In the previous episode Chapter 1: Episode X | Majority voted: Stab guard, help man and flee

Episode Content:

https://twitter.com/thelucidplanet/status/1586961879821271040?s=20&t=VUQVplLzEaK59ZM4p4Q4hw

Silvae hearing the commotion behind him turned and saw the burly man and the guard entangled on the ground. The guard had regained his composure and was tugging at the man’s leg with the full weight of his body and would not let go…

The man, fearful of the two shouting guards who were quickly making their way down the hill looked over to Silvae with terror in his eyes. 

“Help me” he cried out, as he kicked frantically at the guard holding his leg trying to break his grip. Silvae, torn between wanting to flee and helping the man, had to decide. He could not in good conscience leave this man who had been vital to his escape efforts to the whims of the approaching guards. He would surely be put to death and that was not something Silvae could live with. 

Silvae, knowing what he had to do, swiftly ran over to the two entangled men and kicked hard at the guards arm. The guard winced and released the man who fell hard against the muddy ground before rolling on his back and breathing heavily. Silvae, taking advantage of the guard who had shifted to holding his arm in pain, withdrew the dagger from his tunic and thrust it squarely into the man’s chest. 

The man, looking back at Silvae gave no reaction and Silvae thrust again. “Clank, clank, clank, clank” he tried several more times but to no avail, the dagger would not pierce the guards armor. The guard, smiling subtly, made a grab for Silvae’s arm, but Silvae began frantically slashing and managed to land a clean cut in the guard's right arm. The guard, recoiling at the slash, withered back into a ball and curled up unable to continue his assault. Silvae, turned and ran back to Burly man who was still lying on his back breathing heavily. 

“We’ve got to go” he yelled, “the guards will be here any minute now”. The burly man, rolling over onto his side, forced himself up on all fours and struggled to his feet “Ok… ok…, let’s go”, and with that the pair flung themselves into a steady sprint down the side of the hill and away from the injured guard. 

The two guards who were quickly making their way down the hillside towards the commotion saw the men fleeing. The taller of the two drew his bow and loosed a few arrows in their general direction hoping to land a lucky shot. Silvae and the Burly man at this point were far enough down the mountain side that the arrows flew clean over them so much so that they did not even notice that they had been fired upon. 

After what seemed like a good 20 minutes of running down the mountain Silvae and the Burly man came to a partially dried up river bed. “Please, stop for a moment. I need to catch my breath” said the man, who plonked himself on a log on the edge of the muddy riverbed. Silvae, grabbing the man by his tunic, turned and faced him. “Not now, we’ve got to clear this side of the mountain. They’ll be sending more men this way, of that I am certain”. 

Grabbing the man and pulling him forward, Silvae pulled him through the muddy riverbed and over the other side towards another steep decline. From this vantage point he could make out a village in the distance at the base of the mountain on the crest of a quickly moving stream. “There” said Silvae. “We’ll make for the village and find shelter in the woods beyond. We can blend in with the crowds in the morning and try to find passage on one of those cargo ships heading down stream.” 

“Ok” gruffed the man, “but please let us find some food and drink, I ain’t used to this much running and I have had a terrible fright”. Silvae looked back at the man, he had yet to really look at his companion in all the commotion. He was a simple farmer, with deep lines in his weathered face from a lifetime of work outdoors. He felt pity for the man who had likely not ever left his village before his capture and was now a fugitive on the run from soldiers who would surely execute him if captured. “Ok” replied SIlvae, “we’ll see what we can trade for this dagger in the village. It’s hardly much use against those armored guards, running is our best bet should we chance upon more”. The man gruffed in agreement and the two began to make their way down the mountain towards the village.

By the time the two reached the bottom of the hill it was getting dark. Silvae looked out across the river towards the village through the reeds in which he and the man had taken shelter. It was at this point that he noticed that the bridge into the village was under guard. These men looked professional, clad in steel armor and colorful tunics with they bore a crest that Silvae had not seen before. It was unlikely that they belonged to the village but they seemed to have permission of a local authority as they were conducting interrogations of those passing into the village. Silvae groaned with disappointment. “Those guards” he said, “that’s a problem I had not seen coming. I’ve no indication of where their loyalties lie. They may be an asset to us at this time or a hindrance.” The man looking back at Silvae took a quick look at the guards. “They seem respectable enough to me. Like someone from one of them royal houses. Not at all like the whoresons up on that mountain. Royal almost”. 

Silvae, pondered their current dilemma. They had three options;

1.) Try and swim across the river to the port

2.) Cross the bridge and chance that the guards will be friendly

3.)Find another way in to the village through the mountains

Vote here:

https://snapshot.org/#/thelucidplanet.eth/proposal/0xd81942806620bd4136d015819bbe620981704ee3267f3a9c8bc96e69f1018777

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In the previous episode Chapter 1: Episode IX I Majority voted : fall, bring others down and flee

Episode Content:

Stepping deftly to one side Silvae plunged his entire weight on his right foot and let himself free fall in a motion that resembled someone fainting on a hot summer’s day.

As he slipped down the side of the hillock the chain tugged heavily against the column and jagged it backward towards the edge of the pathway. Silvae, abruptly held fast by the chain, was hanging motionless over the edge of hillside while the struggling column of walkers above him frantically tried to hold the weight of his body against the increasing weight of the wooden beam pressing down upon their shoulders. Just as the guard of his troupe had noticed what was happening, the closest walker to Silvae, and one nearest to the edge of the hillock began to slip against the loose sand under his feet. In what seemed like slow motion, he too slipped and tumbled down to where Silvae hung, only this time there was no longer requisite force left above to the keep the beam intact and the whole column of walkers went over the edge dragging a helpless guard with them.

What happened next was a scene of utter chaos that would never be forgotten by those who were foul to it. Silvae’s column, tumbling in tandem down the side of the hillock, clipped the nearest procession of walkers sparking a giant avalanche of bodies that took out the entire hillside. Luckily for Silvae and his troupe, they were first to fall and fell in such a way that their wooden beam flipped in a circular motion above them before supplanting itself in front of the falling bodies. In this manner, they were dragged down by the beam and not entangled with it like some of the other walkers had been when their own columns fell. It was also fortuitous that in falling in this manner they were dragged eastward down the mountain side while the rest of the walkers fell hard west. Still, it was an unpleasant experience and when arriving at the bottom of the hill Silvae struggled to get to his feet.

Standing up and dusting himself off, he surveyed the land around him. Four weary walkers were heaped against the beam, alive but fragile in a state of some unease at falling down a mountain. The guard, who had initially been tangled in with the heap had fallen clear of the beam and tumbled down the mountain at a much faster pace than the beam and now lay strewn and moaning some 15 feet from their position.

“Quick” chimed Silvae, “we must get to that guard before he recovers his strength. Grab a hold of a section of the beam and let’s make our way over to him. We need to get these chains off”.

Groggily yet pliantly the troupe shifted to their feet and lifted the beam above their heads. Shuffling over towards the guard they moved up and to the side of his body and dropped the beam heavily at his feet. Silvae, slipping into action, jumped over the guards’ feet and onto his body. Holding him down with his weight he started to search his tunic for any keys that might unlock the chains. At this point, the guard, dazed and injured, began to come to and started to push back against Silvae. With one hand around the herbalists neck, he used the other to go for the dagger in his scabbard. Noticing this but also overpowered by the size of the guard beneath him, Silvae let out a cry for help.

“Help me, he’s got a knife” he said frantically.

The troupe next to him, still fearful of the guard did not move and Silvae shouted again

– “If he kills me you’re next!! Help me, you must help!!”

At this he evoked a response, and a quiet yet burly farmer from Ganter barrelled over to Silvae and knelt heavily on the guards arm that was going for the dagger. Together, they held and subdued the guard into a controlled position, while Silvae took the dagger and slipped it into his pocket as well as relieving the guard of a ring of keys around his belt. “Ok, keep him steady” said Silvae, “I’m going to start unlocking our chains”.

One by one the troupe shuffled over to SIlvae and he undid their locks. The first two he released immediately took flight and ran down the hill away from the beam. The third, sat and starred at Silvae while the burly farmer just gruffed and kept sitting on the guard. Finally, SIlvae started to undo his own lock when the three of them heard a commotion above. Two guards crested the hillock above them and were staring down at the scene unfolding. They yelled out inaudibly at the trio sparking the third member of their party to turn and flee down the hill. The burly farmer knowing that he was holding the guard in place looked worriedly at Silvae.

“we’ve got to go” he gruffed to which Silvae nodded and they made a dash.

The guard subdued but not out of action made a grab at the burley man’s leg. Pulling at it sharply, he felled the man but in doing so he had pulled him down on top of himself. The man, letting out a yell, slid to the side of the guard and struggled to get to his feet again. Above them the two guards were quickly making their way down the mountain and towards Silvae.

