Donnas Thidro, a druid of the third circle, held his hand up to stop his small branch of druids. They numbered less than ten, but even that number, to the being who had gained the many titles such as the one they were to meet, could slaughter them all if even a quarter of the things they are rumored to have done are true.
He waved his second, a female drow who had just earned the right to take the third circle tests with her achievements in this mission, Zecren Yanzu.
The remaining four split up, two taking the west side and two taking the east side of the entrance. They would not allow any to approach until the conversation was over. Not even the guild representatives who they fought and died beside just minutes ago.
The two druids looked each other over, straightening their cloaks and uniforms below. Accentuating the flowers and moss that their order used instead of metal badges. A sign of the Cult and Groves hand in the Green Tide, that it will always linger with them.
Once presentable, they stepped around the corner and took in the collapsed and destroyed building entrance. With no true effort, their forms shifted, their minds and powers remained as they shrunk and flew thirty feet to land on the other side.
The white dove and black hawk were not unnoticed by the group of resting creatures. But were rather, ignored until the bottle passed between them all had returned to the one who provided it, a small child-sized goblin of dark grey complexion.
Zecren was visibly shocked at the sight of a shadow goblin. A species or subrace of the ferocious and tiny race that haunted many young scouts of the Underdark. A decade ago, the Empire of the Drow declared and, until that moment, was believed to have succeeded in leading a genocide of the goblins.
But, like so many things in the world, life has found a way. The two druids shared a twinkling look. Ones filled with noticing the ways or machinations of their patron and nature. Before placing their serious expressions of indifference.
Slowly, they approached the group. Only one of the four stood up, the gnoll named Dagger, who their information said was to be a feral and fierce beast that excelled in pit and close quarters fighting. But the elder, the green goblin wearing a hole riddled hat and a pristine blue and brown duster jacket, didn’t need to speak for the gnoll to step aside. They seemed to sense their leader didn’t view them as a threat, and stepped to the side for Glora, the Mad Butcher, the Chosen of the Brood, to take their lithe and tall forms in.
Not an ounce of hostility that they had been warned might exist emanated from the elder. Only a content sense of satisfaction and a curious smirk lay upon their face.
“You’se tree huggers took you’se sweet time beatin’ on them thieves.” Glora said with a chuckle. Their voice seemed to be that of two mill stones grinding down on broken bones.
Donnas bowed with a polite smile before speaking only after the goblin had.
“Yes,” his silky, low voice had an almost echo quality to it. Like his voice was farther away than from where he was standing. “I do apologize we arrived too late to speak with you before combat began. Our contact in the Refugee said to come as soon as possible. But the gates did not allow us in without some issues.”
They pulled their hood down, and only the gnoll and shadow goblin were surprised by what they saw. The grey, almost silver hair framing two faces of elegant features. Donnas wore a living necklace with a single green rose as a pendant. While Zecren wore a more typical soldier garb with only their living badge on the left of their chest plate.
The gnoll’s and young goblin’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the elegant dark elves before them. The tabaxi simply continued to polish her firearm that lay across her lap.
“A religious or political order or faction suddenly showing up on your doorstep with 30 of their best fighters, even with the leader’s okay, required a fair amount of haggling and promise making.” Donnas spoke
“Yes, the guard, though under the guidance and rule of the Mayor, ultimately pledge themselves to the city and the upkeep of what it stands for.” The grey goblin spoke up, his voice eloquent, if exhausted. “The Refuge itself is who they make an oath to. And while they can be bribed or allowed to bend certain rules, there are the absolute bedrock few that they will enforce.”
The rule specifically being about vetting and preventing the development of religious conflict and actively limiting the spread of religious organizations beyond a certain point.
Over the years since the Refuge’s founding, many groups have tried to install religious theocracy over the political and secular order of the city. The first of these was from a wondering sect of a war God. Who came to the sight of such a bloody war and land hoping to consecrate the land of Madra for himself in a time of chaos.
The ground, the very sands and hills themselves rose up with a tidal wave of land that crushed them all under the weight of dirt and wrath.
The second attempt came a decade later and saw the raising of the first walls. Literally overnight, walls of stone and reinforced with steel surrounded the slowly blooming free city. Shutting out a force of three thousand warriors of the god who sought the end of life through conflict.
When the town grew organized and large enough, the guard took up the same attitude that the city and land itself held about how to respond to religion. To treat it with suspicion until they understood the rules that were to be followed in the city.
“But it is nice to see the city guarding against the threat both religion has, while acknowledging that of secularism as well. Even if it is a different kind.” The Drow shrugged shifting their gaze and the topic.
“But we accepted them all. As we have no intention or interest in spreading our faith to any but our fellows from below.”
Donnas’s eyes shifted subtly to the shadow goblin, taking in the holy symbol used in many higher-level healing spells, like regeneration.
“But we are moving away from the topic. Our contact in the city said that they had arranged the details of our, procurement of this building and its entrances below, but did not inform us what that deal contained.” The black and reflective eyes of the Drow narrowed, not in outright suspicion, but in a proper and respectable level of caution.
