Legends of Belariath
Hemlock
In Sylvan forests to the east, where no human foot has ever set, Nature still holds sway. What Gaea creates, she does so to a purpose not understood by most. What secrets there are, exist only because the races have forgotten in their striving for dominance. The Nymphs could tell you this, if you knew how to ask. But words have little enough meaning to such creatures, even the high ancient tongues of Elves can bare sustain Gaea’s intent. And thus are memories lost.
She was born of morning dew and spring dawn’s hue, from the blossom of an Eastern Hemlock tree. Tsuga Heterophyllus in the secret language of Gaea’s children. That she had a mother, or even father, none could say; a Wood Nymph has but one – The Spirit of Nature. She sprang as if by magic, for magic indeed it is, with clarity of purpose and full awareness of her place in the universe. Treasured gifts far exceeding those of a king, counting his gold and swords, or a Princess numbering her suitors on a midsummer’s eve.
Hemlock spent her days tending the woodlands of her home, caring for plants and animals alike. Her touch could penetrate the earth and reach into the sky, guiding twisted roots and soothing gnarled limbs. The broken wing of a sparrow she could mend with a touch and the anger of a bear assuaged with song. Hemlock was present for birth and death alike, celebrating both as Gaea’s gifts; for one without the other is useless after all. This was the way of it for countless seasons, measured only by the calendar of seasons, which is to say, measured not at all.
But while Nymphs understand Gaea’s nature, even they cannot know the time and means of her plans. In the summer, when it is unreasonably hot and even the Nereids are loath to move in their languid pools, fire becomes more than just a danger. For a being such as a Nymph, bound spiritually to the plants and animals under her care, a forest fire holds terrors and pain beyond mortal imagination. Each tree that fell, each bush and blade of grass devoured in that flaming maw, struck through Hemlock’s spirit like arrows from Cruelty’s bow. Animals perished, confused and afraid, their panic and pain overwhelming and finally silenced with awful finality. Hemlock’s own desperation, not for flight but for assistance, was useless and could not stem the inevitable. Though she helped many creatures find a path to safety, they were too few, and for her trees, for her brothers and sisters, she could do naught but remain with them, accepting their fate for her own.
When Hemlock awoke, she found herself in the company of a Centaur, a noble creature from a race long cherished to Gaea’s breast. He was Laertes, alone and perhaps the last of his family, he could not know. He had found Hemlock as he made his escape, carrying the Nymph to safety in his strong arms and tending to her body, though there was little he could do for her heart. Her wounds were not of themselves serious, but the body may not live in the absence of spirit and so for 3 days Hemlock hovered at the edge of death.
By Gaea’s mercy Hemlock had a vision as she lay unconscious, an avatar of Gaea’s, a silver fox approached her in her dreams. He spoke softly, in words that were old when even the earth was young. He told the Nymph the secrets of life and death, reminded Hemlock that everything has purpose. The hand of Gaea is the touch of reason, even if it cannot be understood. Even now, he told her, life begins beneath the still warm ashes of her forest. In time a greater good will arise, new trees and birds to nest in them. The rabbit and the deer will return, with the fox and bear to hunt them. It will not be the same, it cannot be, the avatar warned, but it will be as nature requires. And then the silver fox showed Hemlock a new place, a distant place where fire had not reached. Where the trees and animals had been left without a Nymph, just as Hemlock had been left without a forest. She was needed, in this place, to continue the purpose Gaea had set before her countless seasons ago. This new forest would heal Hemlock, as surely as she would care for it.
Hemlock awoke shortly thereafter and spent a week with Laertes, resting and taking comfort in his arms, as they both grew stronger. But it was a sad time, a time when the delights of making love through moonlit nights were clung to desperately, as if seeking a physical remembrance of emotions long since lost. After 7 days a fox appeared, a silver vixen like the one in her dream. She would lead Hemlock to her new home, the animal would be Hemlock’s companion and watch over the Nymph. Laertes had decided that he must turn north, to seek his lost family and search for his brothers. The parting was difficult, another familiarity now lost, and until reaching her new forest, Hemlock would have only Gaea’s gift, the vixen, to keep her company.
The nature of Nymphs is oft misunderstood. They are called capricious and carefree, with little sense and few restraints, but this is false. Instead it should be said that it is in their natures to appear this way. To anyone who would have encountered Hemlock during her long journey to the Forests surrounding Nanthalion, she would hardly have been taken for a Nymph. She and the fox paused often, many times for no other reason than Hemlock could not find the spirit to take a step. She would cradle herself in the arms of a tree, a wise old oak, or matron willow. Not speaking, but letting the leaves caress her with the breeze. Occasionally she would be found by a Nymph, and welcomed as a sister, for they knew of her passing. And once again, comfort was found not in words, but in the simple touches of understanding. The empathy of pain and sorrow, every one healing bit by bit and making Hemlock strong enough to complete her journey.
When she finally reached the place where Gaea intended, Hemlock knew she was home. The trees, plants, and animals filled her with a new sense of purpose and belonging. She has a new family and new responsibilities. Though the pain of her past remains a heavy burden, she has found the strength to bear it, to seek understanding and acceptance. She has made a new home in the arms of a young willow tree and finds much comfort in the simple acts of tending her forest and animals. Much of her natural good humor, delightful wonder, and even optimism have returned, transforming Hemlock once again into a seemingly innocent child of nature.
And now, it seems the golden Wood Nymph has found a new passion: curiosity. Having spent so much time alone, only occasionally encountering the odd traveler or passing Ranger, Hemlock now finds herself on the edge of a town, filled with an alarming mixture of races and professions. She’s discovered Spellcraft, the mortal inventions to tap Gaea’s strength, and cannot help but be charmed by it. She has difficulty understanding the interests and conflicts and goings on in Nanthalion, to be sure, but finds it a source of great amusement. Sometimes it becomes too much and she retreats into the forest, talking with her plants and animals, offering her most recent experiences as if they were riddles to be solved. Perhaps this new affinity, the improbable friendships and sympathies Hemlock has developed over the recent months are a part of Gaea’s plan as well. The Nymph doesn’t know; it is enough for her to simply observe and laugh and wonder at the mysterious ways of her new companions. And indulge her weakness for that terribly wicked wicked sweetbread served at The Lonely Inn!