How Festral Dominions Started

This is where it all started. Festral Dominions was born from a short story I wrote a while ago, all with the intent of reversing roles of the general fantasy cliche`s. Dwarves live in trees, Elves live in caves, Humans use magick and not Elves. Anyway it is still very rough, as I have not touched it since I first wrote it, but it is going to help me shape what I intended to be my prologue for the first book. Enjoy!



Throughout the course of his existence, Yyvellian considered his luck to be close to nonexistent. Not only was he tall and brown-haired unlike the rest of his kind, but he often found himself creeping into troublesome situations. Of course that was expected of someone Yyvellian’s age, but not on a continual basis. The rest of the elves living in Oglandador lived for the thrill of a good scam or dangerous escapade, like unto himself, but Yyvellian was constantly bending the oaths that they had made upon settling in their great city. Exploration was permitted, and even encouraged, within the boundaries of the Elven Kingdom, but journeying outside the caves of Oglandador was strictly unacceptable. It was known throughout the Kingdom that the elves had lost the Great War and had been forced to the depths of Festral’s bestial caverns as punishment, but Yyvellian had always suspected that it was all a hoax; after all, the elves were a mischievous race. Possibly this was the reason other elflings his age looked up to him, but then again perhaps not. But either way Yyvellian knew one thing: sooner or later he would be victorious in his endeavors of finding a way out of Oglandador.

Herder spent most of his days bounding from tree to tree, scouting for new hunting grounds and mapping new landmarks. True, the city of Bastille was a sight to behold, but Herder had always wanted to discover something new—either that or find somewhere where he wasn’t constantly bombarded with requests from the Dwarven Council. Herder was the Master of Game in Bastille and found that the Council was consistently pestering him with demands and questions. Were they going to have trouble during the Cold Season? Had the tesslir doves made their yearly pass yet? Was it safe to travel on the forest floor, or did they still need to be wary of gollan hounds? Of course, Herder would answer their questions with respect and then continue on with his day. He would climb the thick, wide branches that served as Bastille’s treetop city streets until he reached his small thatched hut where he would turn in for the night. If he was lucky, which he rarely considered himself to be, Herder might sometimes find himself camping on the forest’s balcony while on a particularly long mapping quest. It was those days that he would lay his strong arms under his short red hair and look at the starry sky, wondering if there was something greater in Festral waiting for him out there.

Sometimes Kallick simply wanted to die. Not because he thought his life ghastly or depressing, but more that he considered it horribly boring. Well not too boring, just boring enough. Yes, he had Estra to keep him company—and he never minded her company—but it was rather his daily routine that he wanted to escape. He was the horseman’s apprentice in the grand human city of Regral, and despite his greatest efforts to entertain himself between the gaps of the labor hours and his home life, Kallick never felt the true thrill that he was searching for. Admittedly Estra, yet again, helped fill that void in his life but Kallick believed in something much greater. True, he was not quite old enough yet to know what, but the fact that he knew was all that mattered. The cramped city nerved him to no end, and although he found some solace in knowing that no matter what happened, Estra would be with him, Kallick decided for once to be illogically rash. He was going to leave the city. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew that he was going to and that was that. So when Estra came bringing news of Regral’s Naissance Celebration, Kallick couldn’t have been luckier. It was finally time.

