The forest is my home, I fight for the forest.
When the inquisitors came for Chuton, those of us unlikely to pass as “righteous” in their gaze took to the trees. But the trees had changed, vines trailing on the ground. This was Redleaf, he had come to my home, changed my home. Was this still my home?
The Swords of Astrid came upon us, asking questions of us. Urrgghh!! proclaimed himself of the old gods, and having come from Chuton. The interrogation was going as all go, heading towards our damnation. Had Raya not leapt upon them first, I would have sought them out with my sacred club soon after.
The fight was hard, I faltered, I fumbled, I failed. My companions saved me as the inquisitors tore down upon us with iron and flame. This forest is not my home, I could not fight for the forest.
We offered the bodies of these zealots to the vines we’d encountered – the enemy of our enemy may yet be our ally – and led others towards them. We heard fighting and shouts. Redleaf would feed well, the inquisition would never make it to Chuton. Night came faster than it should, and we laid up camp.
And then finally a meeting with Redleaf himself. This forest – my forest – was now his. We appealed for him to help remove our enemies, and in return we would offer him guardianship and liberty. My companions followed somewhat reluctantly, but I pledged my wardenship willingly.
After all, the forest is my home, and I fight for the forest.