Shrin of the Twisted Oak Clan

**Shrin Crowstalker of the Twisted Oak Clan**

The prospect of being left to die in the twisted lands had
never occurred to Shrin Al Rad. Despite the harsh reality that his bones would
soon be picked clean by the ravenous animals of the woods, he had to admit it
was a mercy. A withering death is not a clean or honourable, a punishment fit
only for the maggots that crawl where they do not belong. As the sun beat down
on his sweat covered brow, his memory flashed back to his father’s face. The
last time his father had looked upon him, the only emotion visible was
disappointment.

“What a fucker…” Shrin’s voice cracked at the words. Tears
began to form in the corner of his eyes yet could roll no further. He was
already dehydrated, and his world was slowly spinning. The end would not be far
off, already he could hear the heavy breathing of predators nearby. His
thoughts drifted back several days, to his sacred day.

The sky was clear, not a cloud in the sky, a bad omen by
some. Today, the entire tribe was gathering on the edge of the village. Those
who had completed their trial stood in the front, the young children forced to
climb on boxes and on top of huts to see the celebration. The adults wore grim
faces as they looked over this year’s prospects. A group of young adults stood
before the crowd; fine cloaks adorned their shoulders and twisted crowns on
their heads.

“GO NOW!” The elder’s voiced boomed. “Return with your gift,
or do not return.” His words cut fear in the youth, as they turned and began
the journey into the sacred ruins. Behind them, some of the adults wept,
knowing they may never see their children again, yet none moved, none cried out
words of encouragement or warning. The time for that had passed.

The sacred ruins were alien compared to the village or the twisted
woods around it. They were said to have existed for a thousand years, and none
still living knew of their origins. The structure was square in shape will
large cylindrical shapes reaching up to the sky, tapering towards to the top.
One of the cylinders was missing a full half side, seemingly blown away from
the inside, as debris could be found up to several miles away. The structure
was a but a shell, the walls inside had crumbled away leaving piles of rubble.
The youth began to spread out across the ruins. They knew what they were
looking for, but not where to find it. They did not rush, they moved carefully
and quietly. Time seem to stretch before finally a boy Shrin knew well let out
a yelp of excitement.

“It’s Here!” His voice was excited, yet fearful. His fear
was for good reason. The ruins were not empty. Before the boy could realize his
mistake, a screech ripped out through the air. A black shape tore through the
air, claws extended, and then the boy was gone. Everyone froze. Minutes passed
and no one dared move until the creature had retreated with his prize. Then
they were moving again. The children converged on the area the lost boy had
found. A staircase hidden in the rubble.

The stair descended several floors until it came to a sudden
end, collapsed long ago. The youth began to climb. Down they went, until their
arms ached. One slipped and fell. He had the good sense not to scream. He knew
he was dead and would not condemn his brothers and sisters to the fate of the
first boy. Finally, the youth arrived at the bottom. Climbing over the corpse
of their fallen friend, they moved on.

Ahead, a dull green glow illuminated the hallway. Moving
quickly now, the boys entered the room. Inside, several pools large filled the
room, large rectangular basins. Moving to the edge the boys peered into the
pools, too deep or murky to see the bottom. One by one, the youth dropped down
into the water. Most could not swim, they clung to the walls, shivering in the
cold. Some seemed to be out and heading back within seconds, too cowardly to
stay any longer. A few, Shrin included, refused to give in. One boy dunked is
head under the water, and a girl kicked off and doggy paddled to the center and
back. Both climbed out and left, feeling slightly satisfied at their display of
bravery.

Shrin was the chieftain’s son and would not be outdone.
Shrin pushed his head underwater and swam down. His father has taken him on a
journey when he was young to teach him to swim. He had thought it idiotic at
the time, but now he knew the purpose. He dove deep, as deep as he could, and
when his lungs burned, he kicked and flailed until he could once again breath.
Seeing he was the only one left, he climbed out and began his journey to the
surface.

At the bottom of the stairway, he found another girl. She
was writhing in pain, her skin was a strange color, he wasn’t sure if she would
survive, but if she did, he though, she would certain have a gift. The climb
was difficult, but he had managed it without issue. At the top, yet another
boy, this one was staring blankly ahead, his eyes were dull. Dead. Some sort of
tumor was already growing out of his face. Shuddering, Shrin pushed on.

At the entrance to the ruins, one of his childhood friends
was screaming in pain, yet the dark creature did not swoop down to claim him.
Shrin kept moving and looking back he could see the child on all fours, no, 6
limbs now. Two strong arms were growing out of each side. A true gift! Shrin
could not help but think to himself that he had dove deeper than any, so his
gift must be greater! On the outskirts of the village, his feet faltered.

His stomach was on fire. His eyes were swimming. Stumbling
into the village he fell to ground. This must be it, his gift manifesting! His
world spun like a great storm. He could feel the bile building up in his
throat. His father stood in front of him. Disappointment covered his face. Why?
What was wrong? Stumbling over to a water trough, he glanced down at his
refection. The skin was falling off his face, leaving bare bloody bone. With a
wimper, Shrin knew he would not survive. He lost consciousness then. When he
awoke, he was in the twisted forest outside of the village. Left to die. He had
failed. He had dived too deep, and he had tried to take in too much. Then end
would fortunately not be long.

Before the day was over and the sun dipped below the
horizon, Shrin was dead. The vultures had already been circling and were now
pecking what remained of his flesh off his bones. The sacred pools had claimed
many, but several had survived, and those would be added to the ranks of the
adults. Strengthening the village and continuing the path to perfection. The
memory of Shrin the chieftain’s son would be forgotten by all.