Silvae had a choice, should Silvae:

1.) Stab the guard and help the man to his feet and flee 2.) Throw the dagger to the man and flee 3.) Flee 4.) Go and fight the approaching guards

Vote here:

https://snapshot.org/#/thelucidplanet.eth/proposal/0x55eb8b78b44ea9977a8dc4975f93b3d4cef847c0fd8978666aa0d2d8bbcd862f

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In the previous episode Chapter 1: Episode VIII I Majority voted Run when “the walk” begins

Episode Content:

After several minutes of fiddling with the chain around his ankle Silvae began to resign to the fact that perhaps he was better off trying to make a break for it in the light of day. 

Djatar had told him that they would be going on a “walk”, an ominous proposal that although had many unknown components to it, did have one reliable constant – he’d be able to see where he was going. This not only would make any escape attempt easier, but also allow for the chance for Silvae to look for Tally in the light of day. Comfortable in the knowledge that he had the outline of a plan forming, Silvae lay back against the rock wall and closed his eyes. He figured he was somewhere beyond the mountain pass, not quite in the Areturusian republic, but in the lawless border lands between the Forest and the Red. With this assumed knowledge in hand, Silvae drifted off to sleep, the faint dripping of water on rock soothing him into a relaxed state of contentment. 

Snapping back to reality, Silvae felt the chain around his feet tugging. Groggily he opened his eyes and realized that it was morning already and that there was quite a commotion around him. In the night it had seemed that he was alone in a single cavern, but now, with the light of day winding through inlets in the cavern structure, Silvae saw the fully illuminated structure of a temple. Silvae, both shocked and in awe at the architectural wonder that he found himself amongst, was equally taken aback when he saw the sheer number of people around him. Casting his eye over what he thought had been the edge of the cavern wall, he noticed 5 more chambers just like his, each part of the larger super structure and accessible by a labyrinth of tunnel passages below. In seeing this Silvae was somewhat relieved that he had not attempted to flee in the night, he surely would have at best been caught and at worst been stuck wandering around the cavernous maze below. 

Casting his eye across the temple chambers, Silvae judged that there were at least 100 people under guard, each clad in what seemed like dirtied ceremonial rags that had seen better days. Each cohort was chained in groups of five to a single piece of reinforced timber that was overwatched by a single guard. The operation was much larger than Silvae had anticipated and much more heavily guarded. Silvae’s group, still sitting on the temple floor, consisted of the lost souls he had seen the previous night. Although his group was not yet in motion, being the 5th and final chamber of the larger superstructure, Silvae judged that his group would be moving out last. The guards all looked like they belonged to a single order. Dressed almost identically to Djatar, it became apparent that this was some sort of religious sect. Silvae thought over his situation. It was a much more complex undertaking to break the chain and flee, as he was constantly under guard but moreover, would have to break free of the larger piece of timber that was keeping his group together. He reasoned that this was deliberately the reason they were in groups of five, as it would take them all working together to lift the timber and walk which did not grant any one participant the chance to flee on one's own. They either moved together or not at all. 

“You’re awake” interjected Djartar, “Get to your feet now friend, we have much ground to cover today”. 

Silvae had not seen Djatar approach, but it was clear to him that he had been watching over him for a while. Although not guarding a specific section of the detainees, Djatar seemed to be in command of the overall operation, as he strolled about inspecting chain links and rousing prisoners. Although in control, Djatar held the same aloofness with his own men as he did with Silvae and the other prisoners. It was an odd tone of voice that he used to command them, not entirely authoritative but rather indirect. Turning back to Silvae after inspecting the timber that held his group together, Djatar threw Silvae another piece of stale bread. “Save that my friend, you will need to preserve your strength.”   

Silvae, looking up at Djatar, did not say anything. Instinctively he knew that it was impossible to bargain with the man, and that the task at hand was what was most important to Djatar and his men. “Up now, up, up” barked a guard, and Silvae’s group rose to their feet. “Lift, lift, lift” barked the guard again, and Silvae’s group shuffled under the large timber beam and awkwardly raised it up over their heads. Silvae, who was last in line on the chain, could not make out the path ahead of him but followed the steps of the raspy voiced man in front of him. None of them made any sound besides that of physical effort, and the troupe marched silently down a winding tunnel. After what seemed like 20-30 minutes of winding, the entrance to the temple structure started to come into view. It was an unassuming yet vast expanse of caves jutting out of the mountain side. Although partially obscured by a sea of rock, the cave naturally held a vantage point that allowed for maximum light to enter. Silvae, although unable to see beyond a sea of light and sand, felt the warm air bounce off his face. 

“Left side left path” bellowed their section guard, and the troupe veered off the rocky cavern floors and onto warm sand. They awkwardly began a slow descent down the side of the mountain, the tail end of the 20 or so columns of walkers ahead of them. Walking down the path it became apparent that one wrong step would undo the footing of the troupe entirely, and Silvae began to form the semblance of a plan.

Should Silvae:

1.) Deliberately fall and try and use the chaos to flee.

2.) Deliberately fall into his guard and attempt to steal something to break his chain.

3.) Deliberately fall and bring down as many other groups in front of him and then try and flee.

4.) Deliberately fall and drag his own group down the mountain side and flee.

Vote here:

https://snapshot.org/#/thelucidplanet.eth/proposal/0x8deb89649d94916a170c94d1d4c465055ea31db3c3231eac91cb78d48f2daadb

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In the previous episode Chapter 1: Episode VII | Majority voted: “Giml, Sade, Pit".

Episode Content:

Drip…Drip…Drip…

The water from the cave roof trickled down the edge of the rocky walls. Centuries of steady droplets had cut a path clean through the rock and the water, like tree roots, dispersed and seeped its way towards the cave floor. Silvae, who was slumped against the edge of the cave wall, awoke to beads of water lapping at the side of the hood of his cloak. Feeling groggy and disoriented he rolled onto his back and stared in the black void above. Was he dead? Had the Gods called for him? What had happened in those last moments in the mud? It was at this moment that a drop of water fell from the cave roof and hit Silvae squarely in the face, promptly causing him to snap out of his delusions of death and purgatory. He sat up with a jolt and, remembering that he had been stabbed by Kipflix, ran his hand along the side of his cloak. The fabric was torn, cut clean by the blade, but there was no wound, he was entirely healed without so much as even a scar. Silvae, although uneasy at the fact that he had mysteriously recovered from what was certain to have been his death, could not help feel relieved that he was uninjured. Turning his attention to his surroundings, he began to wonder how he had survived, and more importantly, where he was.

Silvae smelt the air, damp and decaying. There was something closed in about the smell. It felt as if he was breathing the breath of many others, yet, not at this moment. It was as if he could feel the history of the place in the air. Leaning forward, he felt the ground. It was covered in a thick sand that was soft to the touch. He buried his hand in it and began to feel around. Nothing but a slab of hard rock below. Strange, thought Silvae, this was unlike any cave he had been in before. Wherever he was he felt that the purpose of him being there was confinement - it was no accident that he was alone in the dark. He shifted his body and tried to find his footing thinking that if he could find the edge of the cave he might follow it to a passage that led to lightness or even escape. As he went to stand, he felt something clank and drag on his feet. “Dammit'' he exclaimed, feeling about at his ankle he felt a chain loosely looped around his leg. He gave it several hard tugs and tried to pull the chain from the loop that held him to the cave floor. In doing so the clank of iron on rock reverberated off the cave walls and Silvae instantly regretted his decision to try and free himself. It was at this point that a voice pierced the silence that he had just disturbed with the sound of the chain.

“Stop it” hissed a voice in the darkness, “they’ll hear you. You don’t want them to come down here. You don’t want them near you at all”. Silvae, taken aback by the revelation he was not alone, snapped his head in the direction of the raspy voiced stranger. “Who said that? Name yourself and your intentions” replied Silvae in a mix of confidence and confusion toward the void in front of him. “Shhh” replied the voice. “You must keep quiet, they’ll hear you, they’ll punish you… They’ll come for us…” replied the raspy voice.  Silvae, more perplexed than frightened, shifted close to the voice, his chains rattled, and the sound echoed off the cave walls again. “Who are they? Who and what are you talking about? Where are we?” Rattling off the questions in quick succession, Silvae was interrupted by another voice.

“Who’s talking?” boomed the voice off the cave walls.

