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Druidic Cultivator | Prologue
🕑 Added 2019-04-13 02:05:43 +0000 UTCThinking about writing a xianxia ( a type of chinese fiction) and wrote a prologue to the story I've got in mind. If that is a genre you enjoy reading let me know what you think of if you would be interested in me posting it here or not, seriously. comment!
Title in work is: Druid Reborn in a Martial World! (a little on the nose but fits the genre I think)
A cool breeze blew through the burnt husks of what was once a forest, gently brushing against gnarled trees and the charred flesh of several bodies. Through this scorched earth walked a young boy scarcely into his teens, plodding along with heavy steps. His clothes were torn and burnt and blood was visible below the thick layer of soot that covered his entire body.
The young boy did not have a name, a home, a family, or a goal. He’d been raised in the grove by a group of druids who’d trained him in their ways of magic and herbalism, but it was no longer possible for him to walk that road in this life. The group that had taken him in when he was orphaned and given everything to raise him was now dead, he was the only survivor.
On that day which should have been his happiest, the day of his thirteenth birthday and naming ceremony, his home was destroyed. They attacked during the solstice celebration, the day selected as the date of birth for most of the orphans that had been rescued during the war. Images of fire, fighting, men in golden armor, and a clarion bird cry flashed through the young boy’s mind and brought tears to his eyes.
He’d only survived because he was buried under the bodies of those slain before him. To top it all off, after stacking up the corpses, with him included, they’d lit the pile on fire. This wasn’t to prevent the spread of disease or to pay respect to the grove they’d slaughtered, the group of paladins did it for one simple reason. They knew not every corpse in the pile was actually a corpse. They did it to make the druids suffer.
The young man’s grove had never been a warlike folk, prefering to mind their own business and live as one with nature. They’d even sent out small groups to heal and help provide food to the surrounding towns, they were a force of good in the world. It all changed when a druid was unable to save the poisoned son of some minor noble, however. The man denounced the grove of druids as witch doctors and pagans before petitioning the local church to purge the men who’d “poisoned his son”.
The druids were caught off-guard by the attack and were slain in no small number by golden armored men with long blades and cruel dispositions, sparing no man, child, or woman. It was only by the sacrifice of his mentor, Aideen, that he survived the fire. She’d been tossed in with him, both of them crippled and on the brink of death. Rather than save herself, however, she’d cast a spell to help accelerate his healing as well as seal him in the bottom of the fire. Hours later the barrier had given out and he was able to crawl out from the sea of burnt flesh.
With dull eyes he looked around the area he’d once called home, taking in the pure carnage and carving it in his heart. The ground was blackened and cracked, glowing in some places from the heat. The log cabins that had once stood so proudly with the trees who’d birthed them were no longer there, replaced instead by piles of desolate ash. Tears ran down the boys face, carving thin lines in the film of ash and soot upon his face, before falling to the ground and evaporating in a sizzle.
In the center of what was once his home he found that the grove’s sacred had been cut down. Not only had they felled their symbolic link with nature, but they’d chopped it to small pieces before defecating on it and leaving it to rot. The tree was the only thing there with the exception of the boy that had survived the fires. He stared at the tree for an indeterminate amount of time before spotting something. Within the brown mess was a small samara fruit, as red as the blood spilled that day and as vibrant as the life that had been spilled. He picked it up before continuing on his way.
The boy continued forward without any real goal in mind, mildly aware of the burns upon his feet that were sweltering. With nowhere to go, he walked toward the mountain range in the distance with a vague idea of what he was going to do. Many men would swear vengeance and live their lives just for some thin hope of being happy again after soaking their hands in their enemies blood. The young boy wanted to do that as well, wished he could with all his heart, but knew that he couldn’t
One of Aideen’s first teachings had been that an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind, a tooth for a tooth causes everyone to starve. She’d given her life to save him and he would not disrespect her sacrifice like that. The young boy, although not born within the grove, was widely acknowledged as a prodigy and the future leader of their group. From the age of three when he’d been taken in, he’d had an innate talent and comprehension ability that allowed him to surpass those older than himself in their abilities with nature. She’d laid her life out to save him, hoping that he’d be able to spread more good in the world and recreate the grove.
