Joy and gaiety abounded in the lands of the West Karana Plains.  Celebration ruled unchallenged that night, strictly enforced by the sounds of revelry all about the stalwart pyramid standing proudly on the fertile grassland.  Races of all size, shape, color and creed clustered round the south side of the monument, glasses raised nearly as high as their voices.  For that night, the Guardians of Knowledge gathered together to usher in the union of two treasured guild members in a holy bond fully ordained and blessed of the gods. 

Vows exchanged with rings under the moonlit sky, Tishalulle and Lorr Atiem were finally wed – a ceremony sealed with a kiss.

Drink flowed freely that night, as did the confections.  Everything from stout Dwarven brew to exotic concoctions from abroad was in full supply, with little chance of running out.  Bardic tunes rang clearly, their melodic echoes heard far and wide as they rebounded off the pyramid’s face on the south side.  Merriment was the general order of the night, and it was delivered in abundance.

Scarcely able to be heard amid the uproar, the soft-footed steps of a single Wood Elf scuffled the grass alongside the pyramid.  Uncharacteristically, this particular Elf had not joined in the drinking of spirits, nor did she eat her fill of the delicacies.  Though she had certainly indulged in a healthy share of the festivity, something had changed within her recently – something deep and probing that gave pause to her usual blithe behavior at such events.  What that something was, had been slow in the coming, but was undeniably affixed that night.

Faun turned to watch the wedding party that followed the service, the distant light flickering off her smiling face.  She could see the two people she cared about most in the world surrounded by friends and comrades, partaking in what was the most momentous occasion of their lives to date.  Her heart couldn’t be more lifted, nor her spirit more elated.  It was a perfect moment in time she wanted to keep forever.

“They seem happy,” a voice said from behind.

Faun’s smile broadened at the familiar tone of Landail Ainulval.  Though the High Elf priest’s voice had taken her by surprise, its ceaselessly kind and gentle tone could never startle the small druid.

“How could they not be?” she replied, her voice barely a whisper as she continued to stare placidly ahead.  “If this isn’t the most magical night of their lives, I think we’ve all done them a great disservice.”

“Idle words from a silly young Elf,” Landail replied with a seasoned grin of his own.  Stepping forward, he placed his gauntleted hands atop the druid’s small shoulders.  “You see as well as I that the entire wealth of nations could not elate them so.  Look now, you can see it in their eyes.”

Faun nodded slowly in response, reaching up to clasp the back of the priest’s hand with her own.

“It troubles you,” he said curiously.  “Why is that, child of Tunare?”

“I don’t know,” the druid whispered with a sniffle.  “Perhaps I’m sensitive to change.”

“Perhaps,” Landail admitted, his own eyes straying to the celebration ahead.  “Or perhaps it is more.  Perhaps it is the knowledge that what you see before you is forever beyond your own reach?”

Faun sighed softly at the priest’s words.  “Come on, Lanny,” she said.  “You know me.  The day I marry is the day I give up on the sun coming up in the east.  Everybody knows that.”

“Quite true,” the High Elf conceded.  “But you’ll recall I never mentioned marriage.  I mentioned only the look in their eyes.”

The small druid looked down to the grass, unable to deny it.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Faun asked.

“What is?”

“I never in my life thought I’d want such a thing, until now.” Her eyes strayed back to the celebration.  “So long as the possibility existed for me to change my mind, I never even considered that I would.”

“You still have time, you know,” Landail commented.

Faun turned to face the towering High Elf standing behind her.

“Look at me, Lanny,” she said, spreading her arms wide.  “A month ago, the journey out here wouldn’t have even fazed me.  I’ve been awake for only three hours, and already I’m so exhausted I can barely stand on my own.”

Landail smiled a melancholy smile as he brushed a strand of hair from the druid’s eyes.

“I don’t have time left for a proper romance,” Faun said, her voice filled with remorse.  “And even if I did, who would want an invalid at the twilight of her days?”

Not receiving a reply, the druid turned again to watch the celebration once more.

I’ve wasted my life away, she thought to herself, knowing better than to put it to words in front of the cleric.