Silvae turned his head in the direction of this new voice. A brightness flickered in the distance, and he heard boots thudding on wooden boards. It was then that the lightness seemed to burst from the ground in front of him and a figure emerged, torch in hand. The figure, about 20 meters from Silvae, turned and began to make his way to the Herbalist. He stopped short and shifted the torch in front of him. “Which one of you is making that noise? You know that talking here is punishable.” Silvae, looking back at the figure, caught a glimpse of the illuminated cave behind him. There he could make out 2 other huddled figures, chained to the ground in much the same fashion as him, they seemed deathly still and silent. The room, although appearing cavernous on first inspection, was much smaller than he had anticipated. Most certainly, this was a cave turned dungeon of some kind, but was accessible from below. A most strange design Silvae thought, one he had no reference to from book or memory.

It was at this point the dark figure shifted the torch and leaned in towards Silvae’s general direction. Raising the torch up to his eyeline he cast a light over Silvae, illuminating the Herbalist against the backdrop of the cavern walls. “You there” bellowed the voice, “are you the one that interrupts me?”  Silvae, somewhat blinded by the brightness of the torch, recoiled from the light. Lifting his hand over his brow, he squinted and waited for his vision to adjust to the flickering of the torch light. “Interrupt? Me? I think you’ll find good ser that it is you who have interrupted me. You see, I am not overly fond of chains, nor damp caves”. The figure, audibly scoffed and leaned in closer with the torch. The heat of the flame somewhat jarred Silvae, who, until this point, had not realized how cold the cavern was. “You’ve got quite the sense of humor Forest man.” Squatting down to eye level with Silvae, the dark figure put the torch on the ground next to him and shifted through his pack for something. Temporarily illuminated by his own light, Silvae was able to better make out what the mysterious figure looked like. Clad in a red robe, leather gambeson, and dark felt boots, the man appeared to be in his middle to late 50s. He had a thick black beard, and long dark hair, someone foreign Silvae thought, perhaps a Quentarian, although he was not quite sure what the inhabitants of the Red looked like other than what he had read on scrolls. The man, finding what he was looking for, tossed something in Silvae’s direction. Hitting him on the chest, Silvae looked down to see a piece of stale Djedger bread. “Eat now, you will need your strength,” said the man. Silvae, unsure what to make of the gesture, did not move. “I’m sorry friend, I cannot accept your generosity until you tell me who you are and where I am. As I said, I am not overly fond of chains”, replied Silvae calmly. The man, still squatting, turned his head away from Silvae and looked in the direction of the other prisoners. “You eat, and later you walk.”

“Walk, walk where?” replied a confused Silvae.

The man turned back to face Silvae. Clasping his hands together, he let out a slow breath of warm air and began to rub them together. “Do you know why these caverns are so cold? Surely not but I will enlighten you to the ways of this part of the world. You might not think it but they were dug here with the specific purpose of refuge from the flames above. You see, at one time there was much war and famine above, and those seeking shelter dug down below the river to escape.” The man reached down and picked up a handful of sand off the floor below. Allowing the sand to trickle from one hand through the other he gestured towards Silvae. “You see, the sand here is red and coarse. It’s dune sand, the sand of my people,” the man trailed off and seemed to be lost in thought. Silvae, shuffled back and straightened himself, he wanted to appear tall in the face of the stranger. The Man continued, “My… people… yes…. this is what interests me my friend, we are 5 days hard walking from the dunes… so how do you suppose the sand got here? It’s a question I have asked myself many times….” Silvae, feeling confused and frustrated now leaned forward towards the man.

“Enough! Enough sand, enough of your people, I want to know what’s going on. Who are you, where am I, who is holding me here?” replied an exasperated Silvae. The man stood up abruptly, “my name is Djatar, that is all you need to know. Tomorrow, you walk” and with that he turned and left.

Silvae, confused, and sitting in the dark began to try and piece together the events that preceded this moment. He knew that he had been stabbed by Kipflix, and he vaguely remembered being carried and dragged through mud. What he was unclear about was everything in between, and he felt that this man, Djatar, had the answers. Distracted by these thoughts Silvae suddenly felt a rush of panic run through him. “Tally!” he internally exclaimed. He had totally forgotten about the Marchioness! What had befallen her? Had she suffered the same fate as him? Was she still with Kipflix? Feeling a sense of dread fall over him, Silvae turned and began to look frantically around the cave but was met by nothing but darkness. “Tally” he began to shout in a low tone so as not to bring Djatar back up from the passage below.

“Tally are you here?”

“Quiet!” snapped the raspy voice from the dark. “You’ll bring him back. Your friend…. Not here… Just us…” replied the voice frantically.

“I mean not to bring anyone here” Silvae replied in a hushed tone, “but I desperately need your help. Can you tell me where we are? Who are the others in here with us?”

“Shhh! Shhh! don’t bring them back!!! They’ll come!!! They’ll hear you!!! They’ll stop you like they did the others!!!” wailed the raspy voice.

Silvae, not wanting to provoke a further outburst from the raspy voiced man that might prompt Djatar to return elected to leave his questions unanswered for now.

Turning his attention back to the problem at hand, Silvae began to inspect his bindings. Along his legs ran a single length of chain that wound around his ankles and looped through a circular latch that had been hammered into the stone ground. Although not firmly secured, it was too tight to slip out of. As he ran his hand over the length of the chain he felt the grit of rust and dust in between his fingers, “a good sign” thought Silvae as an older worn chain might be cracked or yanked apart if enough force was applied. The problem was how was he going to break the bindings, and how was he going to do it in a manner quietly enough to not alert Djatar…. Silvae sighed and leant back against the side of the cavern wall. He could probably break the chain, but was it safer to make a run for it in the morning? What about asking the strange raspy voice for help?

Silvae pondered his options:

1.) Break the chain now and run for it.

2.) Wait until morning and try and run when “the walk” begins.

3.) Ask the raspy voiced man for help.

4.) Do nothing and try and find a better plan later.

Vote here:

https://snapshot.org/#/thelucidplanet.eth/proposal/0x2c5afeef2ba582f4269d0223fd7417d5f346443a81eed7d186dfec51fd9e869f

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In the previous episode Episode VI | Part 1 majority voted: Silvea to be left in the Forest & Tally to be taken to camp

Read on to see how the community vote impacts the story on The Lucid Planet.

Plot Summary

Silvae stabbed and unconscious is left with two of Kipflix’s men in the Forest. 

Episode Content

Fading in and out of consciousness Silvae tried to make sense of what was happening. He felt himself drifting through darkness - not sure if it was the wagon that he had been thrown into, or the beginning of the end of his life. It was pitch black both in and outside the wagon, the only light that permeated the slits of the wooden walls were those held by the mounted soldiers who were escorting the carriage. He could feel the presence of another person, which was likely Tally, crying in the corner.

There was a mist in the air that illuminated the soldiers’ torches. The flames flickered and danced in the darkness while wind rattled a steady drum on the carriage walls. Suddenly, the carriage lurched to a halt. The thud of the soldiers’ boots sloshed on the muddy ground and the clank of keys against the metal lock brought Silvae back into the present. The side door burst open, shooting torch light into the dark void that had been the cramped carriage interior. Silvae, strewn on the floor, Tally gagged and tied up towards the rear snapped to attention. 

“Not again!” bellowed the soldier. “Come have a look at this one, he’s messed up our carriage with that stinking green muck of his. These filthy creatures….” 

“Silence” replied Kipflix, “we have hours left to travel and you have work to do”.

The soldier, leaning into the carriage, attempted to pick up Silvae by his arms. His grip, hindered  by the blood that slowly dripped down Silvae’s arm, failed to hold and he fell back onto the muddy ground. The other soldier, who had been patiently waiting, half happy to not have been asked to carry the bleeding prisoner himself, burst into laughter.

“If it’s so funny, why don’t you help him?” gruffed Kipflix. 

The second soldier, both frustrated yet fearful, complied and dismounted to help his comrade. Both soldiers now tried to remove Silvae from the wagon. With heavy breathing, the two struggled to get a grip on the limp yet heavy body of the herbalist. 

“Sire, the ground is too muddy for us to move him. We’ll need more hands if we want to get him clear of the carriage.” 

“Very well” said Kipflix, who motioned for two more men to dismount and help the others. It took four of them some concerted effort to remove the herbalist from the wagon as the wind increased its steady onslaught. Dragging rather than carrying him, the men positioned Silvae at the back of the carriage and propped him up against a muddy wheel. 

As Kipflix looked around at his soldiers, he felt somewhat relieved that they had no concept of who Silvae was in relation to himself. Their disgust at Silvae should rightly be directed at him, but he had done well to hide his Heaveann roots. For now, their hatred was a useful tool, and Kipflix would seek to use this to end this chapter of his life for good. 