“Yes, I’se spoke with the ‘contact’,” the elder goblin struggled not to chuckle. “But our compensation is clear and simple. We’se want three things.” They held up three bony fingers.
“First, is you’se will teach my’se youngest druidic cantrips. The ‘contact’ taught him what they’se could. But I’se shot enough of you’se cousins to know that’s far from the limit.” The goblin with the title of mad rambled to the druids.
Donnas was very confused by the request. It was not a request to take the child as a druid aspirant, but to teach him druidic spells? Cantrips even? His only thought was maybe the boy wanted to be exposed to the magic of nature, so he was familiar with them for the future, and they had just phrased the request poorly.
“I, cannot guarantee any success in studying and teaching the child. But we can answer any questions he might have and get him familiar with some of our lower magics, if that is acceptable?” Donnas asked with intentional confusion meant to invite the proffering of an explanation. But was not to receive one as the goblin spoke again.
“Second, is that when you’se begin to engage the Empire’s tendrils and fight back in earnest, my’se clan is allowed to fight alongside you’se all. And to use you’se facilities and people for training and sparring. A small alliance of my’se clan and you’se order will solidify you’se claim on the lot. While displaying the clan’s connections and influence.” Glora spoke less in the tone of a request and more in the way a patriarch or high official does when giving an edict or declaration of an action rather than a mutual agreement.
“That is rather simple. Easy enough for us and will give our people a wider range of experience. Firearms were never present in great numbers in the Underdark. Nor races or creatures like your lieutenants.” The dark elf’s eyes shifted up and down the fur covered gnoll and the face of the leather armor clad tabaxi.
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“And third, is I’se want you’se to assist in the renovations of my’se clan’s compound. Under an oath of Mother’s Silence, of course.” They said with a slightly sadistic glee
The last phrase the goblin spoke, dug deep into the souls of the two Drow. What the madman was asking, was to swear an oath of silence on the same level as the oath they took as druids to protect and honor nature and the All-Mother Madra. Something only asked of by the death sworn or truly most devoted to a secret.
“… Why should we consent to that? You are a being where money can buy you near enough anything you desire. You could hire hundreds of dwarven architects to do this. And not have us bind our power to such a thing so easily.” Zecren spoke up for the first time in the conversation. Directing an insulted glare at the goblin elder.
“I’se ask it, cuz I’se can’t buy that oath with money. It requires leverage and connections that I’se can’t form or can’t trust enough to be reliable.” The gleeful look on their aged face disappeared, replaced by a much more serious one. “My’se compound is something as valuable to me’se as the location of you’se central grove. I’se did not let any of my’se children leave the compound until they’se proved they’se wouldn’t give up the location, even under torture.” Their tone dropped flat with the last statement and each of the ‘children’ behind them nodded in understanding and agreement.
“You… We will need to consider this-“ Donnas tried to speak but was interrupted.
“You will accept it, Third Circle.” Commanded a voice that literally came from the shadows cast by the drow. A seductive, powerful voice that held command and authority that rivaled that of the goblin.
All but the elderly goblin turned in shock to see the new arrival as the darkness that was once so natural, and fitting flowed down and away from her shoulders. To reveal the figure of Yelzumin Nisaphosh, Mayor of Barg’s Refuge. Former Third Circle High Druid of the Cult of the Green Weaver.
***
Yel remembered her days of training under the thumb of a woman who claimed to be her mother, her Matriarch, but carried only for the power her existence held as a piece on a political board. She could remember weekly tests for magical talents, religious devotion and indoctrination, family and clan loyalty, and every semi relevant topic to raising a proper heir or powerful tool of a political clan.
The drow were not a kind group. They were militaristic, zealous, dogmatic, and tyrannical. But they were well prepared, dedicated, passionate and collectivist in their social thinking. No drow was useless, no drow life was wasted. Not because of some moral virtue, but because any drow, any being, can be molded into something of use. Be that as a high-level spell slinger, a scout or assassin, an architect, or merely a dumb labor slave that had to complete their chores to be fed.
And to avoid the worst fates for their children, drow would begin to push them from the moment they were born, to the moment they were removed from their custody. Be that because they entered an academy, the military, a trade, or sent to the morgue to be processed and have their bodies turned into the fertilizer that grew their crops and medicinal plants.
For Yel, her clan’s training ended at around ten years old. When her affinity for the Feywilds and nature first began to manifest. First as flowers blooming when she passed, or glow moss gaining a slightly more vibrant color whenever she entered the room.
She was taken and placed within the care of what was then the Druidic Wing of the Magical Arts, an academic and magical program focused on the rare talent for nature that many of the Drow lacked compared to their more tanned cousins above. Here, Yel and as many as twenty aspiring druids would learn the basics of nature, of the connection all beings had to it, and the role that their powers could play in aiding the empire.
The Drow Empire under the Isle of Madra was massive, dwarfing the elven population above by nearly four times. But this was not a boon, as their lives were nearly four times as dangerous as any but the most unfortunate folks above. And required every resource, every advantage that could be scrapped out of the unforgiving grey around them. And this was even more true for the druids of the empire.