It was a cold day in Oglandador; the torches flickering bluefire—a sign indicating the holiday of the city’s founding. Yyvellian’s stomach swelled in excitement as he scrambled through Oglandador’s large and spacious streets, bumping into no one due to their emptiness. Founding Day was one of the few holidays that the elves celebrated indoors. It was commemorated with heavy drink and thick pastries within the warmth of their private homes, and each family stayed inside in order to observe the holiday’s message of solitude from the proud races that had confined them to the caverns of their dominion. It had been well over a thousand years since the passing of the Great War, but no one forgot the harshness and cruelty that the elves faced during their sentence of seclusion; a fact that Yyvellian planned to exploit in his escape. Throughout the previous couple of weeks, Yyvellian had delved deeper into the caves of Oglandador, in hope of seeking a new tunnel that led to the outside world. And, although he had been close to ultimately discarding his freedom initiative, Yyvellian had actually found something new. Past the back alleyways of Oglandador’s industrial precinct, Yyvellian had noted that the caverns grew increasingly wide and dark, eventually leading to a black vertical crack in the far side of the wall. It had taken Yyvellian almost two hours to reach the opening, when he was eventually caught off guard by the loud chattering voice of a City Guard. Yyvellian had not been expecting anyone to be on duty during Founding Day, and began desperately racking his mind for some clever trick to distract the guards’ attention. He slid behind a particularly large stone and slid his hand into his pocket, pulling out his elfish sling that he had made years before. A smirk slipped across Yyvellian’s face a he slid a small stone into the sling and hurled it past the guards. The stone snapped across a pile of rocks in the distance, and the sound became amplified in the empty cavern. The two guards shifted uncomfortably as they turned towards the sound. Probably they thought it to be nothing more than it was, but Yyvellian decided to toy with their emotions and try to intensify their inner fears. Breathing deeply so as to make it look like he had been out of breath, Yyvellian turned from out behind the rock and began running towards the short blonde-haired guards.
“Hurry,” he yelled desperately, waving his arms, “the Elder says to get back into the city! She says that there are giant gworms on their way!”
The guards did not need any sign that what he said was true. They had already grown paranoid from Yyvellian’s stone. Barely even acknowledging Yyvellian as they passed, they began rushing hurriedly into the stone city. Yyvellian grinned as he watched the guards scamper away. He had acted characteristically elfish and had pulled a masterful prank—a prank that had granted him the opportunity of freedom.

Herder was finally alone. He had been completely overwhelmed while in Bastille’s Council Hall, and now that he was home he could finally relax. He had hoped that the day would have gone by rather uneventfully due to Bastille’s Dawn Festival, but he had been wrong. The Dwarven Council had directed swarms of concerned tree farmers and spring hunters to his cramped place of work. He had done his best in denying their fears and confirming their hopes, but by the end of the day he had found himself completely drained. He must have been one of the few dwarves staying indoors for the Dawn Festival. The grand tree that supported the city of Bastille would be filled with bustling vendors and enthusiastic merchants selling food, toys, and lightsticks. The lightsticks would be used to spray burning colors throughout the night sky, and the noises from the jovial games and contests would undoubtedly keep Herder up through the night. So for once in his life, Herder decided to do something different and impulsive. He gathered a small pack of food and clothes, slid his bow and quiver across his back, and slipped out into the crowded branches of Bastille. It took him nearly half an hour to reach the edge of the city, what with the lively throng of people filling the streets. But by the time he finally did make it out of town, he had gone by unnoticed—just as he had hoped. He reached a wide branch that angled north out of Bastille and tightened his pack and bow before leaping off towards a tree below. He reached out instinctively and found hold onto a branch that had been smoothed by use, and began to let his weight slide him towards the tree’s center. He slammed into the tree’s trunk with his feet and then hurriedly made his way up an additional branch that reached out to another nearby, level, tree. Herder continued on like this for over an hour before his arms began to feel sore, and before he finally couldn’t see the bright lights or hear the loud thumps coming from Bastille. It was in the canopy of a massive oak that Herder finally found himself deciding to turn in for the night. He smiled slightly to himself as he pulled out a small bedroll out of his pack and placed it across the branch’s flat surface. He took in a deep breath and looked up into the night sky, smelling the clear air around him—smelling the air of freedom.

