farstrider – Tyleril Silversword

Exhausted: The Farstrider Phase

Tal,

It’s not unusual to see your child going through a phase of wanting to be a Farstrider. There are as many books- fiction and non fiction- as there are Farstriders, or perhaps more depicting Farstriders and their role in our society as well as acts of their heroism. The Farstriders are what we think of when we think of our armed forces. Their uniforms are not as magnificent as the Blood Knights, as flashy and rich as those of the Magistrate. Rather, they inspire a sort of awe.

When I was younger I remember seeing them in the forests. I was always overjoyed to meet the ones that would spend some of their time with a young elf. I do not remember their names but I remember what they taught me. What food was safe to eat in the forest, how to tie knots, the times they would guide me back to a path I could follow home. Their skill with bows is without question something that is always spoken of. Few though talk of their druids and the rare mage that rise up those ranks.

Farstriders know Quel’thalas better than they know themselves. They can follow trails through the darkest forest, fight with unparalled bravery in service to our homeland and many of them have died in service. Their love for Quel’thalas and her people took root deeply in their souls. A Farstrider I know describes Quel’thalas as: “The thing I love more than anything else. I still love, rage, weep, and feel fear. But no other love will ever replace Quel’thalas in my heart.”

We all have had the phase of ‘I wanna be a Farstrider’. Most of us outgrew it by the time we grew old enough to find a trade or be apprenticed. Some of us actually are able to meet the strict requirements set down and start the path to become Farstriders.

Becoming a Farstrider isn’t the romanticized path and lifestyle we think it to be. It is a path of hardship, devotion, and sacrifice where you may be called to sacrifice yourself at a moment’s notice. You become a symbol of Quel’thalas to her people. When you become that symbol you will come to realize and understand that it does not mean you become a hero. It means that you will be called away from your friends and family, train until your fingers bleed and your muscles scream in agony, that you, as a person will sacrifice until you are a Farstrider no longer.

But we know the sacrifices they make and perhaps to try and.somehow repay them for it we romanticize them. We tell our children to look up to them and tell them tales of heroism, of the Farstriders that have made their mark upon history. We offer them gifts, our protectors in the wild. They belong to the forest and for love of us and our home they will serve and die for us.

All these things I know though I am not a Farstrider. All these things I tell my children, that they might understand what they see. So that when a Farstrider shows my child how to tie knots or walks them home from Eversong in the evening they’ll treasure these moments. I know I view them in my own rose colored light, that not all of it is so heroic and so on.

But these things I know as an adult my child will also know as they grow. Right now I want my children to have heroes that are flesh and blood. Heroes to inspire them to reach higher, heroes that fight for home, and heroes that they can imitate.

All my love

Tyleril

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“Shindu Falla Nah!”

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“Worked and weary. Clever and sharp as a blade. He had served Quel’thalas for centuries. He missed being able to stay in the deep forests and hear Quel’thas. But duty called him and his heart would not let him flee to stay in the forests. No, instead he put on clothes that he did not like, took on his new mantle, and did what needed to be done. He belonged to the forest, but he instead stayed for love of his people and homeland.”

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“He tutored our son and taught him a horrible ditty… But he never once back down from doing what he thought was needed. Life hardens us all and he was no exception. A good man, father and farstrider.”

Wildwood: Grey Moss

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tyleril-silversword:

A deep breath. The morning air was cool, smelling of moss and the smell of rot was ever present here. Tree and plant alike were covered in dew. It had grown bright but the sun had yet to climb from the horizon into the sky. The sound of mana wyrms as they lazily explored the pool of mana nearby belied the tension of the Farstrider in the tree above them. For hours, the farstrider had been in his hiding spot, wrapped in the magical cape. It served to break up his outline, blending against the tree.

Barely an hour past the dawn and still the farstrider had a day left to go before he would call it a bust. It had taken only minutes to find the spot he would spend hours in but once he had found it he forced his muscles to relax. Hands rested on his bow, one arrow held loosely and the rest in his quiver. It had taken days to get to this point, countless hours hunting and searching, following the smallest hints. Several, maddeningly, lead nowhere. Centuries upon centuries of Farstrider discipline, orders, and persistence did not allow Symmathan Brightarrow to stop.

Something had been driving the treants mad, the treants turned from healthy and green to rotting terrors spreading invasive disease to other plants and wildlife. The source was mold. Some sort of curse had been added and it warped whatever it touched. It would eat away the treant’s bark, hijacking their body as it grew inside of them, turning them into mold spreading horrors. What it didn’t hijack it killed. The plants would rot from the inside out and the rot would try to spread. Several acres of trees had to be burned with magical fire and the land requiring extensive ‘purging’ to ensure that nothing remained. Other farstriders had been tasked with killing the treants, burning the infected, and purging the land. Sym had been tasked to find the source and stop it, whatever ‘it’ was.

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