Because of the dangers of the Underdark, the monsters and general lack of things that could be classified as nature, were sparse at best. And before the last century, the druid art were seen mostly as a supplement to the other arts. As no true connection could be made to the lacking nature around them. Until the current Arch Druid rose up.
He was a one in a hundred million genius of the elves and more so for the drow. The connection he held with nature went beyond an affinity, beyond natural instinct. And his source? A brutal, savage trial that was only known by the highest circle of the empire, and the druids themselves. It had a near 100% casualty rate. Where one druid every five, sometimes even ten years, would be raised beyond the ranks of aspirant and into the First Circle or beyond.
In Yel’s class, in the ten years she would be taught and trained in the ways of nature and life, she was the only one who doubted themselves on if they would be successful in their final test. For in the decade that she and her classmates were trained, they had received direct instruction in combat for only three. Her classmates would complain endlessly about it. Saying the lessons on the cycle of life, the studying of seed development, versus spore growth, versus parasite development was not useful for any but the farmers and gardeners.
They never seemed to care, or notice how that caused any true druid, or any of the combat-oriented rangers also trained for the Druidic order as scouts and foot soldiers to cringe and glare at them. These “less gifted” had a similarly brutal test and failure rate, but a much larger pool of talent requirements to pick from. As the years went on, Yel noticed she was the only one in her class who seemed both to enjoy the lessons and sought to learn more about nature. The others would study, memorize, but not truly learn the material, and would spend their time honing their combat skills with the combat rangers.
Years passed, and the day finally came. The class, which had a total of eleven this year, would embark on their final exam. The entire group was escorted by the ranger core to what felt to them like a random location in the caves of the Underdark. They were then placed in an order from worst testing scores to greatest, and then given a singular envelope and magical stone. They were to read the letter, close it up, and then attune to the stone. And then follow any instructions or directions on the note, until they reach the second location, to begin the true trial.
The first to go, grabbed the note and read it over. They were a combatant focused and true fanatic of the empire. Their drive was to become the first druid to enter the clerical orders if she passed the test. And showed an unwavering loyalty and skill at survival and combat magic.
She died six minutes later, after dashing off at full sprint down the cave system’s winding tunnels. And so did the next, and the next, and the next. Ten young, drow children ran headlong into their deaths. All dying at presumably the first obstacle. As only half a minute to a minute at most separated the time of death of each.
Yelzumin Nisaphosh was worried, concerned that she would fail. But her turn came no matter what and her years of preparation and growing up knowing there was a good chance she would just die uselessly for some cause or another. So, she opened the letter, and took in the series of directions using local plants as landmarks and guides. Fairly simple, something their class could do easily enough. When she took the life stone to attune to it, she looked up into the eyes of the ranger who had silently watched all the other aspirants dash off.
His eyes were hard and cold but not lifeless. She did not know him by name, but she knew he was one of the few rangers to survive while she was in training. In fact, all the rangers around her were. But, as she gazed into his eyes, he mouthed something silently to her.
“Trust in the strand.” His grey lips moved and then went back to the flat line that mirrored those around him.
Yel was confused, she knew he must have meant the strand of power, of the small strand of nature and connection all druids and rangers had, even if one was stronger or more direct. She of course trusted in her powers to be unfaltering and deep in understanding. But why would trust, or more accurately, faith in the strand help her?
She pondered the question as she attuned to the stone, not finding an answer before she was forced to run head long into near certain death.
Yel follows the heels of the other students, rushing down the caves, turning at certain points and plants, until she had been running for nearly five minutes. She comes to an alcove with a single letter placed upon it. Carefully reaching for it and opening it up, she cast her eyes down the letter as her stomach began to fall out beneath her.
Of the many baron swaths of the Underdark, there were very few true beings of nature or cultivated in the same way the drow did. But one of the main exceptions to this rule were Myconid groves. A race of smaller, mushroom folk who were mostly peaceful unless provoked. And sought only to connect with each other and the mushrooms and nature around them. A natural druidic race.
Her mission, and the mission of every druid aspirant, was to perform this task. The very thought of erasing an entire tribe of innocent folk, who are the greatest symbols of nature that she trusted and loved in the Underdark. But not just that, the fact that this task was put forward by the archdruid, implied this was how he gained his power.
Minutes and wild thoughts of confusion, anger, and panic washed over her. As choices on what she should do passed around her mind like she stood in the eye of a hurricane. Each thought, idea, and possibility that she could think of were lifted and carried around the winds. Randomly tossed through and against her in the center.
After nearly half an hour of decision paralyses, the storm of her mind slowed enough for her to see the decision that felt right. She would not betray the nature she loved, not even for the engrained dogma and propaganda of the empire and their goddess. She would trust the strand of nature that she most wanted to nurture deep inside herself.
In that moment, Yelzumin Nisaphosh affirmed her commitment to nature and life. And took the step that every other student had failed to do that day. She entered the first circle as a warm, smiling man grew up and out of the earth behind the young woman.
“Lady Nisaphosh, I congratulate you on becoming the 78th true first circle druid of the Green Weaver’s Grove. You did not forsake your duty to nature and were spared the same death that your classmates faced. Come, we have much to do, and the Myconids were hoping to celebrate a new druid’s raising!”