“Kallick, I don’t like this.” Estra’s blonde hair whipped in front of her face as she did her best to hide against the side of the stables.
“Hush, Estra!” Kallick kept his eyes forward, not daring to let them stray from the stone road of Regral’s main street.
Estra tugged him backwards, causing his brown hair to toss to the side. “Don’t you ‘hush’ me, Kal! I want to leave the city just as much as you do, but I just don’t like what we’re doing!”
Kallick rolled his eyes. “It’s not stealing.”
Estra stamped her foot and gave him a stern look.
“Well, it’s not. Coppercloud is my horse. I should be able to take him whenever I need him.”
“And the field lance? Is that yours?”
“Not exactly. But Master Youtle won’t be missing it. Besides, we’ll be needing protection once we leave,” he tried to rationalize. “We can’t go stumbling into the woods unarmed.”
Estra pursed her lips and tilted her head to the side. “We won’t be,” she said, rubbing her hands together.
“Right,” Kallick acknowledged. “Speaking of which.”
He tilted his head to the chain wrapped around the stable door. Estra sighed heavily, shooting him an annoyed glance and braced herself against the stone floor of Regral’s grand city. Then a bright blue light flowed from underneath her feet and began to wrap around her hands, and in a single burst of white hot energy the light whipped out against the metal chain. And it fell, broken, to the ground. Estra stepped backwards and patted her hands lightly against her side. Kallick gave her a curt nod, and then stepped into the stone stable house, looking to the end of the large room. Coppercloud was a brilliant mahogany horse with a stark white mane. He whinnied slightly as he sighted Kallick, but quickly quieted himself upon noticing his master’s stern eyes. Kallick quickly saddled Coppercloud and had the horse out of the stables in less than five minutes. By then Estra had grown noticeably impatient.
“The grand horseman has returned,” she muttered sarcastically, trying to get Kallick to take her bait. He couldn’t refuse.
“Horseman’s apprentice…ma’am.”
Estra twitched at Kallick’s subtle prod: she detested being referred to as ‘ma’am”. Kallick initially said it out of respect, but when he had realized that Estra found the word to hint towards age, Kallick had begun using it as a sort of joking affront. He helped Estra onto Coppercloud, and then veered them into the stone backstreets of Regral. They were lucky; most of the city had filed in to the center square for the Naissance Celebration—they did not encounter anyone particularly noteworthy on their way out of the city until they reached the wall gate. The armored men guarding the gate gave them a suspicious glance as they approached. But before they could even raise question to their business, Estra sent a green pulse of light in their direction with her hands. The guards instantly stepped aside and opened the gates for them as they made their way out of the great stone city of Regral.
Kallick kissed the side of Estra’s head. “Have I told you that I simply love you?”
Estra smiled. “You can stand to say it more.”
Kallick grinned as they headed steadily forward into the forest—as they headed steadily towards freedom.

