The Wyld: Part I

On the northern edge of Camelot Castle, just an arrow's flight from the rear garden wall sits a primeval forest.

     No one knows how old the Wyld is. It has always been there for as long as anyone can remember. . It was already ancient when the Roman Legions came to Britain, a place sacred to the druids who'd been among the few able to safely journey through its depths. Legends say that Merlin frequently went there and that he left it standing as a place for knights to quest and test their mettle. Others tell of a Guardian named Lone Wolf placed there by the Mother to watch over the creatures who roam the Wyld. 

     Then Arthur died and Britain fell to the Saxons. At first the newcomers tried to clear away the Wyld by axe and fire to make room for farmsteads, but soon they learned all too well to leave the Wyld alone. A group of Saxon warriors intent on attacking Camelot from an unexpected quarter attempted to march through the Wyld and none were ever heard from again. Newly established farms on the Wyld's borders vanished over night as the Wyld moved its borders back to where they had been before the invaders came. The Saxon farmers learned soon enough where it was safe to plant crops and graze livestock and where was too close to the Wyld to risk it The same process repeated itself when the Normans came in turn to take the throne of England.

     And so for centuries the Wyld has stood untouched and mysterious. Farms, towns and manors have grown up along its edges but very few dare to walk beneath the shadow of its towering trees. Only elves have made that journey safely. The Guardian has not been seen outside the Wyld for years now but for all the humans know he still simply waits within to deal with intruders.

     But now villagers are reporting strange new activity along that fearful boundary. Farmers tell of glimpsing strange little figures moving silently along the edges of the Wyld near twilight and others report losing cows and sheep to predators in the night. Children tell of seeing glowing eyes like a cat's staring out at them from beneath the trees as the children play in the sun, and farmwives talk about milk and butter curdling and wailing babies marked with little bruises as if pinched by tiny fingers.

     Their fears are well founded. Recent events in the vicinity have involved the use of magical abilities and powers and that has awakened long slumbering denizens and beings in this most ancient corner of Britain. Sailors tell of things swimming in the ocean just outside the Harbor and shepherds talk of strange shadows glimpsed in mountain glens.

     And in the depths of the Wyld, ancient things are stirring.