It's been a while since I posted one of these things--and this particular ershegh write up is, frankly, one of the reasons why. I just couldn't seem to get the background for her down on the page in a way that I found satisfactory, plus finding a set of domain holdings was a pain, and the whole character write up was something of a headache.... In short, the whole thing blocked me up for a while. Now that this bugger is done I hope to get back to some sort of (ir)regular schedule for such things. We'll see.

Per usual, it's going to take a few posts to get the whole thing.

In any case, here's a new beastie:

The spirit of the forest it is. A godling. She is of the trees and in them. We call her the Heartwood for that is where she lives and what she is. She goes is the heart of the forest. She is the soul of the trees.

—-oooOooo-—

The following account is that of Janna Kalevala, a Rjurik skald. She has told her story again and again in recent months, leading some to suspect it may be as much fiction as fact. However, there is very little evidence to suggest that Kalevala has fabricated the tale and the details mesh with the facts known about the ershegh. The kennings and poetic language of the skald’s tale have been largely excised from the following account during its translation for the sake of clarity.

The voice came down from the branches of the tree. There was no face or mouth that I could make out. There was only a sound that seemed to emanate from the branches themselves like the rustling of leaves, or the slow swaying creak of the branches in the wind. Had I not known better, I might have thought the words were in my imagination alone. But the tree that the Heartwood embodied gestured along with the words, making it very clear which tree she inhabited. If not for the voice and her movement it would have been nearly impossible to tell the difference between this tree and any other in the forest.

The voice itself was distinct enough, but it was wistful and detached, as if speaking were an afterthought or some half-remembered activity from youth. It was the voice of a daydreamer or one whose attention is otherwise fixed on things far off in the distance. Conversing with the Heartwood was like talking to someone who is holding several conversations at once, both listening and speaking at once, and many of those conversations might be with things beyond the minds of men.

As we spoke the wind would play through the branches of the trees around us. They waved gently in the breeze like the hands of speakers whose gestures punctuate their speech. From time to time it even seemed to me as if the trees would subtly shift their positions. On more than one occasion my eye would be drawn to some barely perceived movement in the branches of the trees that surrounded me, but when I looked there was nothing but the normal swaying of the ancient forest in the wind, and though I never directly saw them move the placement of their branches and the very location of the trees themselves would change when my back was turned.

I was there to negotiate with the Heartwood, for it had become dangerous to travel in the forests of ???. There were many tales of missing settlers and hunters. No one was certain if the Heartwood was herself responsible for the disappearances, but the rumors most often attributed them to her wrath, and the remains of certain badly pulverized people did indicate that her wrath had been aroused. The tales told by smallfolk are often little more than campfire gossip, but many times there is a kernel of truth to them, and in my heart I knew that I spoke now to the source of those disappearances. A peace between this creature and the people who must find the means to survive in her demesne must be found. We had been speaking for some time, and my efforts had proved ineffective.

“I wish only to speak to you, Lady, I have not come to harm your forests.”
“Does your presence alone not defile us? You are a burner, a firething, a child of flame, and where there is one soon there are many. Your kind will break the earth, spoil the waters, char the trees: my children. No, it is you must be pruned.”

“Lady, I seek only your leave for safe passage through your lands so that my party and I might leave you in peace with our meager lives intact. We do not wish conflict with so great and powerful a ruler such as you.”

“You are wise to recognize our power, human, but your words of flattery do not impress us. Power is a mortal thought. It means nothing to us. We know what the true nature of power is, while you know only its shadow.”

“What assurance can I give to assuage your wrath, mighty one? Is there no test or deed that we might perform to appease you?”

There was so long a pause at that I feared she might have vanished, for the Heartwood comes and goes through the trees of her demesne as easily as the wind through the leaves.

“Much has been destroyed by your kind, mortal. If you would gain my favor you must make remittance. Our sistersouls the sidhe know more than you about our nature. You must learn to live as they do, walk as they walk, think as they think. There are many ways to live a life. We sing the song of earth and water. We sing the song of wind and sky. We sing the song of salvation, firesdaughter. What do you do but destroy?”

“I can sing….” I ventured. I had no stratagem in mind. Her rant merely reminded me of the years I spent training my voice under the tutelage of eddic masters.

“Can you, firebringer?” the voice from above said. There was a long pause. In the silence I tried to decide if I had offended the ershegh (and would, thus, soon meet my doom) or if she were amused at my temerity. “Very well. If you can sing then that is what you shall do. If your song pleases me then I shall allow you and your party to pass through my lands unharmed. But if you fail…. The roots of my forest will drink your blood. You must compose as you sing, little flame. I know the ways of your kind. I’ll have no song you’ve sung a thousand times to impress the dull ears ‘round a campfire. Sing a new song; a song to the trees that have so long suffered at the hands of your kind.”

There is little greater motivation for a poet than the threat of death. I daresay I had never sung before as I sang then. The Heartwood was a patient listener if an unforgiving one. I composed my first lines, and cleared my throat. I started to sing, but faltered when the limb of a tree behind me crashed upon the ground.

“No! None of your Fornyršislag trite, and not Ljóšahįttr either. Speak only Dróttkvętt. Begin again.”

The dust had not yet settled from the impact of the giant branch that had struck only a few yards from where I stood, but I had no choice. I began once more. I know not how the words came to me, but I can only assume that my words were sent by some spirit of faith and inspiration, for after I started I did not stop for many hours. I can relate only some of what I sang. The rest was taken back by whatever kind god or goddess it was that gifted them to me.

O, Wood wrath, gentle queen of trees.
Hear me speak of these
Things from aching earth below
To arching sky doth grow

I sang on. The words flowing through me unbidden. In truth, I know not how long I sang, but my voice seemed to grow stronger than I had ever heard it before. The forest grew silent around me. Even the wind seemed to have stilled, and I seemed to be alone in the world. I am uncertain how long it was that I sang, for I seemed to lose myself in the process. When I regained a sense of myself it had grown dark. I had been unaware of the passage of time. My throat burned and my lips were cracked. It seemed I had sung for many hours without stopping. It was moonless, and I could see nothing of the stars through the canopy of leaves overhead. I heard only the sound of my own breathing and the violent beating of my heart as if I had run many miles.

The silence of the woods around me was frightening. I waited for what seemed an eternity for another great branch to flatten me, but the blow never came.

“Very well, little one. You and yours have safe passage through my domain. You may go.”

Let me assure you, I did not have to be told a second time to leave.