Yyvellian was too preoccupied to even consider feeling scared. Sure he was deep within the cracks of an unmapped cave, but the things that he was finding kept his mind from wandering on things like monsters and darkness. Not that it was too dark, anyways. There were tiny mushrooms that lined the different tunnels within the cavern that shone faint green and red lights. And so Yyvellian was able to make his way through the winding passages, using his hook and chain to lift himself when the tunnels grew too high for him to reach. He knew that he hadn’t thought his escape plan through carefully, and that it was only a matter of time before he needed to reconsider actually going through with it, but for the moment he enjoyed the light thrill of a potentially dangerous escapade. Then he heard something. It wasn’t the occasional clack of a falling rock that he had grown accustomed to hearing, but rather a flurry of unmated movement coming from a channel that bent a little ways off to his right. Yyvellian stopped short, pressing his body up against the rugged surface of the stone tunnel. Voices began echoing throughout the cave and it didn’t take long for Yyvellian to notice that they appeared to be clicks and hisses instead of actual words. Yyvellian’s eyes widened as two slimy, bald, reptilian creatures with nostrils stretched across their brown and red snouts turned the corner. They had wide flat feet for gripping loose rocks, and long, knobby fingers and tails for keeping their balance in the dark. Their eyes were massive and glowed a dim and pale green—almost useless if it wasn’t for the fact that they were coupled with the gaping holes in the side of their heads that served as ears. Yyvellian swallowed a gasp of fear: kobolds. He turned around swiftly, careful not to make any loud noises, but was shocked to find another kobold blocking his path. Yyvellian froze fearfully as the creature issued a shrill screech that bounced off the cavern’s serrated walls. Yyvellian didn’t need to look behind him to know that the other two kobolds had their eyes fixed on him; it would be foolish to think otherwise. He didn’t know what to do. True, his body screamed for him to flee or attack, but he was cornered and elves hadn’t trained in combat since the Great War—they were not warriors. But, then again, Yyvellian never considered himself a normal elf. In a quick flurry of movement, Yyvellian spun his hook and chain over his head and swung it to the cave’s ceiling overhead. It grasped a firm chunk of rock and he speedily climbed the chain just before the kobolds pounced on his position. He didn’t have much time; clinging to the ceiling would only prove a temporary respite from creatures that spent their lives climbing sharp rock. The kobolds hissed impatiently, trying to reach Yyvellian with their short pointed sticks that they carried. Yyvellian breathed in deeply. He didn’t have the liberty of planning what he was going to do so he simply acted. He yelled loudly as he dropped from the ceiling, smashing his feet into the kobold directly underneath him. Yyvellian heard a disturbing crunch as the creature’s head splintered against one of the caves many rocks—he was dead in an instant. Yyvellian didn’t allow himself to settle as there was a blur of motion as the other two kobolds began reaching out for him. But Yyvellian was quick in getting behind one of the rabid creatures and making sure that the other one lined up with him. Then, deciding to use his hook and chain as a weapon, he reached out for the far kobold and yanked hard. The kobold screamed as he was pulled, keeping his sharp stick pointed forward. The other reptilian monster turned to Yyvellian, ready to strike him down, but was met with a searing pain as the other kobold’s stick slammed through his body. Yyvellian smiled despite himself—he had pulled the far kobold into the other one with the hook, causing his sharp staff to pierce through the other’s slimy skin. Yyvellian finally paused. There were three dead bodies lying around him, each oozing out splotches of black blood. He walked over to the kobold that had the hook pierced into his back and tugged it out. There was a hissing sound as blood began to pour freely from the three pronged wound, and Yyvellian found himself calmed in spite of the bloodbath in front of him. He pulled out a linen cloth from one of his pockets and wiped his hook and chain clean. What had they been doing so close to Oglandador? Possibly gathering food? It didn’t matter. In an attempt to walk off the adrenaline pulses that were overwhelming his body, Yyvellian began to continue to walk down the cave. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew to follow the fluorescent mushrooms that were dimmer than the others; the deeper they were into the cave, the more they shone. By the time he had shaken off his initial shock from killing the kobolds, Yyvellian had wandered quite far into the caverns. He wasn’t sure how far he had gone, but he knew it was significant. Angling his head up as he scampered up a particularly large pile of rocks he was able to make out a distant glow. It was bright and yellow—unlike any light he had ever seen. And he longed for it. So without questioning its origins, Yyvellian raced through the cave as the light got increasingly brighter. When he finally reached it, he was dumbfounded. The cave opened into a lush, green, bright world that he had never seen. True, he had heard tales from the stories of the Great War, but he had assumed them to be nothing more than a hoax, just like everything else the elves said. The light burned his eyes at first, but he slowly began to grow accustomed to it and was able to make out the beauty of the landscape around him. Bright green carpets smothered the ground and shot out of the earth, clumped together on top of massive wooden posts. Except they seemed…natural. No one had made these odd plants; they simply lived this way. Yyvellian smiled hugely, aware of the wave of freedom pouring down upon him. Then he paused as his ears picked up something strange and remote. He pricked them up, trying desperately to make out the soft and soothing sound that seemed to whisper for him. And when he was finally able to make it out, he was surprised at what he heard.
My Gatherer, the voice called, I seek your aid.
Yyvellian’s brow furrowed. Gatherer. That was the meaning of his name in elfish. An ancient tongue that was all but extinct. And yet he somehow knew that this voice was to be trusted—that it really did need his help. And it called again.
My Gatherer. I seek your aid. Come to me and you will find what it is you are looking for. You will find your sovereignty.
Yyvellian smiled as the sweet voice enveloped him. Then, thinking of nothing else, he followed the Call.

