FURLING

Furlings: Children of the Root
A Codex of the Furlings: Healers of Burrow and Bough
“Roots remember what branches forget.”
From the emerald forests of Zakaroth, where rivers braid through moss and the soil hums with unseen current, dwell the Furlings—otterfolk of burrow, balm, and belief. Small of stature, swift of hand, and bright of mind, they have long served as healers, shamans, and arcanists within the Verdant Covenant, alongside Gravrin wardens, Rakkari scholars, and Kacawki cultivators.
They do not raise cities.
They raise understanding.
Their villages sink gently into earth—woven through caves, riverbanks, and natural hollows. No tree is felled for shelter. No trunk split for comfort.
“To cut a tree,” they say,
“is to sever a thought mid-sentence.”
I. Vera Beneath the Soil
The Furlings revere Vera, whom the Gravrin teach is the mother of Pentara itself. To the Furlings, Vera is not distant sky-god nor thunder-queen.
She is root.
They believe arcane flows through the underground networks of trees like lifeblood through vein. To study magic is to study soil. To heal is to listen downward.
Their shamans kneel at riverbanks and press their palms to the mud, reading subtle tremors as scripture.
“Magic flows as roots do—unseen, connected, patient.”
In ages of peace, the Verdant Covenant thrived.
Until the dams rose.
II. The War of Splintered Water
To the north, across the waters where the Azure Rift bends toward the Brohken Trench, the Damlings built.
They cut trees.
They shaped timber.
They dammed rivers.
To the Furlings, this was not engineering. It was desecration.
Worse still—those dams began to glow.
Arcane shimmered along the wood. Energy pulsed through carved trunks.
To the Verdant Covenant, this confirmed the unthinkable:
The Damlings were harvesting sacred root-magic for industry.
War was declared.
Furling arcanists fought beside Gravrin earthwardens. Rakkari strategists studied river-flow for weaknesses. The forest answered with thorns and vine.
But the north did not stand alone.
The Mantle of Pentara intervened.
They saw power in the glowing dams. They offered protection to the Damlings in exchange for arcane current to fuel their growing civilization.
The Covenant was pushed back into Zakaroth.
It was a defeat not only of arms—but of faith.
III. Sovereignty and Silence
Before wounds could close, another banner rose from the south.
The Drakeward Sovereignty.
They did not debate theology. They imposed law.
The Verdant Covenant bent rather than break. War would have meant annihilation.
Under Sovereign decree, the Furlings were restricted from travel beyond Zakaroth.
And so they stayed.
Watching.
For in the distant southeast horizon, visible from high rock and treetop clearing alike, stood a tree unlike any other.
A titan of bark and sky.
They had always called it Vera.
IV. The Angel of the Distant Crown
When the first Hawthryn landed among them, feathers catching sun, wings folded with solemn grace, the Furlings did not see a traveler.
They saw a messenger.
They gathered around him in reverent hush, asking of the great tree in the distance. The Hawthryn spoke of Vaelthyr—the Living Crown of Myrr’Kael.
Vaelthyr.
The name unsettled them.
For they had called her Vera.
Was Vera merely one root of a greater whole?
Or had they misunderstood the shape of their goddess?
The Hawthryn departed.
The Furlings were left with revelation.
They began praying in secret atop high stone, beyond Drakeward patrol sight. They whispered new hymns that wove Vera and Vaelthyr into one being.
They dreamed of ascent.
V. The Choosing
One dawn, twenty Hawthryn descended.
They asked a simple question:
“Who among you wishes to see the Living Crown?”
Forty were chosen.
There was no sorrow in their leaving.
There was celebration.
They chanted. They cheered. They called down promises to those below:
“We’ll send word!”
“We’ll speak your names to her!”
“We’ll return with blessing!”
The Hawthryn lifted them skyward.
Those left behind felt envy—but accepted it as a matter of readiness.
“Our roots are not yet deep enough,” said the shamans.
“Pray harder. Listen closer. Vera will call again.”
They watched their kin vanish into cloud.
They did not yet know that faith can travel faster than truth.