“You’re determined to stay your course, then?” Landail asked.  “Still you insist on leaving this night?”

She knew it was more than a question.  For days, the High Elf had tried to convince her not to leave for the Plane of Growth so early.  Give it time, he’d said.  There may yet be an alternative to the fate you fear awaits you in Tunare’s realm. 

Even now, Faun considered his words, but couldn’t bring herself to veer from the inevitable.

“I’ve said my goodbyes,” she said.  “Now that this evening is over, Norrath holds nothing new for me.  Which is fine, since I really have nothing new to offer it, as I am now.  It’s time to put it all to an end.”

“And start something else anew?” Landail added, his voice encouraging.

Faun cast the priest a brief, hesitant look that ended with her eyes to the grassy ground again.  Taking a deep breath, she began to walk away from the gathering while she still had the strength to do so.

“We’ll see.”

Metallic footfalls echoed throughout the stone tower.  Landail, cleric of Tunare, stepped his way to the top of the spiral ramp within, laden as he was with his burden.  In his steel-clad arms, he carried Little Faun, whose last fledgling of strength had finally given away en route.  Her head resting limp against his shoulder, the small druid clasped her hands at the nape of the cleric’s neck, holding tight as the gallant High Elf willingly suffered the last leg of her journey.

“You’re very sweet to do this,” Faun muttered into the priest’s shoulder.

“You’re lighter than a beggar’s pocket,” the cleric replied.  “Rest.  We’re nearly there.  Your namesakes welcome you to the portal.”

“I saw them,” the druid replied with a smile, referring to the half-goat-like creatures guarding the bridge outside.

Wind at the tower’s summit blew violently against the stalwart High Elf as he surmounted the last arm of the spiral ramp.  His hair, tightly braided down the center of his back, fluttered on the insistent air currents.  Faun’s hair was similarly tousled, causing her to let go of the priest with one hand and hook the errant tendrils over a pointed ear.

As the curtain of hair parted from her eyes, Faun caught sight of the fateful tree statue ahead.  Standing on the very center of the tower’s crown, the monolithic sculpture remained placid and undisturbed by the gale wind that so vexed its visitors.  Lovely in its intricate workmanship, the tree grew ever larger in the druid’s widening eyes as the two Elves made their approach.  With every step the cleric took, the tree transformed from exquisite to colossal, until the mighty limbs towered overhead.

“Behold,” Landail’s voice rang over the wind.  “Tunare’s portal.”

Taking in the statue’s grandeur, Faun’s eyes followed the sinuous contours down to the trunk.  Every detail was true to nature’s design, save for an odd rectangular panel extruding at roughly eye-level.  The panel was flat and featureless, containing a diamond-shaped crystal at the center that sparkled brilliantly in the moonlight.

The moment had arrived at last.  She was about to glimpse the Plane of Growth, the wondrous place that embodied all of nature’s creations, and home of Tunare Herself.  It was like a dream – real, yet seemingly ephemeral.  It was as if this moment existed only in her mind, and as soon as she touched the crystal, the dream would be over and life would begin again.

Blinking, Faun turned her head to catch sight of her deliverer.  Landail stared back at her, his face unrevealing to his own thoughts.  He merely watched the young druid’s fascination, taking in the moment with his calm, serious eyes.  Seeing her own face reflected in those eyes, Faun realized that this is what truly separates druids from clerics.

Tossing her head against the wind, the Wood Elf reached out her hand toward the crystal.  Inch by inch, her fingertips stretched forth as the gusts pulled at her arm with ferocity.  The elements were against her in this, it seemed.  The physical world played tricks on her mind as she slowly and deliberately closed the gap between herself and the shining jewel.  Though common sense told her that contact was within a moment’s reach, her senses disagreed.  The closer her hand came, the more distant the crystal seemed to be.  The farther she reached out her arm, the more futile her efforts became.

What was a small gap moments ago now seemed a chasm across which she reached – her arm extending over impossibly great distances, measuring well into miles.  She could still feel Landail’s reassuring arms giving her ballast and support, yet she felt as though she were resting on a precipice.  If she leaned too far out, she would fall into the shimmering crystal yawning before her, never to be found.

