A Call From The Wild

A Short Story by Kyle Viveiros

You awaken to the sounds of a gentle rain tapping the roof of your humble home in the lofty canopy of the Devilwood Forest. Rains are common in the forest you call home, but this one feels different to you. Dorg lifts his wrinkly head from his dog bed in the corner of your room and gives you an inquisitive look as if to say, “Everything okay, Darsy?” 

“I’m fine boy, just a weird feeling I guess…”

As you sit there, listening to the pitter patter of the rain drops and the far off rumbles of thunder, your thoughts drift to that of the slumber you woke from. Bit by bit, the images and messages you dreamed of start flooding into your mind. Forests razed. A creek running with blood. Bodies, animal and elf alike, littering the forest floor, lifeless. The elven city of Nythrenluna sacked. The horrific imagery vividly flashes in your mind’s eye and you begin to feel tears well up as you clutch your head. Thunder booms outside, as if the lightning had struck your home itself. It’s in that moment you remember the voice you heard. You’re used to the Devilwood speaking to you; the treetops rustling as the wind blows, the sounds of birds chirping as the sun rises, the babble of the nearby creek as the water laps against the rocks. But this voice was different. It was a deep, resonant voice that seemed to vibrate throughout your body. Whomever this voice belonged to, their message crystalized in the front of your thoughts as you begin to pack your bags and prepare Dorg for the long journey ahead:

 

“My sweet, sweet child. Something wicked in this land grows restless. If someone does not intervene, these images I have shown you will become reality. Go. Go into the world. Grow stronger in your resolve. Seek allies. Bring your light to others. Prevent this atrocity from happening, my precious Darsica Greenleaf.”

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