Kelthier Thorn

Druid of the Shifting Claw | Dreamwalker | Greenseer | Aspiring Himbo

[dappermouth]

Another world gazes through grease and smoke.

[dappermouth]

Two stags stood, like mourners, out among the weathered graves.

[dappermouth]

You would not accept commands or mercy from an outstretched hand.

[kelthier]

Of Ledgers and Limbs

Kelthier groaned as he stretched his left arm across his chest, hugging his elbow toward him with the crook of his right arm. He breathed deeply into the knot that had been tightening in his shoulder while he toiled away. The bead of sweat accumulating at the edge of his hairline finally gave way to slide down his temple when he released his arms to fall by his sides. He almost howled the relieving sigh that escaped him as he relaxed his posture. The disheveled druid peered up at the four corners of his repair project with a glint of pride in his eyes and a tug of joy at his lips. 

All week he had been at it, working away at repairs and improvements to the greenhouse afforded him by Lady Duskbinder’s bestowing the Grounds Master’s home under his name. A tentative gift, he couldn’t help but think due to the quickness in which it was presented to him. Though it wasn’t quite a gift as much as a transaction, for the dwelling so suited to Kelthier’s lifestyle came hand in hand with the responsibility and title of Grounds Master of the Lost Woods. 

And so it was under that looming expectation he’d set diligently to seeing some improvements made to the otherwise abandoned home he’d been given. Surely if he produced results and showed his earnestness, the arrangement would settle its roots and Kelthier could ease into the relief of having found a stable home. 

In fact, the greenhouse was already abuzz with earnestness as honeybees bumbled to and fro between the diverse flower beds already thriving within the sunlit space. Fresh planks of wood with a shade less weathering could be spotted by the keen eye in the sections Kelthier had made repairs. 

The arched trellis on the far back wall of the greenhouse appeared to be grown naturally in and of itself, made up of thick crisscrossed vines formed into the traditional structure. Climbing its length were three different species of ivy with respective hues of green, teal, and red in their own vertical lanes beside each other. 

My bet is on the teal, Kelthier thought as he ran his fingers gently through the leaves of the central ivy. Cerusani’s violet features came to mind as he glanced between the teal and green options. He pursed his lips curiously. Almost certainly not the red. 

He pivoted on his heel to take hold of the ladder that had been leaning against the rafters above, and he unfastened the latch which allowed it to fall down in quick order to half its length. The druid’s gaze lingered above on the beehive tucked up into those rafters, and his smile widened to a childish degree of excitement. He snickered to himself happily as he lifted the halved ladder on its side and under his arm, making his way out from the greenhouse paradise.

Outside, a certain gloom seemed to dwell in the air, though such was a common trait of Duskwood in which the duchy of Black Rose fell. The sun was out in full shine for the moment, though it wouldn’t be long until a cloud or overcast drifted through to dampen its splendor. Kelthier hummed contentedly to himself as he carried the ladder across the way toward the barn his grounds were adjacent to. He raised his hand into the air with a passing wave as one of the potato farmers in the distant field paused from his work to watch the Grounds Master. Kelthier chose to believe the man dipped his hat in the druid’s direction and not that it was just an idle adjustment while he stared. 

When Kelthier reached the barn, he took a care to announce himself as he peeked in through the door, though it seemed all were out in the fields. His shoulders lightened in the relief of being alone and he set the ladder where he’d found it. Tucked away in a corner of the lofty space was a work bench he’d been told he was welcome to use in tending his duties. Kelthier swung the satchel which hung across his shoulder over onto the wooden table with a thud. He tugged the nearby stool toward him with his foot and took a seat while he rummaged the satchel for his ledger, ink, and quill.

Once he was settled, Kelthier flipped through the first few pages of his ledger which were already considerably filled with notes. Once his title had been bestowed and the directive had come from Cerusani to meet Ms. Foxthorne’s recent accounting request, Kelthier decided his first order of action would be to commune with the surrounding settled lands of the barony of the Lost Woods, and to take notes of his findings. In that dreamwalk, he had paid particular attention to discerning the health and contentedness of the barony’s crops. Chief among them were large swaths of potatoes, carrots, and onions. Nothing glamorous. Very simple. 

Unlike Lady Duskbinder, he trailed in thought away from the pages of his ledger. What was it she said? That she was much more than her reputation. In fact, Kelthier found her rather elegant and careful with her words. Whatever mishaps or faux pas she alluded to in their meeting, he couldn’t fathom were significant enough to outweigh the natural admirable qualities he sensed in her. But there certainly is something else there...

He glanced back down at the mundane ledger accounting the happiness of potatoes and a blank space left to record the current and projected harvest yields. He scanned over the quickly jotted ideas he’d scribbled in the margins. Something... more, his mind insisted as he looked up out of the open window before him and into the dark impasse of the edge of the forest deemed the “Lost Woods”. 

Something more important, more exciting, more… to make of these crops, of Cerusani, of the potentials hiding in the depths of the Lost- his thoughts ceased as his eyes connected with that of a large wolf’s beyond the tree line, glowing amber from within the darkness. Clenched in its jaws was a pallid arm severed cruelly at the shoulder and riddled with clumps of dirt. Kelthier sat frozen in his seat as he watched the creature watching him. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck raised as time stood still. It was a peculiar omen, he thought, made more peculiar by the timing.