Captivated by the sheer enormity of what she saw, Faun marveled at the gleaming facets, and how each one now appeared to be the size of a continent.  It would be so simple to let herself go and make that last essential push past the precipice between what was real and what wasn’t.  Or maybe she was mistaken.  Perhaps what lay before her was the only reality.  What if where she came from, and all she knew, was the true simulacrum?  So close to the edge, it was impossible to tell anymore.

And still the crystal filled her vision – shimmering, waiting, watching.

Faun thought about how she’d spent her life worrying over the things that may be.  All the “what ifs” came back to haunt her.  What if I can’t be the person I’m supposed to be?  What if he doesn’t love me?  What if he does, but finds someone better?  What if there’s a nasty demon waiting for me under my bed? 

What if I can’t find a cure?  What if I can, and I pass by the opportunity?

It was time to cast aside life’s doubts, and embrace the realm of the mysterious.  In her struggle to choose whether to fall ahead into the unknown or step back into grim certainty, Faun realized there was beauty and excitement to be found in simply not knowing.

It was called “faith.”

Bracing herself, Little Faun made her choice.  She took her leap of faith, and reached beyond the point of no return.  In a blink, the precipice lay behind her, replaced by the gut-wrenching sensation of falling uncontrollably. 

It was a mistake.  What was she thinking?  This was folly!  In a panic, Faun tried to pull back, but her footing was forever gone.  She was caught in the crystal’s alluring trap, hurtling forward – heedlessly forward, as the sharp crystal facets broke apart into deadly shards, set to cut her into ribbons as she fell past.

Having lost the breath to scream, Faun closed her eyes tightly, and awaited the gruesome end.

Strong hands caught the trembling Wood Elf, breaking her fall.  She felt cold, metal gauntlets gripping her upper arms near her shoulders, supporting her and lending her strength.

“You’ve made it, Faun,” a ceaselessly kind and gentle voice spoke out of the darkness.  “You passed Tunare’s trial.  Open your eyes and witness what surrounds you.”

Scarcely daring to breathe, the druid cracked her eyelids open to find Landail’s beaming face staring down at her.

“The shards…” she whispered, her words brought short by the cleric’s finger pressed to her lips.

“Tunare’s trial is for you and you alone,” he admonished gently.  “It is an experience unique to your soul.  Speak of it to no one, but always keep it close to your heart.”

Obediently, Faun closed her mouth and nodded.  Satisfied, Landail removed his finger and spread his arm wide in a sweeping motion, inviting the Wood Elf to take her first look at the Plane of Growth.

Air filled her lungs as she gasped at what she saw.  She stood in a druid’s circle, familiar in every respect, except the towering stones all around shown white as the purest marble, adorned with gilding of gold.  Off in the distance, she could see rolling hills and lofty trees in every direction.  Gray mists suffused the ethereal forest, not unlike the mist found in the Faydark amongst the trees of her home.  Within the mists could be seen a variety of creatures roaming about, each in total harmony with its surroundings.

Faun took an impulsive step forward, only to notice for the first time that she actually stood on her own two feet.  Looking down, the druid gasped again.  Her legs trembled, but this time not with weakness.  This time, it was with pure exhilaration. 

”I can’t believe this,” she said, breathless.  Amused, she marched in place, watching her knees rise above her hips.  “I’m strong again!  I can move freely!”

Landail smiled and nodded, confirming the druid’s astonished words.  With a giggle, Faun spun around on one foot, arms wide.  Throwing her head back, the Wood Elf laughed out loud, reveling in her newly rediscovered freedom as the entire world twirled all around her in a blur.  She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed being able to dance and frolic about.  It was like reuniting with an old lover after ages of solitude.

Landail stood, watching the druid’s unmitigated joy – the spark of her infectious laughter seemingly as involuntary to her as breathing.  Shaking his head, the cleric marveled at the raw abandon of Wood Elves.

“Come,” he said, his hand out.  “There is much more to see.”