Walking over to Silvae’s limp body, Kipflix bent down to get a better look at the Herbalist. Scanning Silvae’s facial features, Kipflix tried to recall if this man in front of him bore any resemblance to the soldier he fought with so long ago. He was older now of course, but that wasn’t what surprised Kipflix most. It was that any semblance of anger seemed to have lifted from the Herbalists face. He was calm, not just in this moment, but in a way that seemed to transcend what was naturally possible. He had shifted into something other than his past self, and Kipflix pondered what might have allowed for such a transition…

“Begging your pardon sire, but might we make for camp? The wind is picking up again and it’s really getting quite dark” interjected one of Kipflix’s men. “We can leave the Herbalist here, no one will find him on these roads”. 

“No” replied Kipflix. “No leaving him on any roads. We can’t risk leaving any trace of what happened here. Get your shovels, we’re burying him”. Kipflix looked around for a spot quickly to appear assertive, “… over there” He pointed towards a dense group of trees about 100 meters off the path.

“But he’s still alive, Sire.” Questioned the soldier. “What if…”

“Do you think I care?” snapped Kipflix.  “Just let nature do its work. Grab his legs and move him over there immediately. Dig fast, and deep, or I’ll be burying you next to him.” Kipflix turned and walked back over to his Sergeant and the other lingering soldier, “We’ll make for camp, the others will stay here and finish off this mess. Bring the wagon up once they move the body”, and with that he mounted his horse and rode off into the darkness. 

The two soldiers reluctantly walked over to the side of the carriage and retrieved a small shovel from the supply chest. The shovel, short in length and quite flimsy, was for shoveling horse manure, and would take considerable time to dig a grave. “Just our luck” gruffed the soldier who was holding the shovel. “This will take us all night, and I bet they don’t even save us any supper”. The other soldier, equally frustrated, shrugged with indignation and stepped back from the carriage to clear its path.

“Shut up” barked the Sergeant, “you’ve got your orders now get it done. I’ll not be the one to be responsible for our Master’s rage if you don’t do it properly, so get it done and get it done right”. And with that he kicked the horses into motion and the carriage began to lurch forward. Silvae, unconscious and propped up against the back wheel, fell into the mud as the wagon pulled forward and set off down the road towards Kipflix’s camp. He lay there motionless, surrounded by mud and filth. 

The two soldiers watched longingly as the carriage pulled away and into the night. It squelched and wove its way through the muddied track until out of sight, leaving the soldiers standing over Silvae’s near lifeless body. The air had gone completely still, and the soldiers stood silently, both looking in the direction that the carriage had just left. Suddenly a crack of thunder echoed across the sky, and a heavy downpour began almost instantaneously. 

“More great luck!” cried the younger soldier, “we’re not out here for 2 minutes and it’s stinking raining”. Frustrated, he threw the shovel down into the mud. It splattered a filthy mist up into the air then sunk calmly into the wet ground. The older soldier, still looking down the road, snapped his neck around at the noise. “Cut it out you idiot! We need that!” Walking over to the shovel he kicked the mud aside and pulled it out of the wet ground. “Here, you’re on digging duty for that!” he barked, shaking the shovel in the direction of the young soldier. The younger soldier, ignoring what the elder had just said, walked over to Silvae and gave him a hard kick in the side. “Wake up you bastard! It’s not time to die just yet”, Silvae’s half conscious face gave no response. “You know, it would help if this bastard could walk” huffed the young soldier, “next time let’s kill them after we’ve got them to dig the grave for us”. The older soldier, still standing with the shovel in his hand, shifted his way through the mud over to Silvae. “Come on, best we get moving this one now before we’re soaked through. You grab his legs and I’ll grab his arms. I’ll be stuffed if we’re dragging him all the way over there” motioning to the spot Kipflix had selected. “Let’s dump him behind those rocks.”

The two soldiers, struggling in the mud and rain, dragged Silvae clumsily towards the spot the older soldier had pointed out. Silvae, vaguely conscious of the fact he was moving, let out a faint cry for help but could not find the words. “Shut it” barked the young soldier, who butted him with his knee. Silvae, drained almost completely of energy, lapsed back into unconsciousness while the soldiers continued to drag his exhausted body. After about 10 minutes of continued stops, starts, and the occasional fall into the mud, the soldiers reached the edge of the rocky outcrop that the older soldier had motioned to. Muddy and fatigued, the older soldier dropped Silvae’s legs heavily on the ground and slumped on a nearby rock. The younger soldier, now left holding Silvae’s arms, followed suit and dropped the herbalist whose body made an audible “thud” as it splashed into the soft ground below. The older soldier, intent on taking full advantage of his new mud free surroundings, reached into his pouch and rummaged around for his pipe. Finding some half soaked tobacco, he began to pack it with vigor, looking forward to the sweet taste of tobacco as respite from the increasing intensity of the rain. 

“I’m beat” sighed the younger of the two, who joined his colleague sitting down on the rocks. The older of the two, fumbling with some flints to spark his pipe, let out a sigh of relief when his tobacco took the flame. “You know, it could be worse,” he replied. “Think of it. We’re here in the rain, but we’re not getting yelled at or ordered around are we? They’re thinking we’re gonna be out here all night, only we’re gonna be finished up soon enough to make for a stop at them villages at the edge of the woods. I’m supposing we even might be able to get an ale if we wake the innkeeper.” 

Perking up on hearing the news, the younger soldier gave Silvae a quick kick to the side. “Sounds grand, but we’ve still got to bury this bastard”. Realizing that he was not yet at the tavern drinking Ale, the older soldier snapped out of his short-lived daydream - “right, right” he replied. “Let’s get some light around here. Go put a torch out in the mud there, and I’ll put mine here amongst these loose rocks” motioning to the edge of the outcrop. He looked at the ground and gave it quick once over with his foot. It felt sandy, much better ground for digging than the muddy sludge they had just trudged through. “Quick here, get me that shovel” bellowed the old soldier, “I’ve got a good place to start the digging”. The younger soldier, walking back from where he had just staked the torch in the ground, looked over at his companion. “Changed your tune, haven't you?” he replied, tossing the shovel over. The older soldier caught the shovel in one hand and plunged it into the ground kicking his heel into the back of it. The soft sand gave way immediately and soon he was making good progress on digging the beginnings of the shallow grave for Silvae.   

The younger soldier, content to wait it out now that he had been relieved of digging duty, rummaged around his pouch looking for his own pipe. Finding it, he lifted it up to eye level and inspected it. It was soaked through and caked in mud from where he had fallen before. Patting it gently on his tunic he tried to wipe away the sticky mud from the pipe’s interior but could not clear it enough to adequately pack tobacco. Frustrated, he looked about for a solution but everything he found was also caked in sticky black mud. 

Suddenly he remembered that there was a small stream about 75 yards from the path on which they had just dragged Silvae. He had only just caught a glimpse of it on the way over but he figured he could find his way back if he took the torch he had just staked into the ground. Walking back to the outcrop and down to the side of the hillock he approached the torch giving it a tug and freeing it from the muddy ground. Not wanting to be opted back into digging duty he continued to quietly move his way down the left hand side of the outcrop so as to stay out of view of the older soldier until he was a good distance away. Reaching the bottom, he oriented himself and set off in the general direction of where he remembered seeing the stream. 

The older soldier, focused entirely on digging did not notice the young soldier slip out of view. He was content now, happily shifting the soft sand back and forth in the type of rhythmic harmony one can only find through manual labor. Despite the heavy rain and increasing drum of the wind the old soldier began to hum a tune. He was reminded of his days as a boy on the farm, and all the digging he did there during the harvest season. After several more minutes of digging and reminiscing the soldier felt sufficiently satisfied and decided to take a break. Laying the shovel at the foot of the shallow grave, he arched back and clumsily stepped over the side of the grave wall. Sitting on a nearby rock he reached into his pouch for his pipe. It was at this moment the old soldier realized that he was alone.

“Hey Gribble” yelled the old soldier, “where’d you get to you useless skamelar”. Not getting any response the old soldier jumped up onto the highest point of the hillock and started to scan his surroundings. Despite his outward demeanor the old soldier was starting to feel quite anxious at this new predicament. He was used to the Forest, but being out here alone in the rain and wind for a night was not something he looked forward to. That and having to return home alone to Kipflix…. the thought made him shudder… 

The wind was really picking up now and he was having trouble seeing through the now sideways torrent of the rain. He cupped his hand over his eyes and squinted in the direction in which they had just walked. Looking out over the hillock he thought that he could make out the faint glow of a torch light some 200 yards from his current position. It was foggy but he was certain that what he was looking at was a light despite the increase in both the wind and rain obscuring his vision. Struggling to now stand firmly on the rocks as he was battered by the sideways onslaught of wind and water, he called out as loudly as possible. “Gribble! Gribble! What the hell are you doing out THERE!!!” Suddenly, out of nowhere, everything went quiet and the yelling of the old soldier echoed out across the muddy plains below. The wind, rain, and mist had vanished, and the old soldier was left standing in an eerie stillness of complete black. Looking about, and feeling a general unease, the old soldier slumped back down behind the rock he was standing on. He grabbed the nearby torch in one hand and drew his sword. “Gribble” he yelped in the direction of the torchlight but it too suddenly disappeared from view. The old soldier, now more than a little scared, shifted himself up off the rock and got ready to make a run for the road. Suddenly, a rasping echo boomed out across the valley below, bouncing off the rocks, and shattered all presence of calmness that the absence of the weather had brought on.    