“I’m sorry, teacher, but I cannot do it. For your sake I will not taint myself with the blood of others, but I cannot continue to live in this world of man.” The young boy solemnly swore to himself this as he continued his week long trek to the mountain range. He did not stop to rest or eat, only passively absorbing his needs from nature around him. Animals frolicked around him as he ignored them, the trees and flowers danced in the wind in a vain attempt to attract his attention, and many beasts walked him walk by with sympathetic eyes, but nobody was able to reach him in his current state.
After a week he reached the mountain and another week was spent climbing it. The trees got more sparse as he acceded the rough rock face, and the nature mana thinned as well. With bloody fingers and torn knees, he eventually dragged himself onto the summit. The mountain top was largely flat, as if somebody had shorn the top off with a blade, lacking any soil or landmarks. He shambled to the center of the plateau before collapsing to his knees and hands. He spotted a crack just large enough for his intentions and got to work.
With dirt crusted fingers that had lost their nails a long time ago, he stabbed into a clotted scar on the left side of his chest before prying out something he’d stored there. Skin ripped open once more and yielded to him the blood red samara fruit he’d shoved in there for lack of a better place to carry it during his climb, which he then placed deep into the small crack in front of him before using the now profusely bleeding wound to write out the druidic circle required for the ritual he had planned.
The spell was one that was considered a taboo magic by most, but not by the druids. It was a ritual that allowed one to skip through the cycle of samsara, directly reincarnating as a tree instead. It was a spell that had been passed down for countless generations and was created by the progenitor before he reincarnated himself into the world tree, a massive ash tree that supported the planet and linked them to countless other worlds. A tree that nobody alive had ever seen, and many denied the existence of.
Not he or his grove, though. The ritual was taught only to elders who’d decided they had enough of being reborn as a human and wanted a break, and nobody knew if it actually worked. The only reason the young boy knew was because of his outstanding abilities and lack of study material in the grove, he’d gone through and memorized if not learned all of the magic available to him.
Most did not choose to learn the spell, and those that did not choose to use it, for the most part. Nobody could prove that the soul was actually reincarnated within the tree and many believed it was just a way of suiciding, an action frowned upon by the gods. Many more believed that the soul was indeed consumed but could never return to the cycle of samsara, forever condemned because of the choice to fight back against the cycle.
The young man cared not, if he never reincarnated as a human again it would be too soon. He’d had enough of man's cruelty and greed for an infinite amount of lifetimes, having lost his parents and family in a war at a young age and then losing his new family again ten years later. He began pouring his mana into the druidic circle slowly and the blood lines began to glow as the heat around him rose. The spell required infinitesimally slow channeling as well is impeccable concentration throughout the entire cast.
After a day, the young boy was lightheaded and ready to pass out from lack of sleep and food from the last two weeks. After five days, there was no visible change but the young man’s mana ran out and he began to overdraw on his soul. On the seventh day, amongst the soul rending pain he was self-inflicting by slowly peeling away at the layers of his spiritual body, he saw a change. A small green sprout, no larger than the nail that once sat upon his pinkie finger, popped out from the crack and added color to the otherwise barren mountain top.
With the occurrence of the sprout, the boy’s vision split. He could now see the sprout and at the same time, see himself from the viewpoint of the sprout. Really, he could see everything in a full circle of the sprout by using the plant’s vision. He found that if he concentrated on one vision the other would slowly fade away, akin to how one would not see their nose in their vision without first thinking about it, or wouldn’t feel their tongue in their mouth until the thought arose. When he concentrated on the plant’s vision, the headache and pain slowly dulled away, so he choose to do this.
At the same time, he knew that the spell was working and that the tree that was growing was intrinsically linked with his soul and felt that if he stopped there or was interrupted, both he and the sprout would wither into nothing. He continued his spell and slowly felt his slow dissipating along with most of his mortal memories. He felt that, if he tried his best, he could retain his memories even as a tree but chose not to. Instead, the young man grasped for all of his arcane knowledge, his herbalism, every skill he’d learned, but left out the memories of his relationships and those he’d lost. He would retain his intelligence and sacrifice his humanity. Only a single person managed to slip their way through the gaps into his memory, the name Aideen and a strong feeling of warmth and affection, but nothing else.