The arrow whipped through the air and struck down the tesslir dove. Herder gave a satisfied grunt as he slipped his bow over his shoulder and climbed down the tree to pick up his breakfast. He had enough foresight to realize that his arrows would soon become a rare and necessary commodity, so he carefully extracted to one he had used to shoot down the bird, cautiously wiping away the blood from its tip. It had only been two days since his departure from Bastille, but he had found them peaceful and longer than the days he normally took surveying the city’s border. Probably it was because he knew he was to never return to the treetops of Bastille, but he found them resplendent nonetheless. The majority of his days were spent hopping from tree to tree, but he knew that it would soon become more difficult to traverse through the branches in this way; he was passing swiftly through the Resplien Forest and drawing ever closer to the darker, and smaller, Wayward Wood. Herder frowned. He didn’t know what he was doing, or even where he was going, but he was sure that—despite its dark demeanor—he was supposed to make his way through the eerie wood ahead of him. It was a few hours before he reached the outskirts of the Wayward Wood, and Herder decided to continue onward despite the darkness that would be soon sweeping through the sky. He lit the small lantern that he had packed with him, and tied it to a short walking stick, giving himself a means of light for the dark wood ahead of him. He entered the wood wearily, trying to be careful to not get himself entangled in the thick brush and roots of the trees. There were tales of dark encounters and frightful fiends about the Wayward Wood that were only ever whispered in the bright and cheery streets of Bastille. Herder pulled his lantern closer to his side. Climbing the trees was difficult due to the gnarled wood of the perish pines, but it was better than sifting through the black mist on the wood’s floor, risking a cross with a gollan hound, a hex hob, or Light knew what else. He made his way through the black wood, catching the occasional glimmer of green light from above. There were multiple times when he thought he saw the flicker of glowing blue, or violet, eyes watching curiously from below. Herder began to grow anxious despite his usual hardy nature; there was no creature that he knew of that possessed such eyes and he carried no weapon of defense outside of his bow—which wouldn’t do him much good when he had no way of seeing his target. He began to question why he had entered the wood, deciding whether or not to turn back, but something tugged him forward. As if some sort presence urged him on. Then something hissed. Something nearby. Herder drew his bow instinctively, knowing that it was a futile effort in the overwhelming black of the wood. He shifted his weight on the branch he was standing on, locking himself into place in order to maintain his ground in case of an attack. The faint green glow above him began to grow nearer, and he quickly disregarded the idea that it had been filtering sunlight. Three massive forms dropped down from the top of the trees and it was all Herder could do from yelling in surprise. They were massive. Each of them were easily ten feet tall with what appeared to be bodies made out of giant brown leaves. Their legs were goat-like tree trunks, bending on a backwards knee, and their faces were nothing more than slits in a pile of sharp v-shaped foliage. They peered down at Herder expectantly, each grasping a large knotted sword of glowing green timber in their long wooden hands. Herder breathed in deeply.
“What are you?” His voice came out cracked and small.
The creature closest him stretched out its arm. “We are Waldgeist. We are guardians. We are protectors.” The voice seemed to resonate from all around.
Herder did his best to remain calm. “There is no need to protect against me. I am merely passing through these woods. Nothing more.”
“You bear arms,” they all boomed in unison, “you trespass on Holy Ground. You breathe as mortals breathe. You are not part of this world. You are not of the woods. You live.”
Cold sweat was trickling down Herder’s brow. He ignored it. “Then please, let me leave. Forgive me; I knew not your rules!”
“You die.”
Herder had moved before they had even finished speaking. He wasn’t irrational enough to believe he was going to get by free. He needed to run. And he needed to run fast. He heard an eerie chorus of shrieks issuing from behind him. He had little time to react to the blue eyes watching hungrily from below—it wasn’t the blue that he feared now, but rather the green that was growing closer and closer. Herder hazarded a glance behind his back and, to his surprise, saw nothing. But when he turned back around, he was shocked to see the three Waldgeist climbing out from the bark of the tree in front of him—as if they had been melded into its very essence. Flight was no longer an option, as Herder quickly assessed the situation. The closest Waldgeist flung its glowing sword vertically at Herder, who tucked to the side just in time. Wood splintered against wood as the sword crashed upon the twisted branch of perish pine. The Waldgeists shrieked bloodily, as if the damage to the tree was a blow to their own selves. Herder pulled his bow back out and quickly shot at the slitted eye of one of the Waldgeists, but was disappointed when it showed no sign of pain. The Waldgeists rushed towards Herder, grunting irritably as he continued to roll from side to side avoiding their persistent strikes. Then, in a stroke of genius, Herder stopped and let them get close enough to swing their swords inches in front of his face. They roared as their swords swooped upon him, but instead of getting completely out of the way, Herder raised his lantern for protection. Which shattered upon impact of the swords. Fire spread upon the swords like a parasite, hungrily feeding off the old, dried, wood. The Waldgeists screeched in fear and agony as it crawled up their blades and onto their arms, eventually enveloping their bodies in a pillar of flame. Herder was already gone by the time the Waldgeists had been completely devoured, finding that the time that he had spent fleeing the spirits had led him to the edge of the wood. He peered back as he stumbled out into the dark night, catching the faintest flicker of red and orange within the rotting wood. He breathed the crisp air around him and laid on the smooth bark of a particularly large tree, when he heard a faint whisper. He sat up quickly, fully aware that he felt the same presence he had felt when he had been lured into the Wayward Wood. Muting all the other sounds around him, he was finally able to hear the voice that had been ushering him forward.
My Protector, the voice called, I seek your aid.
Protector. Herder’s name meant Protector in the ancient tongue of the Dwarves, he was sure. Why was someone calling for him? Could this voice be trusted? Yes. Somehow he knew it to be pure and dependable. So he listened as it called again.
My Protector. I seek your aid. Come to me and you will find what it is you are looking for. You will find your sovereignty.
Smiling, despite the hour’s previous atrocities, Herder gathered his things and followed the Call.