“RHYTHMIC CHANTING”

The soldier began to shake, and dropped both sword and torch and clasped his ears to escape the horrible chanting. 

“RHYTHMIC CHANTING”

The old soldier, with nowhere to go, rolled over on one side into the fresh grave he had dug. He lay there paralyzed with fear until as suddenly it had started the chanting stopped. The frightened soldier, unable to move, lay still and covered his eyes. He had been in many battles over the years but the feeling of dread and fear that overcame him right now was unlike anything he had experienced before. Lying there, as still as could be, he caught the soft squelch of boots on mud. He heard the rhythmic walking increase in pace and knew that whoever or whatever was outside was getting closer.

“Giml, Sade, Pit…. Giml, Sade, Pit….” a voice whispered out. The words cut fiercely toward the soldier and the squelching of the boots intensified. Frightened beyond belief the old soldier curled deeper into a ball and thrust himself firmly against the grave walls. He was too afraid to run but also stricken by a morbid curiosity to see who or what was chanting at him. Spreading his fingers slowly apart he snuck a glance at the figure above. What he saw shocked him - it was unlike anything he had seen before. It was a man, or at least took on the form of one, and he guessed at least 6 or 7 feet. Clad in all black plate mail armor with a teardrop mask, the figure's cape bellowed over the grave-site and swallowed up the soldier's view of the night sky. The figure wasn’t looking at him, but he felt its presence notice him. It was an eerie sensation, but one interrupted swiftly by the sudden repetition of the chanting before  - “Giml, Sade, Pit, Giml, Sade, Pit”. Strangely, the words didn’t seem to come from the creature's mouth but rather permeated the earth around the soldier who again had gone back to covering his face as last hope of extraditing himself from the situation. 

At this point the soldier heard a sudden squelch of mud and opened his eyes. The figure, now standing over him, had turned his face down at the grave. The lifeless teardrop mask stared motionless at the soldier below, who at this point catatonic with fear lay completely still. The figure, reaching into a sheath, removed a sword and raised it high into the air. The soldier, lying still, a veteran of several battles felt a deep calm descend over him - death was inevitable. Then the methodical stabbing commenced, at least 10 swift strokes of the blade that cut cleanly each time through the soldier's tunic. It wasn’t rage, or fear, or frenzy, it was a calculated ritual dispatch that drove these blows. With his last conscious thought the soldier noticed a peculiarity. The figure's hand, adorned with 2 rings, bore the sign of Alep. “Alep'' he cried with his last breath before fading into the ether. The night went dark, the sacrifice ended, the soldier gone. 

“Giml, Sade, Pit…. Giml, Sade, Pit….” “Giml, Sade, Pit…. Giml, Sade, Pit….” “Giml, Sade, Pit…. Giml, Sade, Pit….”

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In the previous episode (Chapter 1: Episode V), gazers voted for Choice 3): “Silvae takes the chains from the soldier nearby Tally and proceeds to tie her up”.

Read on to see how the community vote impacts the story on The Lucid Planet.

Chapter 1: Episode VI - Part 1

The Marchioness was staring at the fire to her right, she could see the flames slowly meander and flicker in a repeating fashion. There was a humming sound in the background, it was faint. She changed her attention to the sound. It was a continuous note, something that resembled a singing bowl. As she focused on the sound and the fire, the two elements began to move in sync with each other where one appeared to affect another.

Curiously as her focus began to weaken, the fire and music receded. She returned to reality when Silvae stepped in front of her. Bewildered, Tally looked up at Silvae and realized what was happening. Her eyes initially fierce with anger from the apparent betrayal, relaxed as her gaze met his. Silvae, without speaking a word, began to tie the chains around Tally’s arms and legs in a methodical fashion. To her astonishment, it was not anger she saw in his eyes, but a much calmer tone that the Marchioness had not been expecting. She thought to herself that this was not an act of betrayal, but one of protection.

Kipflix, noticing that Silvae had finished tying the chains around Tally, walked over to both of them disturbing the stillness of the moment. Stepping close to Silvae, Kipflix began his interrogation -. “How did you come by this woman?” The initial warmness of his welcome was replaced by a stern inquisition.

Silvae paused for a time and considered his response carefully. “Well, it’s not often I take in strangers… Moreover, it’s not often I find injured strangers when out picking mushrooms. So, in all, I think that this is a line of questioning that I am not quite prone to answer” Silvae replied with some indignation. “However, for you Kipflix, I will make an exception. From what I could get out of the girl, she’s some kind of merchant from The Garden who lost her way. I’m not quite sure how she came to be out this way, or how she came to be injured, but I was bringing her to the edge of the Forest so she might make her way back to her realm.” It was a half truth, but Silvae thought it convincing enough.

Kipflix looked at Silvae sternly. He did not trust the Herbalists' account of the events leading to the discovery of the girl and was growing impatient. Feeling the restlessness swell within him Kipflix stood up and walked over to where Tally lay. Although of average height, the Marchioness was towered over by Kipflix who was uncommonly tall for a Dwellnar. Looking up she could not help but feel that others had been in this intimidating position before and shuddered to think of the outcome of that engagement. Kipflix, stared down Tally and studied her features. She was fair, but unremarkable. Not special in any way in particular, but no merchant that was for sure.

“Harboring strangers of the realm is not a good look on you, old friend.” said Kipflix with a cold indifference. “What troubles me is not that you wanted to help this girl, but why you didn’t alert your Lord of her presence. I can understand your curiosity, but not your total abandonment of duty to your fief. Something more sinister is going on here. I can feel it”. Kipflix faced his soldiers and grunted out orders to bring them over to the carriage.

The Marchioness and Silvae were brought over to Kipflix’s carriage. Tally, who had only ever traveled in absolute luxury could not help but notice that this carriage resembled more a box on wheels than any form of transport she was used to. There were no windows, only small slots in between the woodwork, it was almost as if it was a cell on wheels thought the Marchioness.

Tally, now understanding that she was about to go into captivity, made a plea to Kipflix. “Sir, I am at a loss for what you mean to do with us? I simply do not understand. We mean no harm and are quite near to being gone from this land. Surely we can work out some arrangement that benefits us all.

Ignoring Tally, Kipflix barked, “Put the girl in the carriage.” The soldier’s aggressively grabbed Tally by her arms and lifted her up. Screaming Silvae’s name and kicking with all her might, Tally desperately tried to fight her way out but was unsuccessful. The soldiers, regaining control of Tally, secured her in the back of the carriage and shut the door.

Silvae fearing for what would happen to Tally, began to plead with Kipflix. “Enough! This is madness!” he shouted. “The girl means nothing to you and I, she is a stranger in this land. By oath of the Forest I am bound to give her safe passage out of these lands. You cannot deny me that right!”

Kipflix smirked. “There is no law of the Forest other than what we ourselves make master Herbalist. Force alone dictates that, and I have the greater strength of numbers to impart my will over any ancient mysticism, no matter how real it might seem to you.”

Silvae, at this point visibly upset at the turn of events, slumped to the ground. He had been bested and he knew it. Still, a fire quietly raged within him. Something greater called out for him to try and save Tally from the Dwellnar Prince.

Building up his last ounce of courage Silvae stood back up and turned to face Kipflix. “I cannot let you…” he uttered but he was unable to finish the sentence before Kipflix plunged a dagger into his side. Silvae, not knowing how to respond, simply looked up at Kipflix in astonishment. At that moment it dawned on him that he had been stabbed and the pain took over. Letting out a deep yelp Silvae fell to his knees and then slumped on the forest floor.

Kipflix, with his dagger in his left hand, looked down at Silvae, who was still breathing but losing blood from his side. “I’m sorry Silvae, but necessities are necessities and you are no longer one… Take her away”, gruffed Kipflix.

“But Sire, what do we do with the Herbalist?” asked one of Kipflix’s soldiers.

“There can be no witnesses. Even his body can provide answers. Get him into the carriage.” He cleaned his dagger on his armor, returned it to his holster, and mounted his nearby horse.

Kipflix, content with his good fortune of capturing this stranger, thought over his options.

