not follow. None emerged unchanged. Some never returned at all, fables relate.
In the muted aftermath, Rune's crestfallen fellowsylphs interred the violated remains secretly in a moonlit glade forever nameless - then sealed off all peripheral apertures once gleefully welcoming curious minds towards eternal ponderings. For if one as cunning as Rune met such grisly fate upholding his guardianship by guile and mirth 'lone, the unfathomable world must turn ever inward thenceforth escaping further violations against all once deemed inviolate. Behind woody walls now shuttered fast, only the endless dirge of leaves blowing ‘cross forgotten cairns endures testifying the tragedy of those who strayed too far chasing dreams not fully fathomable when gilded temptations outweigh eternal troths. Beyond the emerald veil forever lies that leafy tomb holding one soul sundered defending timeworn covenants. Perhaps some gates between worlds should remain barred firm against either side straying through sacred gardens preserving sanity entire.
