[ for josh ]

as a boy, the healer had always seemed to be preternaturally inclined toward plants, but nobody ever thought it strange.

it was nothing extreme, anyway - certainly nothing like the immortal entities that could send trees bursting out of the ground with enough force to level stone fortresses, or turn freshly-plowed fields into bountiful harvests with a wave of a finger.

no, at most, they thought that all the healer had was a natural talent with plants. convenient for growing his own herbs and brewing medicinal potions for the village high up in the mountains; nothing more, nothing less.

the healer lives a peaceful, secluded life, never straying far from his cottage in the woods . . . until the harvests fail for three years in a row. the farmers whisper of a curse, or a plague; something is overtaking perfectly healthy crops overnight and turning them into masses of partially-decomposed matter, suitable only for the bugs and scavengers that live off of rot.

the healer is asked to intervene by appealing directly to the powers-that-be; they are known as fae, nymphs, dryads, and even gods, but the truth of the matter is far less straightforward. and so the healer ventures down the mountain for the first time, headed for the center of the world. along the way, he meets a scarred, one-eyed man who offers to accompany him into the unknown lands after the healer treats his injuries and saves his life.

when they finally arrive, the { blooming court } is bursting with swarms of insects and choked with algae. { growth } holds court in rain-dark earth, where the flowers are bright and the berries overripe, and the healer learns that { rot } has betrayed { decay } and the spiderwebbed domain of the { withering throne }, causing the diseases plaguing the crops . . . and that the healer himself is descended from these inhuman creatures, so far removed from the ancestral line that his own abilities have almost withered away to nothing.

with his newfound powers, the healer races to restore balance - because for all that { decay } is cold and indifferent, the mortals know that { growth } can never be allowed to overtake the world, even if that means the healer must fight against the deadly { blooming court } . . .