A Gloomberry Tale, Part II

[Gloomberry]

((I knocked this up after finishing the Orphan Quest last night at 5am. Hadn't a clue where this was going, I made it up as I went along so a lot will change with a good edit -- the Staghelm bit for starters, it's shite -- but I've decided where the story is going and I'll post a rewrite this week. I hope you enjoy it))

EDIT: Redrafted and reposted below.

[Gloomberry]

((This is the new improved version, written in the light of day after a good sleep. Enjoy))

The druid named Gloomberry sleeps beneath the ash tree, snug amongst its tangled roots, his legs stretching out in the thick grass. In his lap is a book, bound in the thick leaves of the moonleaf tree favoured by Teldrassil’s scribes. It is a book of tales, of travelers and wanderers dreaming in emerald, written by Malfurion Stormrage himself. The wind whispers, gently stirring the pages, and Gloomberry dreams …

… he is walking barefoot through the realm of Ysera, in humble deference to the green dragon’s powers. Gloomberry smiles as he remembers a saying his mentor, old Zenyeats, used to recite whenever he caught his young protégé causing mischief; “Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.” In the Emerald Dream, Gloomberry treads with the soft-footed grace of a nightsabre.

The tensions of worry and despair begin to fade the further he walks. His knotted heart begins to untangle, but he resists the urge to let go of all his hurts. They make him who he is, and some things can not be forgotten, nor forgiven. His senses won’t allow it, for even in the Dream her perfume lingers, the touch of soft fingers on his arm, whispered sweet nothings, warm lips and hot breath …

Lost in his thoughts, he wanders the primeval forest and stops at a stream. Sitting on a large rock, he retrieves a flute from his satchel, and plays a melody for the sprites and fey creatures come to drink there. He laughs at their antics, splashing each other and he also.

Then suddenly they are gone, darting into the gloom of the forest, underneath rocks, into the highest branches of the tallest trees, retreating to their secret hiding places in the blink of an eye. Gloomberry lowers the flute, alone now, and aware of the eerie hush that has fallen over the forest. Something is wrong …

He hears the cries for help.

Gloomberry is on his feet and sprinting in its direction, weaving his way through the dense underbrush. He runs swiftly, and bursts into a clearing, a single silverleaf bush in its centre pierced by moonlight.

Sobbing can be heard from within the bush. Gloomberry wonders if someone has stumbled into the Emerald Dream in their sleep and become lost, confused. It has happened before; Mathrengyl Bearwalker has spoken of some dreamers never to awaken, trapped in their dreams forever. He also spoke of darker things, malignant forces that thirsted for hot blood, lusting to cut open your belly and feast on your hot steaming insides.

Gloomberry pushes the dark thoughts away. He unslings his emberstone staff from across his back, and cautiously steps towards the silverleaf shrub. The sobbing continues, punctuated by sloppy sniffling noises.

“I am here to help,” Gloomberry calls out softly, edging closer to the shrub. “I am a druid of Darnassus.”

The sobbing pauses as Gloomberry parts the shrub with his staff. He glances into the shrub’s dark interior, and leaps back in shock.

It is a human child, a small boy, perhaps no more than eight seasons of age, but Gloomberry has no experience in the matters of human children so he can not be sure. The child’s face is grimy with dirt streaked with tears, and a glob of snot dangles from his nose. He watches Gloomberry with wide eyes, mouth agape.

“Are you a monster?” the boy asks.

“No,” answers Gloomberry. But that is, he thinks to himself as he watches a shadow move into the clearing.

A thick inky darkness dims the light. Lush foliage withers a lifeless brown when touched by it. The stench of decay and rot is pungent in the air. Gloomberry’s heart pounds in his chest. It is the Nightmare, the corruption of every sleeping being’s twisted thoughts and fears.

To be continued …

[Rhowen-Prea]

(( Love it. ))

[Gloomberry]

(( Love it. ))

((**beams a grin so wide, no emoticon can express it** <# ))

[Fenyremir]

( Deleted by poster. )

[Gloomberry]

((Thanks Fen! The flute thing was a very Dark Crystal moment.))


PART II:

Gloomberry watches the gathering nightmare warily. Dark shapes movein its darkness, stinking of fear and hate, skittering where the moonlight illuminates the clearing. He knows he has to run. A greater druid could fight this, but not he. He'd barely begun to learn his cat shape. He spent more days coughing up furballs than familiarising himself with feline grace and agility.

"Child," Gloomberry calls out urgently, never once taking his eyes off the darkness. "Come to me, now."

The silverleaf shrub rustles as the small child pushes his way out to cower behind Gloomberry, eyes wide with terror. Gloomberry can hear the boy's teeth chattering.

There is something amiss. The Nightmare should have attacked by now, it has the advantage. Unless ... it is waiting for someone. Or something.

It steps into the clearing now, a monstrous abuse of nature almost as large as a Tauren. Perhaps a goretusk once, it is now a hideous deformation that reeks of rotting flesh. Tusks jut out at abnormal angles, one piercing its cheeks and dripping blood and puss. It paws at the ground, its eyes searing the Night Elf with hatred so venomous the air shimmers with its ferocity.

Gloomberry grips his emberstone staff tightly. What did people fear so much that could cause them to dream such terrors, to create such corruption? Gloomberry had no time to ponder the thought.

The beast lunges, but not at the Night Elf. It lunges at the child instead. Gloomberry reacts instinctively, and before the Nightmare can gore the child the Night Elf transforms into a bear, sheltering the child between his mighty paws as he stands on his rear legs, a great grizzly beast roaring with rage. The Nightmare slashes Gloomberry's side, goring him deeply across the ribs.

Gloomberry lashes out with raking claws, batting the corruption to one side and stunning it. As if sensing the Night Elf's thoughts to sieze the chance, the child clambers onto the bear's broad back and clutches his fur with white-knuckled hands. Gloomberry slashes and roars his way through the sharp-fanged clittering darkness that bites and hisses at his passing.

He doesn't slow, bounding through the forest on strong legs, getting as much distance between the child and the Nightmare as he can. When he is sure of their safety, and the sounds of pursuit has dimmed to nothing, Gloomberry slows their pace. He becomes painfully aware of his gored side.

The child drops to the soft leaf-covered ground, and Gloomberry can hold on no more, he loses his will to keep the bear shape. He falls to his knees, blood seeping through his hand as he clutches the wound.

"That tree there," Gloomberry grunts through gritted teeth. "Climb it, now, as high as you can, and stay on the branch touched by moonlight. I will find your sleeping form and wake you, and take you to safety. Be brave now!"

The child whimpers, but does as told. Once he has reached the branch touched by moonlight, Gloomberry wills himself to wakefulness ...

... and found himself on the hard wooden floor of a small room in the Pig And Whistle, blood pooling beneath him. He had no time to call for Ysera's aid, the fight in bear form had left him drained. He would have to heal himself on the run, for the child's safety was most important. Willing the last of his mana, he cast a weak Rejuvenation as he ran through the Pig And Whistle, to the surprise of patrons and travelers, shocked by the sight of a bleeding Night Elf, a stream of green leaf-flecked energy fluttering like ribbons behind him.

In his rush, he has left his flute in the Pig And Whistle ...