1.) Bring Silvae and Tally to the Dwellnar court 2.) Bring Silvae and Tally to his camp for further questioning 3.) Leave Silvae somewhere in the Forest and take Tally to the Dwellnar court 4.) Leave Silvae somewhere in the Forest and take Tally to his camp 5.) Return Silvae to his people in exchange for a reward but keep Tally for questioning 6.) Return Silvae and Tally in exchange for a larger reward

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Chapter 1: Episode VI - Part 2

Riding steadily on his light brown sumpter horse, Baron Treste moved through the forest, tree by tree. The path that he was taking was one of the old trade routes that had since been forgotten by time. His father had often spoken about these roads, how they were filled with both religious and merchant folk, all seeking their fortunes and futures as if they were already written.

Suddenly he could hear singing in the distance. It seemed to bounce off one tree to another and the sound appeared to initially be all around him. He looked up puzzled and then realized his mistake. His Filipa Bird darted downwards from the sky and landed on the head of his horse. “Hello Martince! What have you found for Papa?”

The little bird absorbed what The Baron had asked and quickly flew upwards but remained in sight and ahead of Treste to show him the way. The two repeated this pattern many times that day until they reached a stream near the villages at the edge of the forest.

Martince circled the area and then landed on the tip of a small house. Treste, close to the bird, dismounted from his horse and led it by its brindles over to the house. There was no one, only silence.

Treste walked around the villages and not a single soul remained. There was no sign of a fight or anything for that matter. Clothes were still hung out to dry, as were the remnants of a recent hunt.

Nearby there were the hot coals of a fire. He tread carefully over to it with his hand holding the top of his holstered sword. With his hands outstretched, he felt the warmth over the fire and concluded, “Warm but warm enough for it to be recent.” He turned to his side and noticed deep tracks going in an easterly direction. As he looked closely, there was evidence of footprints and several areas of blood. “Green blood?” Pondered The Baron. This blood was not human, it was likely of the Forest people.

Behind The Baron, there was the sound of snapping branches on the floor. He turned to face the sound but there was no one. His heart began to thump deeply and rapidly. Someone else was here, watching him from the tree line.

There was a deep pulse that seemed to vibrate from the floor itself. It spooked The Baron’s horse immensely and it shrieked and leaped back on its hind legs. The pulse seemed to strengthen. The Baron raced towards his horse filled with terror of an unimaginable magnitude.

He quickly mounted his horse, grabbed the reins, and there at that moment he had to decide where to go.

1.) Should he return to his Prince and report his findings? 2.) Should he pursue the tracks and see where they go? 3.) Should he muster up some courage, dismount from his horse, and stay where he is?

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Tally sat up and gently felt the back of her head. The pain was dull, far less than what it had been yesterday. Oddly, it was slightly cool to the touch. “A side effect of the ointment?” She pondered and then asked Silvae, “But who would try to hurt me?” She tried to recall any past event beyond the first awakening but all that came to her was an overload of fast-moving memories.

Silvae, sensing The Marchioness’s own frustrations, illuminated, “The Scar is known very well by our people. Many have fallen to its use in combat.” As he spoke, he visualized the great battles of his ancestors. Cries of suffering and war chants echoed through his mind. “Your people of The Garden used it on us in The Battle of Garnate, some millennia ago.” He walked to a wall nearby and started to draw a distinct shape. “It is not easily forgotten.”

“You appear to presume that one of my own people seeks my demise?”, asked Tally. Silvae paused and looked towards the markings. “I do not know for certain. Do you know anyone who may want to cause you harm?”, asked Silvae. “No. No one.” Tally responded. But internally she felt uncomfortable from that answer. Not only did she not know who she really was, now there was someone who might want her dead.

“Tally, we must proceed like pollen and carry ourselves quickly and carefully to the edge of the forest. Remnants of my people live near the water. I believe we can find a temporary sanctuary there.”

“But why not ask for the Lord’s help?” quizzed Tally.

“That man, or rather the mind of that man cannot be trusted. It has been twisted and churned towards the ambitions of his son.” Responded Silvae. Whilst true, he at that time did not feel comfortable sharing all his reasons. Any signature of the Scar on Forest territory could be used to stir up old tensions.

The Marchioness stood up for the first time. There was some slight dizziness but upon breathing carefully, she was able to regain her footing and the uneasy feelings faded. Not long after, they departed from their dwellings and proceeded towards the edge of the forest. Just out of sight of the travelers, a Filipa Bird landed on a perch nearby. It watched as they made their way through the forest.

The pair walked in single file through the dense forest. As they passed through a particularly thick area, they reached a clearing. Above them were an array of different colored trees. They stood quite tall compared to the other nearby trees. Each one shared a different color, some had bright red, others a dark green, and another with purple and yellow intertwined. “Arvorist Esplosisms”, pointed out Silvae.

As The Marchioness looked closer, it appeared that each branch contained an odd-looking ball of pine needles. “Bird nests?”, questioned Tally. “They truly look like that but alas no, watch what happens when they are agitated,” responded Silvae, who then reached downwards and picked up a small rock.

With one single action, he threw the rock at one of the pine balls. On impact, the ball exploded outwards with a sharp bang. Hundreds of pine needles flew out and collided with a nearby tree setting off a chain reaction of other sharp explosions. “Not very subtle, are they?”, commented The Marchioness. Silvae smiled, nodded, and motioned them to continue.

Whilst walking now side by side, Silvae explained, “Arvorists are like our people Tally. They live in a peaceful symbiosis with their neighbors. But there are some who wish to become dominant over those trees. Certain birds are not welcome visitors.”

Puzzled, The Marchioness sought to clarify with Silvae, “Birds? How can a bird be seen as a threat?”

“There is a specific bird to which we do not have a name, nor do our people grant one to it.” Answered Silvae, “They like to bore holes into the Arvorists and take out all the essence of what that tree was, leaving only a dry husk behind.”

“So, its recourse is to annihilate things that get too close?”, questioned Tally.

“Only when it is truly threatened, should the tree choose to act, and it does so in unison with its neighbors.” Silvae responded. There was for a moment a sense of fire in his eyes. It glimmered for a second and then returned to his curious, inquisitive nature.

“One last thing to note, Tally.” Silvae leaned in and warned, “If you spot feathers in The Forest proceed with caution.”

The Marchioness absorbed what was said. She looked up at one of the nearby trees and noticed it moving with the wind. Silvae proceeded to continue walking forward whilst Tally stayed behind for a moment. A needle from a neighboring tree had pierced this one and it was leaking some resin-like fluid. Without thinking, Tally retrieved a piece of cloth from her pocket, wiped the fluid from the tree and returned it to her pocket. She quickly caught up to Silvae and continued walking side by side.

---

As the sun was moving towards the horizon, the pair saw a small stream of gray smoke moving its way into the sky. The Marchioness’s stomach was rumbling and admittedly she was eager to rest and enjoy the comforts of the tribe. The two of them crossed a small stream, which was dotted with fish traps and other tools. Yet there was no one to be seen. As they made their way closer to the villages, Tally could smell the most wonderful essences of cooking and there were some distant sounds of singing. Both Silvae and The Marchioness moved quicker towards the center of the village, excited by what was about to come.

The two turned a corner and saw some men standing around a large fire. Each was clad with light armor. Just as The Herbalist realized his mistake, he stopped and put his arm on The Marchioness’s shoulder to stop but it was too late. He turned quickly but there were now two soldiers behind him. He turned to face the fire once again.

A loud, excited voice echoed through the village center, “Silvae!” The tallest of the soldiers walked into view, “How nice of you to join us and look you have even brought some company.” The tall soldier beamed at the pair.

“Kipflix.” Breathed Silvae.

“It is good to see you, my old friend. It has been some time.” Declared Kiplix. “Still, I didn’t think it was in your nature to help the enemy?” He asserted.

Silvae quickly responded in a laconic tone, “I’m not the one selling my soul for the Dwellnar, Kiplix.”

The uneasy tension by the fire was met by silence by both parties. The Marchioness sensing an opportunity, proceeded to speak up for the first time. “Let me be the first to say” – she was quickly cut off by Kiplix, who raised his hand dismissively. Two soldiers moved towards Tally. One grabbed her arm whilst the other prepared some chains.  

Silvae, alarmed by what was happening, had to decide. What was he to do?

Potential Decisions:

1. Silvae lets the soldiers tie up The Marchioness. He is forced away from the village by the soldiers.

2. Silvae grabs the weapon from a nearby soldier and fights to protect The Marchioness.

3. Silvae takes the chains from the soldier nearby Tally and proceeds to tie her up.

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Silvae had always been an adherent of the old ways and wasn’t about to end that tradition.

“Your secret is safe with me… Tally”, Silvae replied, slightly smiling at his use of the girl’s informal name. He felt a deep calmness wash over him; he was doing the right thing.

“Excellent, I do appreciate your candour Mr Herbalist”, said Tally who too was slightly smiling, more so out of relief. She wasn’t entirely trusting of this stranger yet, but she felt she might be able to soon.

