Word: Gambol

 

gambol

[ gam-buhl ]verb (used without object)

, gam·boled, gam·bol·ing or (especially British) gam·bolled, gam·bol·ling.

1. to skip about, as in dancing or playing; frolic.

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               The forest was deep and dark. Not the kind of place people often wander. Many a dark tale was set in the forest, which kept people away. Most of the time anyway. For if one was to gather their courage and venture in, they might come across a certain clearing. A near perfect circle devoid of tree and bush. A clearing where even the grass lays flat.

               In this clearing, one can find people dancing. They laugh and dance to music only they can hear, with joy on their faces. Most would wonder why they dance in the middle of such an ominous forest, but their evident joy would soon banish such thoughts. Clearly they are dancing there because they want to.

               Perhaps it is the lights that attract them and make the people want to dance there. For around the people are lights. Flittering, fluttering light that moves around the dancers. From the edge of the clearing, one would be hard pressed to find out the identity of those lights. Large fireflies, perhaps? They are much larger and brighter than normal specimens of that insect, but what else could they be?

               The dancers seem to enjoy their presence, at least. They spin and twirl around the fluttering lights, as if each one was also a dancer. The lights move and spin around the humans in ways that a causal observer might find to be odd. Like the lights are as attracted to the people as the people are to the lights.

               Maybe an observer would watch the dancer for a while before moving on, searching for the many mysteries of the forest. Maybe they will just watch for a while and then try and find their way home. Or perhaps they will be enraptured by the dance and move to join them. Should this last one be the case, the observer would surely move into the clearing and hear a faint melody. A melody that comes from nowhere and everywhere at once.

               With this music in their ear, they would no doubt be caught up in the dance. They would start to dance and frolic and be lost in the pure joy of movement, just as the other dancers are. And it would be a glorious moment indeed.

               But the new dancer would soon find something odd. The other dancer’s faces are locked in permanent grins, but their eyes show something else. Weariness. Anger. Hope. And above all, fear. To the new arrival, every laugh seems to hide a scream. He would then look to the fluttering lights and see not a large insect, but a tiny person.

               A person with odd, distorted features and fine, gossamer wings. These tiny people twirl through the air in a dance all their own. They move both with the humans and the other small beings. And then the true nature of the dance would dawn upon the new dancer. And their face would no doubt show the same fear as the other humans.

               For when one dances with fairies, one must be prepared to dance forever.    

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Don't mess with fairies. They will wreck you.

Word: Dendroglyph

 

dendroglyph

[ den-droh-glif, den-druh- ]

noun

1. an image, message, or symbol carved into a tree, especially by Indigenous people and often hundreds of years old, providing cultural and historical information not available from other sources: Compare ammoglyph ( def ), geoglyph ( def ), petroglyph ( def ).

   The awe-inspiring dendroglyph was etched into the bark of a large yellow walnut tree in Queensland, Australia, prior to European settlement.

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                  The party closed in on the forest. The trees seemed to be normal to most of them. They rose up tall and strong, just like trees in other forests. Supposedly though, there was something wrong with them, and the animals that lived in the forest.

                  “Well, let’s get this started.” The party leader, Vincent, said.

   He did not necessarily like camping out in the middle of a wild forest, but it was part of the job and he was mostly used to it by now. Still, the sooner they could finish the job, the better. Most of the others agreed. Packs were checked and weapons prepared. Then they approached the tree line.

   “Wait!” The party druid, Nicole, called out before any of them could enter.

   “What’s wrong?” Vincent said.

   Nicole went to one of the trees and examined it closely. Vincent watched the druid carefully and soon saw what the man was examining. There were small, intricate carvings running along the trunk.

   “Druid speak.” Nicole said. “We use these glyphs to leave messages for others.”

   “Oh, so this is a druid forest?” The party’s tracker, Leona, asked. She brightened up at the thought. If there were druids around, it meant they could lead the party right to whatever was causing problems. That would make he job considerably easier.

   Nicole examined the marks for a moment. “It was. But not anymore, I’m afraid.”

   There was silence as the party let those words settle. What would cause a druidic circle to leave a forest?

   “Do they say why they left?” Vincent asked.