“Oh, and don’t worry yourself with any skeletal remains that may find their way onto the grounds,” Lady Duskbinder’s words found their way to his mind, “The wildlife have a habit of bringing their prey to these woods from beyond our borders.”

[billy-on-a-walk]

1. Bleeding Tooth Fungus

2. Schizophyllum Commune

3. Rhodotus Palmatus

4. Porcellain Fungus

5. Leratiomyces

6. Cup Fungus

7. Cyathus Striatus

8. Phallus Indusiatus

9. Clathrus Ruber

10. Geastrum Minimum

more

[maureen2musings]

Into the wild

stiannorum

[madammaddy]

𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒅𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔 ✨

[madammaddy]

𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒔

🍯🍶🍃🌾

[cottageaesthetic]

[cottageaesthetic]

[kelthier]

The Grounds Master’s greenhouse.

[kelthier]

Sustenance for a fragile hope.

[maureen2musings]

Wistman’s Wood

@mike_tynan_

[kelthier]

Departure

By the time Kelthier woke from his long slumber, the circle of flora he’d meditated and eventually dozed off in had begun to wilt and wither. Their ability to survive in the damp barrow den was due largely to the druid’s nurturing. Evidently he had been out longer than he’d anticipated, his routine dreamwalk having turned into a taxing journey that filled his inquisitive mind with a swarm of questions. Kelthier sat up from his curled position and smiled softly at the patch of grass that had grown where his face touched the ground. 

“Thank you,” was all he offered, the sincerity in his voice and heart intending to speak the volumes of love he held for the living world, which no words could ever quite paint their due.

The druid leaned forward and began to uproot the withered plants, cultivating them into a pile as he pondered the visions shared on his dreamwalk. He recalled with detail the porcelain face of the elven woman in her garden, and he wandered in hypotheticals for a time. He shook the floating thoughts from his head as the futility of his guessing set in. 

The pile of plants and roots had grown before him, and he allowed himself a moment to frown in their passing. The menacing keep from his dreamwalk came to mind. The recession of death came to mind. He feared an ever growing pile of death and decay. That was all he felt lingering in that place he’d been shown.

But life is the fruit of decay, he reminded himself. That would be his mission. To see that death gave way to life. It could not be allowed to overwhelm or settle in. The flows must continue, no dams to be permitted. He pulled the pile before him into his arms, diligent in collecting any stray leaf or tendril of roots, and rose to carry his harvest to a group of tightly woven baskets kept at one side of the cavern. Kelthier released the contents of his arms into one of the baskets with care, and plunged his hands into the container, mixing and folding in the new additions to the existing compost within. He took a care to wipe his arms of debris when finished and looked contentedly upon the filling basket. He decided he would bring it and the others with him to sow new life in the duchy he was called to. 

There was no time to spare in his curious mind, and so he pivoted toward his sectioned dwelling and began preparations for his journey to come. He mused, this time with my feet on the ground. 

---------------------------------------------------

The sound of a tranquil trickle of water was constant in the bowels of the deeper barrows, and behind it the soft muffled roar of an underground river could be heard, however unseen in this particular section of the caves. The chamber Kelthier entered was much smaller than the one he more typically dwelled and meditated in, but this one certainly was more wondrous to behold. In defiance of expectation, a hearty and stout tree of modest height stood rooted in this deep place. Its roots and limbs were twisted whimsically, and in the center of its trunk, a basin of glowing water shimmered, sprung up through its base and softly trickling over the sides into a shallow pool over which the tree had grown. 

The glow of the waters did the lion’s share of illuminating the chamber, though aided by the fluorescence of mushrooms scattered about the rocky walls. It was in that soft blue light that Kelthier looked upon his charge. A male worgen slept in an entangled embrace of the tree’s roots. Smaller tendrils which sprang from the roots appeared to penetrate his hide and pulse dimly with life. While his body was limp and peaceful in the embrace, his face portrayed torment. 

Kelthier sighed and steeled himself against tarrying in doubt. He placed his hand gently on the worgen’s arm and offered a squeeze of affection, speaking with belief that his intention would reach despite the other’s condition.

“I will return soon, love.”

He peered down at nothing at all, breathing through emotion and allowing it to flow until it passed. He lifted the lid of the compost basket he’d carried into the chamber and began to spread it about the floor. Sustenance for a fragile hope. 

---------------------------------------------------

Kelthier squinted in the daylight as he emerged from the mouth of his den and into the forest in which it was hidden. He hefted the sack he had been carrying over his shoulder into the wagon before him. Like much of his limited possessions, the wagon was crafted from found logs and fasteners of roots and vines. He pressed his hand to one of the joints with a warm regard, and the vines tightened in their holding. 

He peered back at the cave entrance, sure he had done his diligence in seeing to its care for the time he’d be away. He breathed in the scent of the forest and placed the reins to pull his wagon firmly between his teeth. He summoned a deep, burly howl from the depths of his gut, and the form of his person shifted and grew in muscle and fur until it was a formidable bear who set down against the leafy underbrush.

