The Lion of the Plains

[Silver Snow]

Since the incident of the missing Warsword, and that of the disturbed livestock, the druid Elhokar would more readily frequent the Filur community. His nature was, at its core, a social one. He had not always been a druid, had not been born to the beasts he spent time among. Perhaps, before he took on some southern god's mantle, he was a villager like these himself. He did not often seclude himself among the plains and skies for the sake of seclusion, and would be almost as often seen aiding men as beasts. One could not call have called Elhokar a townsman still, he began an oddity and a hermit-like figure and he stayed one..but he visited the town to sample the ale, to procure supplies, to give aid and advice to the town's hunters and loggers. The man in his middle years sought to teach, to inspire a sort of harmony between the town and the land it had joined. Since his presence became more frequent, fewer livestock were lost to wolves, fewer beasts and brigands bothered the nearby road, fewer snakes made their nests close to the ourtskirts' more frequented thoroughfares. It was known enough that Elhokar sought his rest on the outskirts of town or further, but some enterprising rumors had begun to circle that the half-Turmish man had used the inn beds for other purposes. Whether or not a girl was sweet on the southerner, or simply a case of mutual opportunity, or nothing of the sort..would have to reside and be buried in rumor for now.

The events in Sarshel changed much. For a tenday or more, Elhokar would hardly be seen among the people. His few visits were brief and for the sake of supplies only, or a sharing of quick news of the wider world. One way or another, Elhokar seemed to garner news earlier than most, even of things related less to nature and more to men. Elhokar's duties had him at the very edge of the plains and those wooded wetlands that bordered the Outentown hold. In Aleira Nemesk's absence, his presence was often seen even past that, north of the Whitsome lands and along the roads and woods there. Elhokar's efforts carved a line in the land, from edge of sea to the craggy foothills, a barrier of trees and beasts and his winged form that would not let a single demonic thing slip by unnoticed. The creatures of the wood were rallied to a purpose, sometimes at his side and sometimes in unlikely fellowships to ward off the foul abyssal spread. The efforts of the man were not futile, though not wholly successful over the course of the tenday. Some creatures did make it past his divide, gone far enough to ravage and threaten. Even those were tracked, followed, eventually hunted down at the cost of blood and swear..and any peaceful rest to the druid. Elhokar had chosen his ground to stand, and when the demons came to Sarshel, he held his. That battle would have to be won by others, for he had many of his own.

The druid did not allow himself much rest in the coming days, watching and hunting and ensuring that the lands he burdened himself with protecting were not taken advantage of, not by the planar evils of demon-kind, or by the more mundane ones of goblin-kin and men. And then, there were the refugees. The roads had never seen so many feet or wagon wheels, not since he first walked them. With so many people, so many mouths, so many opportunities along the long roads, his work had not subsided, though the nature of it changed. It was a delicate balance already on the plains, between predator and prey. To feed the refugees, Elhokar had to stretch it even more taut. Meat was brought to Filur, and not always of the most favored sort. Sometimes it was venison or mutton, other times leaner wolf, or snake, or avian. The beasts came from populations that could spare them, though never was there quite too much. The druid hunted in great moderation and with great care, and supplemented what he could not take from the beasts with what he could take from the rest of the land. His bounties of meat were joined by grains, berries, roots. When he was not hunting or keeping watch on the roads, he was ensuring no hide, no bone, no tooth of the animals would go to waste.

Once some sort of equilibrium reached the land, Elhokar had allowed himself some rest. Enough stayed in Filur to swell the town's edges and numbers, and enough came and went to warrant closer watch of the roads..but the Warsword was certainly not idle either. Their host, Elhokar would freely offer his aid to, weariness or not. The druid was said to have spent a full three days in quiet rest and recovery, with only intermittent trips outside of the village. He had even used the inn's beds..or at least the rooms, for his rest, and the rumors of a local Impilturan girl were likely to spring back to life around him.
There was no peace in Impiltur, but his lot now among the plains was manageable. For now.

[Silver Snow]

The last hundred paces were the hardest. Once he could not keep a pace, he leaned on his spear. Once the spear's support only weighed him down, it fell out of his numbing fingers. He left it behind, somewhere on the erratic, bloodied path he made. For all he had lost on the way to shelter, he had not lost his bearings. His strength, his blood, his spear, his supplies..all these he left in trickling bits and pieces, but not the deep familiarity with the land he held.
He stumbled, muddying his knees and palms for the third time in these last hundred steps. The rain had made the ground a soggy mire that would suck at any passing boot, even if it let the druid go freely. Perhaps the rains would come again, and wash his path clear behind him. The frequency of the rain in this southeast part of the plains was a thing he counted on, willing himself to rise for the final short distance. He had the jagged stone as support now, palm against it as he circled the dark granite monolith that added to the nearby coast's menacing profile. There it was, so very near now. The rains and slope had carved a small gully beneath a shelf of the hanging rock. It was no cave, but it afforded a natural roof, a natural, flat stone bed. Shelter.
His breaths came shallow, rattling in his chest. One lung could not do the work of two, and the creature's foul spines had pierced deep, past armor and muscle. The spine vanished when the aberrant thing did, beaten back to its abyss, and did even more harm in doing so. There was no end to the other wounds upon him, broken bones and torn skin. This was what victory over a demon looked like, no exultation, no pride, only pain and a growing promise of slow defeat. Perhaps it had been clever, particularly powerful and alert a creature, but the little justifications would not save him now; they would not mend his body, would not return the very last of his blessings and supplies to him. Whatever pride he could muster in his work would not help him.
He crawled the last steps, lifted himself onto the low stone shelf in the sheltering, damp shadow of the stone overhead. He rolled onto his back, it was just large enough to hold him. It was no bed, he thought, feeling fading in his extremities to the point that the cold stone did not seem a discomfort. It was a bier.
The Lion's breath grew shallow, his heart slowed, his limbs grew still beside him. Somewhere, in the damp shelter of stone, Elhokar grew still and clung onto the last threads of life he had.

[Silver Snow]

Near a month had passed since the Lion's presence was truly felt on the plains. Perhaps allies had helped mitigate what new dangers his absence had caused, but the plains did not feel a welcome place at night to most, not among the taller grass which could hide untold troubles. Still, it was not the predatory and truly lawless hand it had been months before, when most all but the roadside was left untended and unguarded. With a protector with an ear to the heartbeat of the plains, the dangers had been fewer, the tragedies smaller in scope and number.
When Elhokar returned to his roaming vigil, it was with a tireless force of a beast's nature. What had become too bold was cowed once more, and what had become too large was thinned and corralled. And yet, this was not a pace the Lion could keep forever, and in fact, as many of the mundane foes fell under his claws, more seemed to appear elsewhere. The Lion could not cleanse this land, certainly not on his own, and not when something was still fouled at the root of it.
When Elhokar returned, not all of his sweat and time was poured into violence. That was an endless battle that had already nearly beaten him once. Instead, Elhokar courted the land itself. He sat through rain and sleet among the stones of the Sisters, to better hear the lessons they might impart on the druid, even though he might walk a different path of faith. He would try and come to know the benign forces of the land still left, be it beast, or spirit, or fey. More than just the plains' guardian, he would have to weave himself in closer with it, to better know it and defend it.