On the tenth day, the sprout finished its transition into a sapling and a small, green, two-foot long protrusion could be seen jutting out of the mountain top. A large plume of mana, so thick and pure that it was visible to the eye, spread out in a ring shape from the mountain top as the sapling awoke for the first time. It observed its surroundings and felt lonely instantly. Why had it been born in such a desolate area with no other plant life to keep it company? The only other creature around was a two legged animal that had already keeled over dead. It was black and pink at the same time and seemed to have been in a fierce battle. Coating its body were burns which made the sapling shudder as it imagined its natural enemy, fire. It was honestly a pathetic looking creature and dead had certainly been a mercy.
At the same time, the small sapling felt something when it looked at the corpse, a sort of connection. Unable to decipher its feelings about the corpse it came to a realization. There was no dirt beneath its stalk, only thick rock that it had managed to furrow its way into. With a large deficit of nutrients abound, the corpse would be the primary source of nutrition. It had the knowledge to gain energy from nature and sustain itself that way, but upon the barren mountain top the sapling had nothing to pull from apart from the sun. It needed soil and water, or a substitute.
The small sapling knew it was different from other plants, it had been born smarter and more able, a king of the plant kingdom. It was even equipped with magic, which it now used to feverishly grow a few roots that sprouted out of the crack it was placed in and wiggled their way over to the corpse. The earthy roots plunged into the burnt and beaten flesh and began spreading rapidly, absorbing blood and flesh before funneling their way back into the stone beneath the body. At the same time the sapling experienced a massive growth spurt. Rather than growing straight up, however, the sapling redirected the growth into its root system, digging down farther and eroding away at the rock as it sent out a sprawling system of roots to feet itself with nutrients.
The corpse would not last forever and the sapling wished to invest in its energy gathering systems. The two foot sapling grew another foot taller as well as an inch wider before shooting off its first branch, which grew two buds that slowly unfurled into leaves overnight. Overnight? Oh, the tree had been so invested in its progress that it did not notice the passage of several hours, only snapping out of it after the growth of its leaves and observation of the night sky while looking for the sun.
In large part, the corpse was absorbed and refined overnight as the newly born ash tree claimed the mountain top for itself, roots poking out of the side hundreds of feet away and hundreds of feet deep. In stark contrast, the sapling still only stood three and a half feet tall, although a bit wider now than it was, and had a single branch with few leaves. The next morning, the sapling had a visitor.
A wicked looking fierce beast had come to investigate the natural phenomenon borne from the birth of the sapling. With two heads and dark green scales, it slithered onto the mountain top after a day of climbing before slowly making its way over to the spiritual plant in the center of the clearing. It wind up there was cold, but the serpent found the sun to be very warming upon its back anyways. Still, it was not a place the serpent would want to live, it was not fond of the climb and there was no food to hunt there. It would first slay this spiritual plant and absorb the miniscule amount of energy it could from such a young plant.
The serpent would not stick around to wait for it to mature, so none should think to have the plant. The ash sapling watched the two-headed snake approach and could sense the killing intent in its eyes. With such a widespread root system the sapling could not uproot itself and run in time, like many spiritual plants with awareness could. Neither could it plunge down into the earth because the stone it had grown from was too hard and its sapling too thick to fit. It was doomed.
From a few feet away, the snake coiled itself and then pounced at the plant, as if afraid it would flee if it approached any slower. A hissing could be heard all around the mountain top but was quickly drowned out by a clarion phoenix’s cry. A small red bird swooped from the sky and snatched the snake from mid air before flying higher into the sky and dropping it to its death!
The snake landed only a scarce few inches away from the sapling, splattering its blood around the plateau where it slowly dripped into the crack. The bird landed shortly thereafter, talons upon the snake’s corpse and head cocked sideways as it stared down the terrified sapling as if waiting for some sort of response. The sapling did the only thing it could and slowly swayed itself back and forth in an attempt to wave its thanks to the beast that had saved it. Seemingly satisfied, the bird began pecking away at the flesh of its prey.
The sapling observed the bird if for no other reason than there was nothing else for it to do, its roots were already passively absorbing the snake blood that had found it way into the crevice around the sapling’s trunk. It was a small, relatively speaking, fire-colored falcon with a crest of feathers upon its head, colored red, orange, and yellow. In addition, it had tail feathers as long as it was tall, around three feet like the sapling, that were also the colors of flame and its eyes slightly glowed as if there was a fire lit in its soul. The sapling could feel that the falcon was on an entirely different level than the snake that had thought to kill it, it was beautiful, bright, and warm while at the same time cold and dangerous looking.