Kelthier began his journey, this time with four paws on the ground. 

[kelthier]

A Dreamwalk in the Duchy

The damp echo of water droplets falling upon stone was a consistent ambience this deep into the cavern that Kelthier called home. While the winding tunnels of this underground system he took to calling a barrow den were largely cloaked in darkness, the expanse in which the druid now sat was graced with light pouring in through a sizable crevice in the rocks. Off to a far corner of the sanctum was a humble bed, stuffed generously with straw and blanketed in a large fur. Shelves crafted simply from logs and roots to fasten the joints and steady the craft lined the rocky walls and cornered about the dwelling space like partitions to the greater chamber. Likewise, a table of similar make was found in the center of his quarters, its central pillar quite simply roots from the ground which held up a relatively flat slab of stone. 

Kelthier sat where the light above reached the soil of his den. Surrounding him in a perfect circle were wild flora, bewilderingly happy and thriving in this place that would otherwise be less inviting to their sunny ilk. The druid settled his rear into the dirt and crossed his legs. He took a moment to center himself. He breathed in slowly, filling his lungs of the cool air that gently moved through the cavern. He breathed out, imagining the busy thoughts of his curious mind leaving his person on the billows he released from his mouth. It did not take long for his mind to clear, making way to invite the whispers of the earth to his ears. He dropped his arms to his side, gently pressing his fingertips to the dirt. He focused to feel the countless particles of the ground give way to his touch, each just a tiny rock in a sea of tiny rocks. He acquainted himself with their touch and cool comfort, and up from the earth the roots of his surrounding flora reached through the ground to entwine to his fingertips. A smile graced his lips as the connection was made, and he could feel the warmth of their “handshake” in return. 

The communion was met, and like a friend opening the door to their home, nature opened Kelthier’s mind to its song. His mind transported through an endless network of roots and vines and flora, riding along at a breakneck pace that twisted and veered every which way throughout the sprawling forest above. Here and there, the journey would halt to allow Kelthier a mindful observance of the goings on in the forest. A sparrow weaving its nest in the heart of a tree’s hollow. A pack of wolves surrounding their prey. From the precipice of life to the knell of death, the balance of the cycle seemed well at hand in this ritual of communion. 

It was upon that settling feeling of content that the forest jostled their humble attendant back into the flowing dreamwalk, jolting his attention once again through the network of their domain. Only this time the journey crept beyond the bounds of the forest. Kelthier felt a difference in the experience as his mind raced through a more sparse landscape with considerably less trees and less wild growth. The feeling was constrained and orderly whereas the forest felt liberated and joyfully wild. It seemed the spirits of nature had brought his attention into the human settlements beyond the woodland border. Needless to say, the balance of the cycle between life and death was... Out of sorts would be an understatement, the druid thought. Alas it was a misfortune to be expected of the cultures within the kingdom of Stormwind. Upsetting as it was, this reality was not a new development and surely was not the reason for the spirits’ irregular excursion. But the deeper his journey took him into these strange lands, the further the pendulum swung toward the favor of death.

The journey halted abruptly upon the limbs of a ragged bush within sight of a great stone keep. The vision lingered, intending Kelthier to take in not only the visible features of the formidable edifice, but the feeling of dread that permeated out from its walls and towers. The druid could feel the hairs of his corporeal form stand up, however many miles he’d been transported away from his anchored body. A mixture of fear and fury overtook his senses as the spirits of nature spoke their regard for this place through feeling. Kelthier believed he could hear the throes of anguish and torment hidden behind the masonry. Then just as agile as the fury had come, serenity rushed to reclaim the communal senses of these spirits who shared the wisdom of millennia passed in undulating strife and grace. This too shall pass, Kelthier understood with reverence, but not without action. The spirits chimed in elation, their plight and wisdom received by their custodial dreamer. 

Just so, they flitted even further from where their journey had started, however the jaunt was brief and not very far from the wretched keep. The vision came to in a place much more… wild. Comforting. A small escape, it seemed, within the bowels of a manor whose cold walls rose around a quaint garden, wherein verdant vines roamed free in their stretch for the sun. Kelthier drank in the peace of this haven with relief just as the gentle crunch of footsteps entered the soundscape. The vision shifted and focused on the elf who had come to bathe in the same peace. A Ren’dorei woman with platinum locks and azure eyes tinged with violet. Kelthier felt the intention of the vision’s focus, lingering on the detail of this woman’s youthful face and features of golden chains and elegant silks snug about her body. This was who he would need to seek. To see about the restoration of balance in this realm. 

Kelthier reared as the sensation of falling backwards suddenly rushed into the pit of his stomach, muted flashes of blended colors streaming by as the dreamwalk returned the human to his barrows. The experience was more exhausting than it  ever was, their venture having stretched so far. Blackness set into the druid’s mind as a deep slumber washed over him, lying curled and contented at the center of a verdant ring of flora, a small patch of soft grass freshly grown just where his cheek pressed to the ground. Deep snores echoed through the cavern Kelthier called home.