“Some horse,” Estra muttered as she kicked up a pile of dirt.
“I don’t understand,” Kallick said as he rubbed his forehead, “Coppercloud has never had problems before!”
The red horse whinnied as it stumbled onto its feet, giving Kallick an almost apologetic look. They were halfway through the Meldwind Meadows, finding themselves towards the Meadows’ end where thick trees and shrubs were beginning to grow in tight clusters. They weren’t sure where they were actually going, but they knew that they wanted to get as far away as possible from the prison that was Regral. Coppercloud had grown ill after traveling for almost a day, and had nearly collapsed in the middle of the second night. Kallick and Estra were unsure of what to do next.
“Can’t you heal him? With your Life Magik?” Kallick asked.
“Probably,” Estra said, yawning, “If I knew any healing spells. I only know the illusion, manipulation, movement, and force forms of Life Magik. Or the yellow, green, grey, and blue spells, as it were. I never got so far as to learn the white, red, and purple spells of healing, heat, and transformation. Sorry, Kal.”
“But you know the Old Tongue,” he protested, “isn’t that enough?”
Estra scoffed, crossing her arms. “No! You need to speak Old Tongue, true, to use Life Magik, but you can’t just yell ‘heal’ and expect someone to get better! You have to know what to actually say. Hmpf! Boys!”
Kallick was too tired and frustrated to argue. He patted Coppercloud’s side, as the horse trotted slowly to rest under a small cluster of trees. The moon was bright, and Kallick found it easy to make out shapes and objects from a distance. He kept his lance in a readied position, in case anything tried to attack them during the night. He was just getting ready to tell Estra to get some rest when a rustling sound came from a nearby bush. A small púca rushed out of the bush in the form of a wolf. Kallick knew it was a púca from his training—the dark fur and orange eyes could come from nothing else—and therefore knew it to be harmless. But Estra; that was another issue entirely. Before Kallick had time to tell her to be calm, Estra was mumbling Old Tongue under her breath, casting blue light around her body. It drew from her feet, then into her hands, and finally it lashed out against the unsuspecting púca. The púca yelped in fright, and sprinted off as it morphed from wolf into a tiny goblin form. Estra’s eyes were wide with fear, and Kallick rushed hurriedly to her side in order to comfort her.
“It’s okay, silly. It was a púca. Just a small shape shifting sprite that likes to pull pranks on humans. Nothing to be afraid of. Completely harmless.”
He looked again into her eyes and noticed that she wasn’t looking where the púca had been. She was staring at her feet. Kallick looked down. All around Estra’s feet, the area where her Life Magik had sprung from, was dead grass. As if the blue light had drained the essence of the plants. Estra was beginning to cry, something that she did rarely, and Kallick did his best to help her over to where Coppercloud was resting. When she sat down she began to talk, stumbling through her occasional sobs.
“I always thought it just came from my feet. Not from living things!”
Kallick smiled, and tilted her head towards him with his left hand. “It’s fine, Estra.”
Estra’s brow furrowed. “No it’s not! I suck away the life from under me! I couldn’t see it before, because the streets of Regral are all stone. I must’ve been killing the plants underneath the city. Oh! And poor Coppercloud! It’s because of me he’s sick! Right before we left the city, with the guards. I wasn’t standing on the ground—my feet were pressed against Coppercloud’s side. I must’ve drawn my magik from him. No wonder he’s sick!”
Kallick sighed. He wasn’t sure what to say. He knew Estra hadn’t known better, but it was her fault that they were where they were. “Maybe,” Kallick said calmly, “it’d be best if you just didn’t use your magik for awhile.”
Estra nodded. Then, slowly, they fell asleep.
It was almost two days later before anything else exciting happened to them. The moon was bright and they knew that they were almost an hour away from the edge of the Meldwind Meadows. There were more and more trees now, and they were already close to the enormous Blackwater Mountains. Coppercloud was getting better and Estra had, once again, gained back her chatty and flirtatious attitude.
“I’m so tired of walking, Kal. Ugh! Why aren’t we riding Coppercloud? He seems better.”
“Because someone made him sick, remember?”
“Yes, but I didn’t mean to, did I?” she said, pursing her lips. “Besides, I’m sure you’d rather me get on the horse’s back than collapse from complete exhaustion, now wouldn’t you?”
Kallick rolled his eyes irritably. He couldn’t wait to get out of the Meadows. Then something caught his eye in the distance. Then another something, and another. Kallick stopped, dropping Coppercloud’s reigns.
“Estra,” he whispered, “stay with Coppercloud.”
Estra began to protest quietly as Kallick walked forward with his lance held outward, but her vocal cries soon became inaudible. As Kallick drew closer to the three figures he was able to make out one of them instructing the other two with long, knotty arms. The other two, following the orders of their elected leader, shifted and gestured back. Kallick noticed that they were human in shape despite their shortened height and broad stature. They were dark grey and wore shabby cloth around their gnarled and twisted bodies. Their hands, legs, and faces seemed to be made entirely out of wood and their massive beards were knotted messes of roots and twigs. Only the two holes in their faces resembled anything truly human: eyes. But the most shocking thing about each of the creatures was thick hand axe that each of them carried. The first one signaled once more and the creatures began to run towards Kallick in a sprint. Kallick turned around and yelled to Estra.
“Leshies! Run!”
Kallick didn’t even check to make sure that Estra had taken off with Coppercloud. Instead he whirled himself back towards the leshies, lance thrust forward. They were gaining quickly. The closest leshy was upon him in moments. Instinct kicked in as Kallick’s battle lance clashed against the swing of the leshy’s axe. The moonlight reflected off of the blades as the continued to beat upon each other. Kallick saw the other two leshies almost upon him and in desperation drove his lance into the face of his current attacker. Brown, sap-like, blood oozed from the wound and the leshy instantly collapsed. He yanked his lance out of the bark skin, and turned just as the remaining leshies leaped on top of him. He was done for. He knew it. There was nothing left for him to do except die. He chuckled. Funny. Hadn’t he once said he sometimes simply wanted to die? Then, as he looked up between the two bodies that were on top of him, he watched as Estra leaped on top of the creatures, one foot on each leshy, and quickly muttered an incantation. Then, looking down, she smirked. A massive column of blue light enveloped the leshies and seeped into Estra’s body. Then, in one final push, she directed the light back towards the woodland creatures and blasted the energy towards them—killing them in an instant. There was a silence as Estra pulled Kallick up from the pile of bodies and led him back to Coppercloud. He smiled at her ingenuity; using the life force of the leshies to be used against themselves. He looked at her, smiling, and kissed her.
“Thank you.”
Estra smiled. “Well, you know: you’d have done the same.”
Kallick chuckled and Estra laughed, but they both quickly fell silent. They looked at each other, and nodded, indicating that they had both heard something. Straining their ears, they listened again. And heard a voice.
My Elected, My Instructor, the voice called, I seek your aid.
Estra grew noticeably excited. “Kallick! Those are our names! In Old Tongue! Kallick means ‘Elected’, Estra means ‘Instructor’! Someone’s calling us!”
Kallick pressed a finger to her lips as the voice called again.
My Elected. My Instructor. I seek your aid. Come to me and you will find what it is you are looking for. You will find your sovereignty.
Estra hadn’t stopped grinning. “Well?” she asked pointedly.
Kallick smiled. “Well, I say it sounds nice enough, whatever it is. I’m fine with following it.”
Kallick hadn’t even finished speaking before Estra rushed over to Coppercloud to grab his reigns. Sighing happily, Kallick made his way to Estra as they followed the Call.

