Adventures of the Ivy Princess

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me say it was the brackish water, others claimed it was in the very air itself, but I knew better. Though few believed in Dragons, Wizards, Witches, Magic, Gnomes, Orcs, Fairies, Mages a

le words, but with patterns, ideas and formulas which I then use in my potions. I tend to be a logical man, but logic seems to play no part in what I do. I mix things together that seem to have no sensible connection with each other, yet the result is most often magical in the sum total and combination of the individual parts. I suppose that my friends would call me a driven man, for I often spend hours alone, combining things that the great trees have s

as branded into my chest in my youth. The woman who discovered me abandoned in a small wooden crate claimed that my cries reminded her of her long lost pet cat

ven fame, though my years have been long extended beyond what even I imagined they would be. Those were the things that existed in my yesterday, and most of those who knew me then no longer exist. To

had ever hoped to embrace. Most of my friends and loved ones have long since left this earth and I find myself reluctant t

ence we all call life. I call her, the Ivy Princess. We have nothing special in common aside from the fact that we are both orphans, and she, as well as I cannot die from old age, though

or she too was abandoned at birth then later adopted. Her laughter seemed to bring joy and happiness to the couple that adopted her.

the sunlight. Her skin was white like the purest Ivory and her smile was like daylight even on the brightest day. Truly Esmereld

elected the trees least in age for our lumber work and that wood was felled only for craftsmen of the highest order. The Elder trees were protected by us and no sane axeman would dare lay axe to their bark. While others

usions about my ability to follow in his path. Despite this shortcoming he was never disappointed in me. He was a formidable man, tall of stature as was common among th

ight in the eye without much effort. She was an excellent gardener as were most women in our village and her baking skills were s

days that Mrs Greene fell ill. Mr Greene arrived at our cottage just before dawn with Esmerlda in tow. She was nine years old and I was fifteen when we met for t

ced my craft. I was quite absorbed in my mixing and poultice formulas when she entered and I had no time for childishness since this particular poultice was to be administered to our horse Nelly who had s

uppose you could say she charmed me, though I don't put much stock in charms or spells. She did as she had promised and watched me create the entire poultice from start t

ish flank and beamed that amazing smile at her. Nelly was suddenly still and compliant, tossing her head joyfully at Esmerelda. I cannot in my memory ever recall her being so jubilant and enamored of anyone as she was of this little wisp of a girl. I quickly

just how damaging snake venom could be to a horse, and most snake-bit horses had absolutely no appetite whatsoever when in such a state. As we walked from the stable

e. I must mention how grateful and indebted I felt to Esmerelda for her assistance. For had she not been present, my dear friend Nelly might well have endured mu

village fell ill as Mrs Greene had done and not one of my cures had the least effect on any of them. I had begun to fear that the blame for this plague may soon fall on me since ma

this time to move from my shanty at the rear of our cottage to our family safe house in the trees. I gathered provisions of bread, fruit, dried vegetables and venison jerky

tage was much like the croup accompanied by high fever. The second stage was more akin to the what we call the freezing core, which modern man calls hypothermia. But this third stage is a madness, a

no answer was given except that this came from the mind of man and the heart of the wicked. It was during my time in the tree cottage that I first saw the wisp. I am quite certain it did not see me though

e effective, why none of my most reliable medicines had even the slightest effect. This was a curse, a thing conceived in the mind of the most evil of

rsaparilla Tea and asked to join me. I began dialogue by asking if he knew what this wisp apparition may be. It hadn't occurred to me that he couldn't see the thing. He seemed to have no idea what I was talking about but he b

efire. Of course no one believed the old stories except children who knew nothing of the real world, and myself of course, but they were entertaining none the less. After all, magic had been practically non existent for centuries, and memory fades

pened. When what happened I asked? That was when the tree began smoking, emitting an awful sulfurous noxious cloud of vapor. What happened after that? I asked Osmet. Well as you know, o

over the cure? What old magic had infected our village? What evil thing had been trapped within that tree and why were Fir Trees chosen to conceal it's presence? This was a mystery I was determined to uncover,

sn't coming from the little girl. As Mrs Greene closed in on her I saw Esmerelda dart to the left, fleeing to my shanty at the rear of our family cottage. She quickly slammed the door shut and I heard a wooden thunk, as the bolt slid firmly into place. Breathing a sigh of relief I endeavored to descend from the tree in the hope that I could assist

to find a path down to the roof of my old shanty to rescue the poor girl, but I soon realized that I was going to be too late to do any good. All too soon others joined Mrs Greene at the rear of our property, attracted by her constant keening

ength before that day and the macabre vision of my father dying in such a brutal and terrifying fashion didn't register in my thoughts for several seconds after that. As he lay dying I caught his eye. Even in death he managed to signal me to stay b

should be trying her best to escape! This is when she did something most unusual. As I gripped the second tree closest to the shanty she began singing the most haunting melody. I swear I could feel it more than hear it for the tones of her song resonated far beyond sound. I

bly calm and peaceful little Esmerelda. Then I turned to watch as the mob below continued to tear at the shanty with amazing strength, pulling down timbers larger than

h of the afflicted tore at the growth with superhuman strength. The howling became an ocean of tormented chorus as the fury rose in each one of them, yet the little girl sang on, with an unusual serenity emanating from her countenance. Then is when I saw the tree n

s is when the mob looked up and saw me, for I too was screaming in pain, furious at the macabre landscape before me. Others in the village had begun screaming as well, and fortunately for me that sound drew the mob away since they seemed to be easier prey than I was. The infected moved toward that sound, intent on tearing

ghter the axe became and the calmer I began to be. I approached the mob silently and began attacking them from the rear. The axe was as swift as lightning and bright as a falling star as it tore through bodies, searing flesh as it performed its bloody task. I slashed, tore and rent one part from the other as I attacked the mob, yet not one of them looked back at me as I c

acted with terror at my bloody visage, assuming that I too was one of the frenzied mob. There was no heroes welcome, shouts of victory or slap on the back as I retreated from those few survivors, and I didn't expect any. Ther