Tale of the Lost Acorn
Deep within long-forgotten dungeons of the Bloodroot Keep, explorers discovered an old iron chest engraved with ancient, indecipherable runes. When they opened the chest, it was full of acorns. Each one had been carefully wrapped in a deep crimson silk pouch and secured with a fine, golden string. Soon, every scribe had buried themselves in their scrolls searching for any reference to the acorns and the old runes. Many folks believed that the acorns were saved from the Bloodoak before the tragedy that split it in two. No scroll or legend ever uncovered the purpose of the acorns or their runes, but stories now say that it was Haruspex, the seer, being forewarned of the predicament of the great oak, that secretly hid the acorns away.
In those days, King Lukasz II took the acorns and bestowed them to heroes of war and loyal nobles as gifts of great honor. Laers Ecorca was among the heroes of war to receive one of the acorns. He also was graced with a title of Mayor of Rúnstað, formerly the location of the battle where Laers gained his renown. The city was a ruin and much time and work would go into building it up again. Laers kept the little acorn safe, in a small oaken chest, and dreamed of the day that his city and the great oak would grow and flourish together as a symbol of his loyalty to the King. Sadly, Laers Ecorca did not live to see either grow, and his heirs did not care for things beyond wealth and fame, so the little acorn was forgotten.
For centuries the lost acorn sat in a small chest stashed in the ancient home of Ecorca. Occasionally someone would find the small oaken chest, thinking they had found a treasure, but in seeing the acorn they would let out a disappointed sigh. With every annoyed discovery they would place the chest in some new location, underneath a dresser, inside an old crate, and eventually tossed into a dusty attic. Ownership passed away from the Ecorcas as bigger and better estates were acquired, but still, the lost acorn waited patiently.
One day the lost acorn began to grow hot. The heat grew and grew until it was almost on fire! Suddenly the lost acorn was violently tumbling around in his small chest. Then, nothing, all was silent again.
Years passed and the acorn waited in his small chest. Slowly though, something was happening. The chest began to give way, and light began to peer through the cracks. Some days water would drip on the lost acorn, and other days it was a spear of ice. Then it finally happened, a rock struck the chest, and it broke open. The little acorn tumbled free! It rolled, so quickly, down the trunk of a young tree, and into a lively stream. The stream carried the acorn to a small, muddy ditch, and it began to grow and grow in the old quarter of the city.
As the great oak grew taller it could see much of the city of Rúnstað. In the area where it grew many buildings were poorly kept, or scarred by fire. The inhabitants seemed friendly enough, and they took care of the great oak as well as the various plant life that seemed to have taken over much of the area. Beyond here the great oak could see many buildings made of stone and reach to the sky, some even taller than himself. Smoke rose against the horizon, numerous smells were carried by the wind, and the bustle of many living things could be heard all around the great oak. As time passed the oak heard many things about the city and the lands beyond. He heard about the fires of a rebellion in years past that overthrew the old baron. He heard about a new mayor who promised change and progress. Of all the things he heard though, he loved the beating heart and the flowing streets of the city, and the great oak's roots spread.
Where there were stone and death, there is now new growth, so say The Treefolk of Rúnstað.