One the seventh day of her Plea, Vlendessa watched as four beings and one horse made their way into her secluded glade. They were each startled by the other’s presence, each aware that they were different in appearance. But they stopped any misgivings that they had about each other when she called their names.
My Gatherer, My Protector, My Elected, My Instructor. Please. Be of good intent. I have brought each of you here for a purpose. I have brought each of you freedom, if you would wish it so.
The elf, Gatherer, cocked his head to his side and scratched his nose. “A plant that talks?”
“Yes,” Elected agreed, “a tree, it would seem.”
Instructor smiled largely. “Yes! A Sacred Tree!”
The dwarf, Protector, was in awe. “By the Light, it is! A talking tree! Never have I seen anything so precious and beautiful!”
My name is Vlendessa. I have Called you here and tested your worthiness with trials to prove your humility; to prove your right to reign.
Instructor scrunched her brow. “Vlendessa? That means Peacegiver in Old Tongue.”
“And in Elfish,” Gatherer concurred.
“As does it in Dwarvish,” said Protector.
Elected narrowed his eyes. “You sent those monsters?”
The other three fell silent. Vlendessa knew that this time would come sooner rather than later. I have tested your ability to show leadership in even the darkest of times. Festral is collapsing and the Great Expanse draws ever near. The separation of the races has lasted too long. A New World must be born in order to save that of the Old. A World of unity and peace. It is yours, if you would wish it so.
Instructor smiled and nodded. “I would accept this great opportunity.”
“As would I,” Protector said gruffly.
“I’m not sure as to what this all means,” Gatherer chimed in, “but anything is better than Oglandador. Count me in.”
“I suppose,” muttered Elected, “that I don’t have much of a choice if Estra has already decided.”
The road will prove difficult, and the opposition great. But at the heart of every pure ideal lies the ignorance of the self. You must seek the greater good outside of your own needs in order to bring this New World to Light. I will be there for you in your most desperate hours, and I will not. For the answer often lies within the heart, and not within its own desires.
“Again,” Gatherer said in a sing-song voice, “I’m not so sure if I get all this, but I will do my best making somewhere…happier…than Oglandador.”
“And I, a place more calm than Bastille,” Protector grunted.
“I wouldn’t mind somewhere more vibrant than Regral,” Instructor said happily.
“Then it’s settled,” Elected said sternly, “we will strive to do our best to make a brand New World.”
“You didn’t say what you wanted, Kallick,” Estra sighed.
Kallick smiled. “The tree said to not think of my own desires, right? Besides,” he said, sliding his arm around Estra, “I’m happy wherever I can find you. I think that’s all I could ever ask for.”