   “No. At least, not specifically. Whatever it was caused them to leave in a hurry. From what I can tell, it seems like something caused to forest itself to become hostile. They came under assault from both plant and animal. The plants out here on the edge weren’t effected when these marks were made, so they were able to at least leave these warning. As for what the problem is, either the druids here didn’t know the nature of it, or there are no glyphs to identify it.”

   “I don’t like either of those options.” The party leader said. “Do they at least try and describe it?”

   Nicole shook his head. “It just says that whatever it is, is evil. And I want you all to know the gravity of that. It is not easy for a druid to think of anything as evil. Even what most people consider an evil, wicked monster is, to us, just another part of nature. But this? They didn’t just use the glyph for evil. They used the one for pure evil. Something that cannot be redeemed or turned to become part of the greater natural world. No, they way they describe whatever it is, they used glyphs for something that needs to be destroyed at any cost. Something that, if left alone, would gladly destroy everything.”

   “Suddenly I’m thinking we’re way out of our depth on this one.” Leona said. She hugged her bow closer and looked nervously at the trees. They did not seem so normal anymore.

                  “Agreed.” Vincent said. “But we still have a job to do. Nicole, translate those glyph and send an animal messenger to the guild. You can send them to the rest of your circle as well. Just get the message out to whoever can contact people stronger than us. Hopefully we’ll be able to find something else out and then live long enough to spread the word more. Once you’re done with that, everyone get ready. Once everyone is prepared, we’re going in.”

                 *******************

   Sounds like the start of a DnD campaign, right? Maybe some enterprising DM can get some inspiration to make something fun for their party. 
   

Word: Inveterate

 

inveterate

[ in-vet-er-it ]

adjective

1. settled or confirmed in a habit, practice, feeling, or the like:

   an inveterate gambler.

2. firmly established by long continuance, as a disease, habit, practice, feeling, etc.; chronic.

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               Henry got up. He got out of bed and went to the bathroom. He went through all his normal morning habits, all while trying not to look at the second toothbrush. Doing so would cause unnecessary problems. Once he was done in the bathroom, he went to make himself some breakfast.

               It was the same every morning. A bowl of cereal and some fruit. He supposed he could make himself something hot every now and then. But the very idea of doing so made him feel wrong, somehow. No, cereal and fruit. It had served him well for years and he had no reason to change that. Besides, cooking hot breakfast had always been…Henry shook his head, banishing the unwanted thoughts. They would only get in the way.

               Now that he was fed, he needed to figure out what to do with the rest of his day. Once upon a time, he would get dressed and go to work. But he was retired now, so there was no need for that. He had his habits and traditions he could fall back on, of course. In all likelihood, he probably would. He would sit in front of the TV and browse for a while before settling on something. He never had these problems before. He rubbed his forehead. No, no he would not go down that path. Not again.

               He took a deep breath to calm himself. He glanced out the window. The view was not great, but it was outside. He had not been outside in quite some time. He had enough food to last awhile, so he had no reason to. He used to go out and tend to the lawn and driveway, more out of habit than pride. He supposed he could get back into it. It would kill a few hours, at the very least. But the more he thought about it, the more his stomach twisted. The outside. The garden, the lawn. All of it had been her…He stopped his thoughts quickly and took a series of deep breaths.

               No, it was best to stick to his current routine. It was safe. It was easy. His current habits and practices would keep the memories from bubbling up. Stay inside. Watch TV. Eat simple, easy meals. That was the best way to get through the day. He set his gaze away from the window. Maybe he would paint it over, just to avoid the temptation. He stood and headed to the couch, and sat down in his spot. He knew it was his spot because he had sat there for years. Decades, even. It embraced him like an old friend. He just had to avoid looking at the rest of the couch. Doing so would remind him of how she would…No! He shut his eyes as hard as he could. Even the good parts would lead to a poor end.

               Henry’s hand shook slightly as it grasped the remote, resting on the same spot it always had. He was shaking so much it took a few tries to hit the power button. The soft lights and sounds of the TV muted all other thoughts. And for now, Henry was able to just be. To not think the dark thoughts. To let himself wallow in dull, boring habit and mindless routine. It was how he was going to get through his days. How he was going to make it through the rest of his life.

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Oh. Now I made myself sad. Damn it.