“Come now” said Silvae, “we must make for my camp before nightfall. It’s not too far from here, and the Forest isn’t particularly dangerous, but it’s best to shelter after dark, especially when wounded. My clan, the Heveaan’s, have called these Trees home for 1000 years, and we pride ourselves on swift and safe navigation through even the most remote parts of the Forest!” Silvae, invigorated by his clear conscience, increased the length of his strides and marched with intent in the direction of his camp.

The Marchioness, not used to walking on anything outside manicured garden paths or marbled palace halls, felt slightly out of breath as she tried to keep pace. Although, the younger of the two by what she estimated as several decades, she was unable to match the vigour with which Silvae moved. A lifetime of walking these paths had given Silvae an instinctual sense of where to place his feet, something that the Marchioness was unable to replicate.

After several hours of what seemed like an endless cycle through the same patch of landscape, Tally, nearly defeated by the constant stumbling cried out, “Might we stop for just a moment Mr Herbalist… I’m not quite used to this form of travel, and my feet are terribly sore”, slumping down on a nearby log, Tally removed one of her boots and began to inspect it inquisitively.

Silvae, who until this point had been entirely possessed by the journey snapped back into the present moment. “Oh yes, you’re quite right my dear. We can certainly rest a moment… although… we’re about 100 metres from camp now, so if you can find it in yourself to make one last push, we might take a spot of rest in much greater comfort”. Tally, hungry, cold, and exhausted, really didn’t want to go on but she took comfort in the knowledge that she might better recover next to a warm fire. Struggling, she put her boot back on and slowly stood up. “Yes, you’re quite right Mr Herbalist, on we go”.

Tally walked the final stretch in silence. She was exhausted and her head was starting to throb again which blurred her vision. The mystical treatment Silvae had given her must have started to wear off, as she was becoming increasingly conscious of the need to rest and recover. “Here we are” said Silvae abruptly. Tally, confused, looked around intently. They had stopped in what seemed like the exact place they had started. There was nothing to indicate any kind of camp let alone any difference from the rest of the trail. “Sorry Mr Herbalist, I don’t quite see what you mean… Aren’t we supposed to be approaching your camp by now? This seems like any other patch of land on the trail we just walked” replied the bemused Tally.

Silvae, turned and smiled wryly at Tally. “That is precisely what it is my girl, a place like any other only different.” Tally looked around even more intently, her vision although blurred was not so bad as to miss the camp. Silvae, noticing the look of confusion on her face realised that the omission of detail might be causing the girl some distress.

“Sorry my dear, I should have explained it to you in clearer detail. We’re standing on top of the camp right now!!! In fact, most of my people’s homes are underground, a necessity of living so close to nature. You see, it is because of the trees! The branches stop us from building anything higher than a single floor, and the roots in the ground wreak havoc for any form of foundations being placed. So, as a practical people who prefer to live with and not against nature we decided to settle underground or in caves. It might not sound glamourous, but we have all the amenities one might desire.

Tallerius, fatigued to the point of collapse, slumped to the ground. “I would love to hear more about your people Mr Herbalist, but I do fear that I am in somewhat of a need of a good rest. This wound of mine is rather bothering, and I do fear falling asleep before having it tended to.”

Silvae, now alerted to the deteriorating state of his guest acted quickly. He bent over where he stood and picked up a thin cylinder of wood from the ground below. Taking the cylinder in hand, he walked over to a large birch tree and placed it firmly in what seemed like a knot in the tree’s exterior. Watching him from her place on the ground, Tallerius felt the earth begin to shift beneath her. Silvae, without breaking focus on the task at hand, moved swiftly over to where Tallerius was seated and took the hand of his new acquaintance. “A door will open just over there” he said as he pointed to an ordinary looking bolder obscured by some undergrowth. Tallerius, at this point so fatigued fell asleep in Silvaes arms.

Only vaguely remembering the journey underground she awoke to a stinging pain on the back of her head. “Ouch” she cried out, as she opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. Seated next to hear was Silvae, who was applying some sort of balm to the back of her head with a silk cloth. Beyond him, she could make out clay walls ordained with animal skins and bones, as well as a shelf containing vials of what seemed to be black goo and other plant material. She could not see beyond the adjacent room, but got the impression that this was a temporary shelter that Silvae had turned into a workshop of some kind.

“All done” said Silvae, as he removed the cloth from the back of her head. “The poultice I applied earlier was a temporary remedy. This, however, is much more potent and should keep the pain at bay until you are fully healed. It seems the blow to your head was worse than on first inspection, luckily, I had some Xertus balm I acquired off a merchant several months ago”. Silvae, remembering the strange encounter felt a sudden shiver tingle down his spine, it had been an intensely uncomfortable experience to find a stranger on his doorstep. The Merchant, Xenter, although not a danger to Silvae, gave off a strange impression that had never quite left his consciousness. Regaling the Herbalist with a tail of a faraway battle whose places and names Silvae had no reference of, Xenter let slip that there was something coming, some unspeakable force that had prompted their journey this far and would prompt it further still. Silvae, disturbed at the thought that his camp could one day be the front lines of some unknown foreign conflict had buried this memory deep in the back of his mind, and it was only the use of the Xertus balm that brought it back into the forefront of his memory.

Snapping back to the present moment, Silave noticed that Tallerius was drifting off to sleep. Not wanting to wake the girl, he slipped quietly out of the room and into his study. He thought about the coming days and his options with the girl. The Oath of the Forest meant he had a duty to protect her, but he also did not want to upset his Lord by not formerly declaring that he was traveling with a foreigner through his land.

Silvae was left with a choice,

1.) Head to the Lord’s court and introduce Tally 2.) Avoid the Lord’s court and make for the Villages at the edge of the Forest 3.) Avoid the villages and the Lord’s court and make for the Mountain Pass

Silvae, wanting to do right by Tallerius would deliver her in one way or another to a friendly post with which she might make her way home. The question was how far was he willing to go?

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EXT - THE FOREST

The Marchioness, still groggy from the blow to the head tried to compose herself.

“Well, it’s a rather complicated story” she said. “I’m having trouble making sense of it myself. You see, I have a good sense of what I am, but not who I am…”

Pausing, she lifted her hand to the back of her head. She winced as she felt the wound, it was a nasty blow and unlikely to have been an accident. In any other circumstance, this would have put her ill at ease, but the kindness in this stranger’s voice had tempered her anxieties. Moreover, she hadn’t much choice but to trust this Herbalist, as without a guide she wasn’t going anywhere.

“My name is Marchioness Tallerius, of the House of Ganter and I am honoured to formally make your acquaintance” she replied. “I owe you an unpayable debt of gratitude. Had you not chanced upon me in the woods then I shudder to think what might have happened…”

Her thoughts returned to a flash of light and sound for an instant, but before she could focus in on the memory she was back in the present. Stuttering, she refocussed, “There is… or rather I require... Or would appreciate one small favour from you” she shifted her stance inward slightly, her confidence lessened by the strange circumstances she found herself in. “Would you do me the courtesy of keeping my rank and title somewhat hazy… You see that hit on the head has done quite a number on me, and, until my senses fully recover, I would prefer it if we could use my informal name ‘Tally’”.

Silvae, passively observing until this point perked up at this request. “Well now, that is not… not what I expected. I agree that is in our best interests to keep your identity informal, however, I must admit that this puts me in somewhat a predicament”.

Silvae also shifted his stance, less so out of concern for this current moment but rather in response to the stress surrounding the decision he would have to make. He paused and thought about his options. He was bound by the law of the Forest to offer safe passage to the girl but to do so was... treasonous. The tensions between the Forest and Garden were escalating and a prisoner of one of the Great houses would make for an extremely attractive bargaining chip in the negotiations. His Lord might even see fit to promote Silvae to full Heveaan and omit his Dwelnar lineage from the court’s records.

What should Silvae do?

1.) Keep the Marchioness's secret (ally)

2.) Reveal the Marchioness's true identity to his Lord (enemy)

3.) Keep the Marchioness's secret but only in return for a favor (leverage)

4.) Make no promises (neutral)

Vote here:

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INT - The House of Ganter - The Galleous Empire

Prince Gentep sat alone in his study staring impatiently out his window.

It had been 5 days since anyone had seen his daughter and he was restless at the lack of progress that had been made in discovering her whereabouts. He had called for her fiancé, Baron Treste, on the second day of her absence. The Baron, slow as always, had only just made his way to the Prince’s keep after getting lost within his own fief. Just then, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in” said Prince Gentep.