It Began With War

My name is Adam Gonzales, and this blog is dedicated to keeping updates on a book series that I am writing. The World of Festral is historically vague, even to its own inhabitants, but it is clear that the origins of Festral are based in war. The two-book series follows a small group of Called people who have left their homes behind in order to create a sanctuary in a segregated world.

Festral is made up of six Dominances that form the miniscule world. Humans, Elves, and Dwarves make up the senitent races of Festral and live mainly in stone cities, caves, and trees respectively. The story of Festral Dominions begins long after the world's war which ended with the Elves being banished to the dark caves of Oglandador. Elves have been entirely forgotten on the surface, and great lengths of time have passed with little conflict between the Dwarves and Humans. Vlendessa, Goddess of festral, has Called four of her children to aid in uniting all the races together. Now, with the support of two Humans, a Dwarf, and an Elf, Vlendessa prepares for the constuction of a grand city meant to coalesce the peoples of Festral and thwart the emergence of a Great Evile. The book follows these four Called people as they strive to protect Festral from The Spread, a dark an frightening sickness that plagues the minds of all it touches. Estra, Kallick, Herder, and Yyvellian are tested as they watch their peaceful world rip to shreds before their very eyes, eager to stop it in any way they can.

I will do my best to post updates whenever I can in order to let people slowly immerse themselves into the world of Festral as I, myself, do as well. I am working on four other book series simaltaneously and don't expect to post much, other than snippits or small informative posts, but will do my best to keep on track! If you'd like, you can visit the blogs of three of my other book series, also. The Tarterrior Series, The Magnifier, and The Boundless, are all great works that will also be getting more posts in due time. Although The Tarterrior Series is my pride and joy, and although I have had loads of fun creating Festral, my current priority lies with The Magnifier series, in the world of Banavar. But keep checking back just in case! You never know when something might pop up!