The sapling watched it as it ate until it finished. It then looked at the sapling again before kicking the offal and snake skin over to the tree before taking off into the sky. The sapling thankfully refined what was left of the snake after the bird’s meal and continued its growth, this time concentrating on growing taller and thicker, working its way toward bark that could cover and armor itself. With the flame falcon as a template, the sapling also changed the coloring of its leaves from grey and white. Its leaves now had red veins that slowly faded to orange and then yellow before draining of color to be white once more, with grey along the edges. A fire that started vibrant and burned itself out, leaving only ash and charcoal behind.
The bird returned again a few days later, dropping another freshly killed beast next to the tree and eating, as if keeping the lonely sapling company. After its meal it observed the changes in the leaves, causing it to ruffled its feathers and shine with pride as if it were a peacock rather than a falcon. The bird left what was left of its kill next to the tree and watched it for a couple hours before leaving again, at which time the sapling began consuming the beast.
This on the mountain-off the mountain again relationship continued for countless days as the tree slowly grew to a respectable size and the beast became more and more powerful. The ash tree had an instinctive fear of the beast, but as it grew larger it knew the feasibility of the tiny bird refining it diminished more and more. Eventually the firebird began to create a nest in the branches of the ash, built from discarded branches, the feathers of its victim birds, and the bones of some of its larger prey. The ash grew stronger alongside the bird, their energies feeding into each other passively and improving on one another. Eventually a day came when the sun rose and they both felt something about to happen.
That morning the firebird seemed a little manic. For the last week it had done nothing apart from sit in its nest with its eyes closed and refine the energy of the earth and heavens, working toward something. Now, it was pruning crazily and looking up to the sky while slowly crying to itself. It was nervous about something and the ash tree could feel it. Finally it calmed down and started to glow, emitting thick waves of red colored energy into the world. The ash tree tasted the mana that was being discarded and realized it was ridiculously pure, and began to absorb it in earnest.
When the bird had first arrived, the tree was very shy and nervous around it and wouldn’t eat in its presence, but that was a long time past. It lapped away at the energy and allowed none of it escape from the mountaintop. Counter to its assumption, the birds power and energy levels only rose as it discarded its old energy in thick waves. Both the ash tree and the firebird could feel a change occurring within themselves, and both embraced it earnestly as was their nature. Dark clouds began to accumulate around the mountain top.
From the forest below, every animal looked up and saw the black clouds appear on an otherwise clear-skied day, surrounding the tallest mountain peak in the range and rumbling around in turmoil. Every animal felt a fear in their hearts as their impending doom approached, the trees quivered in anticipation of the bird of a grand tree seldom seen in this world, and the beasts felt a deep respect, each knowing that a beast was evolving, refining its bloodline into something new and emerging stronger afterwards. Stepping onto the path of becoming a beastial god, and upsetting the heavens.
Upon the mountain top a red bird and a white tree were undergoing changes and bracing themselves to the best of their abilities. The ash tree never knew why the firebird had befriended it but knew that its life would have been dull without it, so it prepared to offer all of the assistance it could. The firebird never considered that a mature soul existed within the sapling it had found one day and raised on a whim, so it never considered the pain it was going to put the tree through with its tribulation. Both prepared themselves, the tree to protect the bird and the proud bird to protect itself.
Lightning struck. It was swift and lit up the already bright day sky, yellow and domineering. The bird took the strike upon its crown, faltering for a moment. The first strike was yellow, it knew that instinctively and prepared itself for the second strike, a darker yellow one. Nine minutes between each of the nine strikes, in its heart the falcon knew it could do it with the assistance of the strong tree that it had been feeding. Lighting struck again.
To the bird’s surprise and alarm, this strike was blood red. The bird’s inherited knowledge told it to expect red as the final of the ninth strikes, it was the strongest but also the end of its tribulation. For the red to come so early, it felt something had gone wrong. The red blade of lightning flared across the sky several times faster than the yellow and the sky around the mountain top lost its color as it made contact with its target.
With a yelp the bird jumped from the ash tree at the last possible second to avoid collateral damage as the strike struck true at the tip of the ash tree. The falcon’s eyes widened as it realized the implications of that strike, the ash tree was also undergoing tribulation. The falcon knew, however, that only an enlightened plant could undergo tribulation, a plant with a soul and mind. The falcon realized then and there that the plant it had been raising was like it, sapient and aware.
