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It is here that the very beginning of Nequus life started with one tiny little seed. The very center of Shrilal contains the largest and most infamous tree. What was once a very small tree has now grown to be a giant teller of the past, standing up to guide all others on its way. It rests atop a small noll, overlooking the great valley and beyond to the crystal waters of Yisi. Its trees, slowly gaining in number, ring outwards with time, the youngest on the outside and eldest on the in. A few stray oaken trees can be seen ventured from the beaten path and others farther inside. These disrupt the subtle balance, giving only a small inkling of the tell tale signs of a natural forest.
Their leaves stand out with a glint in the suns sharp rays, gold to contrast the green all around. Some trees are sick, bows broken, leaves drooped, other sway proudly with the breeze. A few Nequus venture here, guarding their saplings with tooth and hoof. Young eyes watch from the trees, just beginning their journey in the dark world beneath the thick tree tops. No grass grows beneath these giant beasts, only foliage as dark as the world in which they live, clinging desperately to whatever life they can find. It seems untamed, yet there is a peace about it that is not disturbed by any and has not been for centuries.
It is thus way when a Nequus dies a tree sprouts up, bearing no fruit, but continuing a balance and a place for remembrance. Some trees die, when a heart is broken, child lost, fruit given as the ultimate gift. None can tell what causes the end of these majestic trees, only that they do cease to exist as some point in their life. These are the offspring of the first Nequus tree, created by the six gods.
The temperature around the trees can be on the warmer side of things; the outside of the branches becoming toasty by Eden standards. Yet beneath these thick bows of foliage the air remains cool and placid. Perhaps a slight breeze will stir the outer layers of this paradise, but that is all. Even when thick rain comes to pass the young Nequus remain sheltered under the largest tree, hardly a touch of water hits them. During icy nights the leaves trap heat, keeping all inside warm.
This place holds a summer, winter, spring, and fall like all others. During summer grass fades to a creamy gold, giving its last dying breath. It holds little nutrition and simply sways as the summer clouds pass in their wake. They slowly get trampled down with the wind and teeth of hooved beings. Finally seen no more as fall yet again encompasses Shrilal. The trees grow redder through time, becoming as dark as blood before a sudden wash during winter. The rains come, bringing green buds to sprout upward, still small and just able to poke their heads from their dead brothers. The leaves of the trees turn ice white, but they do not fall. Nights become cooler, but only once in a blue moon do they freeze, and even rarer do they bring such a thing as snow. The grass remains green, but stunted, unable to grow. Sooner than expected they shoot up again as the suns rays bring gold back to the trees. Life seems to explode from the earth. The dead can no longer be found completely overtaken by a blanket of green. And still as seasons press later color bursts forth from the ground, alighting the world in purples, blues, yellows, reds. It is a display of color for the tidings of spring until summer heat yet again takes the life of these souls.
It is here that the very beginning of Nequus life started with one tiny little seed. The very center of Shrilal contains the largest and most infamous tree. What was once a very small tree has now grown to be a giant teller of the past, standing up to guide all others on its way. It rests atop a small noll, overlooking the great valley and beyond to the crystal waters of Yisi. Its trees, slowly gaining in number, ring outwards with time, the youngest on the outside and eldest on the in. A few stray oaken trees can be seen ventured from the beaten path and others farther inside. These disrupt the subtle balance, giving only a small inkling of the tell tale signs of a natural forest.
Their leaves stand out with a glint in the suns sharp rays, gold to contrast the green all around. Some trees are sick, bows broken, leaves drooped, other sway proudly with the breeze. A few Nequus venture here, guarding their saplings with tooth and hoof. Young eyes watch from the trees, just beginning their journey in the dark world beneath the thick tree tops. No grass grows beneath these giant beasts, only foliage as dark as the world in which they live, clinging desperately to whatever life they can find. It seems untamed, yet there is a peace about it that is not disturbed by any and has not been for centuries.
It is thus way when a Nequus dies a tree sprouts up, bearing no fruit, but continuing a balance and a place for remembrance. Some trees die, when a heart is broken, child lost, fruit given as the ultimate gift. None can tell what causes the end of these majestic trees, only that they do cease to exist as some point in their life. These are the offspring of the first Nequus tree, created by the six gods.
The temperature around the trees can be on the warmer side of things; the outside of the branches becoming toasty by Eden standards. Yet beneath these thick bows of foliage the air remains cool and placid. Perhaps a slight breeze will stir the outer layers of this paradise, but that is all. Even when thick rain comes to pass the young Nequus remain sheltered under the largest tree, hardly a touch of water hits them. During icy nights the leaves trap heat, keeping all inside warm.
This place holds a summer, winter, spring, and fall like all others. During summer grass fades to a creamy gold, giving its last dying breath. It holds little nutrition and simply sways as the summer clouds pass in their wake. They slowly get trampled down with the wind and teeth of hooved beings. Finally seen no more as fall yet again encompasses Shrilal. The trees grow redder through time, becoming as dark as blood before a sudden wash during winter. The rains come, bringing green buds to sprout upward, still small and just able to poke their heads from their dead brothers. The leaves of the trees turn ice white, but they do not fall. Nights become cooler, but only once in a blue moon do they freeze, and even rarer do they bring such a thing as snow. The grass remains green, but stunted, unable to grow. Sooner than expected they shoot up again as the suns rays bring gold back to the trees. Life seems to explode from the earth. The dead can no longer be found completely overtaken by a blanket of green. And still as seasons press later color bursts forth from the ground, alighting the world in purples, blues, yellows, reds. It is a display of color for the tidings of spring until summer heat yet again takes the life of these souls.