Light sparkling in her eyes, Faun took the cleric’s proffered hand.  Her other hand slid its way around the crook of his arm as she sidled up beside him without another word.

The sights and sounds of the Plane of Growth were theirs for the taking.  It amazed the druid how many creatures called this place home.  Unicorns pranced their merry way across the barrows.  Wolves howled at the invisible moon.  Magical creatures haunted the forests, while tiny, hairless humans dwelt inside mushrooms not unlike the faerie folk of Norrath.

Every sight of the druid’s tour was as eye-opening as Faun had ever dreamt, but none more so than the Tree.

It rose from the ground as the two wanderers conquered the final hillside.  The sight of it stilled the Wood Elf’s fey laughter, causing an ardent tremor to pass through her chest.  The silhouette was unmistakable, as was the sense of import it delivered.  No tree on Norrath – not even those of the Greater Faydark – even came close to rivaling the height and magnificence of this one.

The sight was visually stunning, and spiritually devastating.

“Oh my…” Faun whispered.  “She’s there, isn’t She?”

Not meeting the druid’s eyes, Landail hesitated.  “Maybe,” he answered.

Transfixed, the Wood Elf shook her head.  “No…” she said, her voice gaining certainty.  “No, I feel Her.  She’s there.”

Looking down at his arm, the priest found his charge’s normally tan fingers to be bone white as they clutched at his armor.  Faun’s aspect turned statuesque, as she stood frozen in terror at the awesome sight before her.

Reaching over, Landail covered her hands with his own.  “Fear not, child of Tunare,” he said soothingly.  “The Mother of All is a nurturing parent.  More so than any.”

“No,” Faun said, her breaths growing labored.  “No, Lanny, you don’t understand.  I come before Her a sinner.”

And yet, the priest’s calm demeanor remained.  He merely blinked, his face calm and unsurprised.  This indifference caused the druid to reach up and take hold of his breastplate with her small, insistent hands.

“Do you hear what I’m telling you?” Faun said, yanking on the priest’s armor.  “I haven’t been Her disciple for… not since….”

Taking the druid’s hands in his, Landail brought them to his lips, where he kissed them both reassuringly.  Faun recognized the High Elf’s gesture for what it was – an indication of understanding, as well as a custodianship of the inevitable.

Closing her eyes, Faun rested her forehead against their mutually clutched hands, steeling herself for what was about to come next.  The cold touch of the priest’s gauntlets against her skin sent shivers down her back.  If only this moment could last forever.

“This is our last stop,” Landail said with his ever-so-kind and gentle tone.  “For good or for ill, let us put to rest this dichotomy of faith, and set things straight once again.”

“So this is to be my judgment day,” Faun said, her voice muffled.

“For our kind, such is the case for every day we live,” the priest answered.  “Each dawn brings new trials to overcome, and opportunities to better ourselves.  Except for what is in your mind, child, this day is no more or less special than any that have come before.  The day is what you make it, and will determine what advantages you shall have when tomorrow comes.”

Heeding the cleric’s words, Faun allowed herself to be led into the very heart of her renounced faith.  Though outwardly she climbed the rough and knotted trunk of the enormous tree, her journey took on meaning of a more spiritual level.  Every step counted down to what was likely to be her last – a life-long number, now diminishing in the druid’s anxious and frightened mind as she watched her feet take each step along the huge, spiraled bark ramp.

Before she knew it, the priest stopped.  Looking up, she found that they stood near a doorway leading inside the trunk of the living Tree.

“Wait here, child,” Landail said with a hand on the druid’s shoulder.  Faun nodded her agreement, and the priest quickly vanished through the doorway.

Hugging herself against the wind, the druid turned to gaze out upon the rolling landscape of the Plane of Growth.  The view from this height was stunning.  She began to understand why her predecessors decided to live on platforms high amidst the treetops, for it mimicked the grand home of their prime goddess.

“She is prepared to receive you now,” the priest’s voice said from behind.

Taking a moment more to summon her courage, Faun turned again to face the tall High Elf.  Reaching up, she cupped the man’s face with one hand and gave him a small kiss on the cheek.

