Chaos and uncertainty remain in the aftermath of the Balisekt War. With the Lands of Order in such a fragile state, the tribal races turn to Tranquility, their holy land, for guidance and stability. However, war has left the Temple more shaken than...
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For Sparrow, like all other faeries, the treetop city of Windsong was more than just a home. It was a haven, a place where they could live without the constant reminder that the rest of the forest was simply too big for them. The twig and straw huts lining the branches of the old, wide oak holding the city aloft were a symbol of their place in Her forest. It let them forget the world of the large races. In Windsong, a faerie never had to feel insignificant or forgettable. More than a city, it was a spell cast over the minds of its inhabitants, and that spell was what the Rose Thorns fought to preserve.
There were also practical reasons to keep outsiders away. A city built solely to serve the needs of faeries couldn't hope to accommodate any other creature. Even the shortest dwarf would eat a faerie family of eleven into poverty after one meal. Windsong had no roofs to shelter them, no beds to hold them. There was nothing there for any other creature to take comfort in, and their presence disturbed the serenity enjoyed by its inhabitants.
Before the Blight, before the Great War, and dating back past the boundaries of recorded history, no direct road to Windsong had ever been cut through the trees. The Tri-leaf Safe Roads ventured close but kept travelers far enough away to never let them glimpse the city, even when the torches were lit at night. The Thorns' patrols were constant and dedicated. No creature ever passed through the faerie forest without the Thorns knowing about it. It was a centuries-old tradition, and one Sparrow was proud to be a part of.
It was late at night when she and her patrol were finally able to return to the Treetop City. Strings of small lanterns crisscrossed the branches like threads of a spider web. Lights could be seen flickering in the windows of hundreds of faerie homes lining the branches. At the center, where the branches met, a large platform built from sticks and rope encircled the trunk of the tree like a halo. The circular platform was four feet wide, and upon it sat the common areas. There were merchant shops that made up the fey marketplace as well as stages where all manner of performances could be enjoyed.
Like most nights when the weather was clear, the city was alive with activity. Even before her feet landed on the platform, she could hear the music playing and the joyous cries of her fellow faeries as they danced and sang. Of course, more than the audible sensations, Sparrow loved the colors of Windsong. Streamers of brilliant, vibrant colors hung down from the branches and danced gently in the wind. There were flowers almost everywhere, and where there could be no flowers, images of flowers were painted onto the surfaces. A dusting of glittering crystal flakes covered the floor of the platform, making it sparkle like the night sky above.
Sparrow smiled. It was good to be home.
She tucked her butterfly-like wings in close as she made her way through the crowds of faeries dancing about the platform. The shops were all closed for the day, and the entire city was alive with celebration. She knew none of these faeries were even aware that, only hours ago, a group of large creatures from Tranquility was attempting to enter their sacred space, and thanks to her, they never would. Such was the sworn duty of a Rose Thorn.