The tree lost several layers of its leaves as they went up in flame and its otherwise pure white park was scorched black at the tip, slowly smoldering. Catching the bird off guard, a second strike of bright yellow lightning came flying out of the angry clouds, a targeted between the birds wings. While the bird was caught off guard, the ash tree was not. It was able to sense the changes in the atmosphere as it shifted before the strike and reached out with a branch as fast as it could. The tree was unable to shelter the bird completely but absorbed a portion of the lightning before it caught the bird between the shoulders and struck it from the sky.
The falcon landed between the roots of the ash tree that it had taken for granted and knew that it owed its life to the ash tree. In the nine minutes since the last strike it had not been gathering its strength and could have died on only the second strike were it not for the tree saving it. It had intended to use the tree, betting the ash’s life against its own. Lightning continued to strike, striking fear into the hearts of all observers.
Orange for the ash tree, much more powerful than any that the bird had endured yet, more leaves shed and a few branches cracked from heat. An even darker yellow and then a bright orange for the firebird, both were diminished by the ash tree. Yellow for the ash tree, far stronger than the yellow that the firebird started its tribulation with. The tip of the tree was now lacking all moisture and had a constantly crackling fire, the upper third of the tree also burned slightly. Two more strikes of orange lightning, each darker than the last but still nothing compared to the orange bolt that struck the tree soley. Both partially absorbed by the tree at the cost of two of its larger limbs.
The firebird could see the pain that its friend, the ash tree, was in but could do nothing to help it. The lighting tribulation it was experiencing was far stronger than any the bird had ever heard of before and it could offer no assistance. Clarion cries resounded out constantly as the bird begged the tree to stop protecting it, to conserve its energy and survive. Tears fell from the bird as its cries went unheard. It could not leave the area of its tribulation, and it could not protect the ash tree.
A fourth bolt targeting the tree struck out, most would think it as white as snow but both the bird and tree knew it was the white of ashes. A crack reverberated out and several rockfalls occur on the mountain side. The top of the ash tree was once again white as it had burned away into charcoal. All of its leaves were missing and even its roots were now burning. Up until this point the ash had been absorbing all of the energy it could from the trees and plants on the mountainsides, which it could now reach with its expansive roots, but they were almost tapped out. It could feel that its tribulation was almost over, and only one strike remained, but it would be far stronger than any it had ever felt.
The firebird’s next strike arrived, a dark red color. Knowing the intentions of the tree, the bird flew out and caught the lightning before the tree could, taking its tribulation entirely on its own. The bird fell and landed on the tree top in pain but alive, it knew that there was a slim chance it could survive on its own, but there was a chance nonetheless. It would no longer allow the tree to shelter it as it had for the last months. The firebird did not realize the tree intended to trade its life for the bird, a thanks for saving it from the two headed snake several moons ago.
Each attempted to trade its life for the other, but the second red strike was taken by the bird alone once more. Its feathers burned away and its eyes glowed less and less as its cracked skin bled upon the tree. It could no longer fly and would need to stand upon the tree when it received its next strike. Eight minutes passed and the bird hoped that the tree had finished its tribulation, every other occurrence had the tree being struck every eighteen minutes or so. It was dim, but the bird could feel the life within the tree, it was going to survive.
The bird made up its mind and decided to hop from the top of the ash tree it raised, to take the last strike standing upon the mountain top and spare the tree the pain and possible death. It slowly stood upon its cracked and burned feet and prepared to hop as the sky lit up again. A cage of branches arrived around the bird, entrapping and enwrapping it as a blood red bolt began descending. At the same time another bolt began descending behind it like a shadow, a dark grey lightning bolt that blended in with the black clouds.
Too late the tree realized that the tribulation was arriving together with the firebird's and it tried to push the bird away as the twin lightings caught it upon its entire body. A phoenix’s cry rang out, mournful and proud, as the daytime sky lit up brighter than it ever had before. Both the bird and the tree passed away seconds after their tribulations. They had survived, but died at the same time. Trees wilted in sadness from the world’s loss, a grand tree had been lost that day due to the heaven’s jealousy. Animals curled within their homes and weeped in sadness and terror. Ferocious beasts roared into the skies as they cried tears of blood, angry with the heavens for cheating the beast that survived the tribulation, taking its life anyways.