“Wish me luck,” she said.

Landail shook his head.  “Tunare be with you,” he said pointedly.

Not in the mood for the subtle irony of the priest’s blessing, Faun stepped past her friend without a word, her fingertips lingering on his shoulder until the last moment when she passed through the threshold.

It was warm inside the hollowed trunk.  The air was heavy with the smell of cut wood.  Two pairs of yellow eyes stared up at her, framed all round by forms of midnight black.  It was two large felines who defended the entryway – apparently the last line of defense for Tunare’s legions of faithful guardians.  Reaching out, Faun let the creatures sniff at her palm, to let them know she wasn’t a threat.  Apparently the fierce creatures weren’t too worried, as one of them even took a swipe at her hand with a coarse, pink tongue and a contented growl deep in its throat. 

“If only all kitties were as friendly as you,” the druid said, giving the guardian a small pet on its soft fur.

Reassured by her warm welcome, Faun stood to face the interior of the room.  The décor shown rather spartan, its walls extending in a wide circle around a gigantic pillar in the center.  No extravagance was to be seen, nor adornments.  The basic wooden room was simple, its lofty ceiling high above the druid’s head, supported by girders extending from the pillar.

And yet, Her presence could be felt all around.  Swallowing nervously, Faun knew for a certainty who it was on the other side of that pillar.  Even now, the goddess awaited her.  It was electrifying to know that if she spoke at this moment, her voice would reach the very ears of Tunare, hidden at the far end of the room.

Now was the time to meet the goddess, face to face.  Now was the time to confront her own self-identity.

Faun nervously pressed her hands down against her tunic in a hapless attempt at straightening it.  Taking a deep breath, the druid steeled herself and stepped quietly toward the left side of the pillar, her eyes lowered to the floor.

Without herald or fanfare, divine light or gracious display, Little Faun rounded the bend and timidly looked up to behold the goddess, whose raiment and majesty caused the simple Wood Elf to shriek in a strangled voice and fall to her knees, her eyes tightly shut.  Trembling, as would a newborn foal, the Wood Elf lowered her face in humble worship to her deity for the first time in decades.

The goddess spoke not a word, silently accepting Her child’s homage.

“Tunare, Mother of All…” Faun whispered, unable to find her voice.  Tears seeped through her closed eyelids as she hesitated, desperately trying to force the words from her mouth without breaking into sobs. 

She failed.

“…Forgive me!” she cried, her chest heaving.  Covering her face, the reticent druid fell forward before her goddess, weeping like a babe.

Dear Tish,

I don’t know where to begin.  It seems like ages have passed since we said goodbye in the plains, and there is so much to tell you.  I really have no idea how much time has passed on Norrath in relation to the Plane of Growth.  Sometimes it feels like time always stands still in this place.  All I can say for sure is that years have passed inside me, even if they haven’t on the outside.

I do want you to know that I am safe and well, and living contentedly in my new home.  The effects of the shard in my leg are but a distant memory.  The stupid thing is still there, of course.  But so long as I remain here, it’s powerless to harm me.

Which brings me to the good news.  They tell me that after a few weeks of recuperation, I will be able to return to Norrath for short periods.  I’m not sure about how it works, but it has to do with something they call “temporal healing.” I guess I’m still in recovery, as far as Norrath goes.  I’m told it will be a while before it’s safe for me to leave this place, and whenever I’m gone, I will slowly begin to deteriorate again for as long as I’m away.

It’s a blessing.  Or, so I keep telling myself.  Be that as it may, I am pretty much tied to the Plane of Growth until I can find a way to get rid of this shard once and for all.  It will be another few weeks, but I’m so looking forward to visiting you and the Guardians again, even if it is for a short while.  I’m sure I’ve missed out on a lot since the wedding.  Too much, I think.

Give Lorr a great big bear hug for me, and my best regards to everyone.  I haven’t said this to anybody in a long time, Tish, but I have never meant it more than I do now: May Tunare bless you and keep you in all the dark places you must walk.  Somehow, I know She will.

We’ll see each other again.  I promise. 

With all my love,

- Little Faun

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