Baron Treste shuffled through the large oak doorway with an apathetic gait. He moved quickly to the nearest chair and settled himself into a seated position fixing his gaze firmly on the ground. Baron Treste wasn’t an intelligent man, but he had the survival instinct to know one’s place. In this instance, his future was firmly in the Prince’s hands and he intended to make no mistakes. Losing a Marchioness was one thing, but losing his master’s Daughter and future wife was an entirely different situation.

“Do you know why you’re here?” said the Prince, launching straight into his line of questioning. Getting out of his chair he walked over to the window. He had yet to make eye contact with the Baron and continued to speak without visually acknowledging his presence.

“Hmm, I suppose you have some idea, losing a Marchioness, even for someone as stupid as yourself, has got to be somewhat of a rare occurrence...” The Prince lifted his hand to the window and began to fidget with the locking mechanism that held it in place. The Baron, alerted by the noise, lifted his gaze temporarily but quickly returned his eyes to the ground.

“Well now perhaps I am being too harsh on you my dear boy? I mean, who doesn’t misplace their future wife and heir to the realm occasionally?”.

The Prince still fidgeting with the lock spun quickly and walked up the Baron’s chair. Gripping the back of it, he positioned himself directly behind him. Although less than a foot from each other, neither man was looking at the other.

“I say” said the Prince, “This has got to be the highlight of my week. First an army vanishes and now my daughter. Although, I must admit my boy, that people like you are the only thing that lets me sleep at night. Knowing the utter incompetence of the Lord’s at court ensures the entirety of my reign. However, this is not a world in which I plan to do so without my daughter, so I ask you Treste,

- What in the hell happened to her???”

1.) Tell the Prince about the ambush (truth)

2.) Tell the Prince she ran away (lie)

3.) Tell the Prince you can't remember (neutral)

4.) Say nothing (neutral)

Vote here:

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It’s about being truly attuned to your senses. The act of navigation should be that of instinct, and there ought be no need for a map if you are walking the paths your ancestors carved out over a millenia. This is how we are, and have always been, and it has kept us relatively safe from incursion from those who seek to do us ill will. Although, I must admit, our people have become somewhat stubborn in their conviction about the purity of the Forest, which, owing to the declining numbers of our tribe has led to some internal rumblings within the court.

You see, the Forest is plentiful in natural wonders, but for those seeking fame and fortune, there is greater wealth to be made beyond the mountain pass. We seldom talk of these things, yet it is a universal truth that the old ways are slipping from our collective consciousness. This new age, the one of Xudo, brings forth an interesting question for my people – what role will we seek to play in the coming conflict?

Traditionally we are defensive in nature but the call from the court to muster men for raids beyond the mountain is escalating. You see our Lord seeks to go on the offensive and carve out a safe tract of land for us between the forest and the Mountain pass. Customarily this has been home to those who we call the Dwellnar, a sort of nomadic sister tribe to our own people, who we’ve had an uneasy truce with over the years. Tensions have somewhat flared recently as their Lord, the sensible yet increasingly senile Djodor, has seeded more and more power to his power-hungry son. This has now caused a rift between our people, as trade and barter, traditional staples of our society have ceased to move beyond the Mountain pass. You see, Djodor’s son demands a heavy tax on all goods that travel through his lands and our people refuse to pay, hence the current crisis. It is a tricky issue for one such as myself to weigh into much, for you see my mother was half Dwellnar, which in these times does not win one many favours. There are others such as myself that call for diplomacy over force, but the climate within the Lord’s court remains favouringly on the path for war. But come now, that is enough talk of the internal politics of my people. We’re almost at my camp and there you may rest and recover.

However, I must ask you to clarify to me who you are and what you are doing out here before we enter my village. You see, I by virtue of walking this path with you are vouching for your good character. You must do me this courtesy so that the people of village may do the same. Do not be alarmed, it matters not who you are, but rather only if your intentions are true. We judge you yes, but based solely on character,

- So my friend, can you tell me who you are?”

Choice 1: Djatar, the Warrior. Part of the exiled crescent moon clan in the outer dunes. Age: 32 Gender: Male. Faction: Free Peoples of the Crescent Moon (FPCM). Biome: The Red | Religion: The Cult of Alep. Special skill: Can survive without water for many days.

Choice 2: Jundir, the Sage. Philosopher in the court of Quentar IV. Age: 65 Gender: Male. Faction(s): Duke Quentar, IV; The Sages guild. Biome: The Pearl | Religion: The Pearl God. Special skill: High intelligence.

Choice 3: Siorsian, the Ranger, from the outer Dwellnar territories. Age: 29 Gender: Female. Faction(s): Unaffiliated. Biome: The Forest | Religion: The Mother. Special skill: Can live off the land.

Choice 4: Xenter, the Merchant, from the Xeudor hills. Age: 113 Gender: Unknown. Faction(s): The Merchants Guild; The Zanorian Ascendance. Biome: The Dark Plains | Religion: The Chosen. Special skill: Speechcraft.

Choice 5: Tallerius, the Marchioness of Ganter. Age: 23 Gender: Female. Faction(s): The House of Ganter; The Empire of Galleous. Biome: The Garden | Religion: The Garden God. Special skill: Aristocratic privilege.

Vote your choice on snapshot below:

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The aim of The Lucid Planet is to co-create a narrative with our community through our DAO-based approach to storytelling. 1 NFT = 1 VOTE. Each episode contains a choice or choices to be made. By voting for your desired choice on Snapshot.org, you directly participate in the direction of the storyline. Based on the majority rule, a new lore/story will be released incorporating actions/decisions that have been agreed to by the community.

Prologue

• Welcome to The Lucid Planet | An introduction

• The clues from The Lucid Planet

Table of chapters

• Chapter 1: Episode I | Majority voted: Yes.

• Chapter 1: Episode II | Majority voted: Tallerius, the Marchioness of Ganter.

• Chapter 1: Episode III | Part 1 majority voted: Ally & Part 2 majority voted: Lie.

• Chapter 1: Episode IV | Majority voted: Head to the edge of The Forest.

• Chapter 1: Episode V | Majority voted: Silvae ties up Tally.

• Chapter 1: Episode VI | Part 1 majority voted: Silvea to be left in the Forest & Tally to be taken to camp & Part 2 majority voted for Baron to pursue the tracks

• Chapter 1: Episode VII | Majority voted: “Giml, Sade, Pit"

• Chapter 1: Episode VIII I Majority voted Run when “the walk” begins

• Chapter 1: Episode IX I Majority voted : fall, bring others down and flee

• Chapter 1: Episode X | Majority voted: stab guard, help man & flee.

• Chapter 1: Episode XI | Voting open

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All concept of time and space vanish inward as a vortex of nothingness pulls you in. You remember everything yet understand nothing as you linger in an ethereal abyss. In this place devoid of hope you feel the sudden urge to pull away, a spark of rebellion within you let’s out a cry of action — you’re not quite ready to let go. The spark grows, stoked by flames from within, the strength to pull away increases. A flashing light flickers, once, twice, three times, and a grain of familiarity returns. This strange feeling that is washing over you, could it be…. hope…

But what’s that, the sound of something rings out across the void and interrupts you…

You there, can you hear me? Yes, you can, you’re starting to wake up! Bless the stars you’ve come back to us, I’d thought you were lost to us. Please take a sip of this, it will fortify you against the effects of whatever happened to you. It’s very bitter but you must get it all down. There you go, you’ll feel better soon but you must try and keep it down. You’re quite lucky you know, I don’t usually pick mushrooms this far out, but circumstances led me to stray a little farther from the path today. Is it a coincidence that I found you here? I think not… nothing is a coincidence in this place, we are but slaves to the seasons. We grow, wither, and are reborn in cyclical harmony with the Forest itself, we are not one but many, a collective body of life — this is how it has always been.

But come now, let me take a look at you. Hmmmm, yes that’s quite a nasty blow to the head, I’ve not seen a tree do that to anyone before. This wound, it looks more… deliberate… All in all, you seem alright, nothing a good rest won’t cure, but that cut, let me tend to that now. Hmm but what poultice to apply…. Fleekwood? Brownbark? Willowsprite? Nay, we need something a little stronger for your kind — Yellow Blossum with a pinch of cave moss. That should do it. Now, hold still while I apply this, and do not under any circumstances get this in your eye, it will sting worse than a hive of Spring Wasps!!! Ok, there we go, you’re all sorted now and should recover within the moon cycle. But forgive me, I am being rude. Let me introduce myself, I am Silvae, a herbalist and journeyman, although I don’t quite journey much these days owing to the limitations of age. But come now, sit up and try and get your wits about you. The Forest is not dangerous if you know what you’re doing, but you’ve been out here for some time now alone, and the smell of blood travels quickly in these parts. If you can find it within yourself to walk, we should make for my camp before it gets dark.

- Will you follow me?”

Cast your votes from Monday 21st March on Snapshot.org

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