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| - At the heart of every Tree Kin resides the soul of a dead Wood Elves, though this is not the fate of all. Only the strongest and most driven souls retain enough individuality to become such a creature. Most, eager to renounce the identity and struggles that shaped their mortal lives, pass into the Weave of the forest. Though their families and friends might occasionally fancy that they can hear their loved one’s voice upon the wind, it is but an echo of a life long abandoned. However, those souls that become Tree Kin are unable to completely abandon their grip on their former lives, and they forge themselves a new body out of dead timber so that they might continue to defend in death that which they loved in life.[1a]
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| abstract
| - At the heart of every Tree Kin resides the soul of a dead Wood Elves, though this is not the fate of all. Only the strongest and most driven souls retain enough individuality to become such a creature. Most, eager to renounce the identity and struggles that shaped their mortal lives, pass into the Weave of the forest. Though their families and friends might occasionally fancy that they can hear their loved one’s voice upon the wind, it is but an echo of a life long abandoned. However, those souls that become Tree Kin are unable to completely abandon their grip on their former lives, and they forge themselves a new body out of dead timber so that they might continue to defend in death that which they loved in life.[1a] Tree Kin seldom recognize those they knew in their former lives. So much of memory is based in their physical senses, and thus lost alongside the physical form. As a result, those few flashes and fragments that remain to a Tree Kin are more confusing than informative. For most Tree Kin, however, the world is a strange place, hidden beneath a shroud of forgotten memory. Though the creatures might be drawn to guard particular glades or safeguard certain Elves, they are seldom aware of the importance that those places and people held to the mortal being they once were. In point of fact, one such creature stood sentinel over its family halls for a thousand years, never once aware that the same catastrophe that had slain its mortal form had killed every member of its blood-kin also.[1a] Yet if a Tree Kin’s garbled memory causes the creature sadness, it never speaks of it. Indeed, it is rare to hear one speak at all. When roused to communicate, the creatures do so in slow, hollow tones, as if the thought driving the words comes from somewhere far distant. However, they understand instructions well enough and are even willing to abandon their self-imposed vigil when asked, should their strength be needed elsewhere. At no time is this more clearly seen than when the Wild Hunt begins and hundreds of Tree Kin emerge from the deepwoods to answer its call. Buried deep though it is, the Tree Kin’s soul resonates to the strident tones of Orion’s horn and stirs eagerly to meet the challenge. Thus can the Wild Hunt often seem to be nothing less than a forest come to fife, seething with rage and determined to reclaim the lands stolen from it in centuries past. There are few sights more glorious, or more terrifying.[1a]
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![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)