Druid

𝘐𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴...

...Hmm.

and prepare a meal while you work." He may not have an appetite now, but Maggie might. "Ah - and a basin of water to clean after your respective ordeals, I think."

"If you prefer a desk, there is one in one of the two rooms on the second floor." After a moment of thought, they add, "It also has more comfortable seating for a second, and a frankly uncomfortable number of mirrors.

I believe I will go to the kitchen on the third floor

the size a small child's chair might be.

"The dining room. The space would suit your needs, I think. Writing tools and paper will be in the dresser along the wall, but mind the dust, and perhaps a guest or two."

This time of year, small creatures or spiders always found refuge in this warmth.

from a thick core rooted in the floor of the space. Around it are chairs of all heights, one with wooden stairs and a footrest fitting races of smaller stature. Upon the far edge of the tabletop beside the two second-tallest chairs, there was another, far shorter table with a single seat

It opens to stairs not carved into the tree, but sculpted so smoothly no mundane means could have achieved it. A brief climb through a tall tunnel brings the trio to a wide, warm dining with high ceilings, lit by unwavering torches which shed no heat.

At the room's center, a massive table sprouts

"A fine idea, and a vital tool. Let me know when you've finished, I think...

I think a plan is beginning to take shape.

There is a dining room table with – well, I might as well show you."

They await the other two by the door that almost resembles a knot in a plank of cut wood.

You'll be warm again.

We aren't meant to live this long.

"I only ask that you do not enter the rooms on the fourth floor. All others are yours to use." All furnished in unique manners - but the former occupants of most would not return.

and beside that path lies a well-tended fire pit and the huddles of plants readying for a long winter. The path guides them to a door, and the door grants passage to the trunk of an evergreen of mythical proportions, easily dwarfing any grown without the blessings of a powerful being.

"My home is yours, young ones. Stay as long as you need safe haven." Their own choice of words elicits a melancholy smile, but they make no comment of the reason.

The group emerges in a mountainside forest where the trees grow thick, save for this cultivated clearing. Beside them is a trodden path,

becomes the chirping of chickadees and nuthatches. There's a chill in the air where before hung a stagnant heat, and when the hutch falls away, piece by piece under their hand, its remnants find clean earth, though far more barren for the season; the will either find new life here or feed it.

they speak a single word in a forgotten dialect of the ancient Druidic tongue. Nothing seems to change, not within, but outside, the voices of nature shift quickly, and beautifully. The burbling bog becomes wind through pine needles, the distant sounds of marching, reanimated beasts

with vibrant green that spreads from toe to tip.

When it's tall enough that even the firbolg can stand within comfortably, the branches connect at a single peak, creating a warm, comfortable dome. As soon as the last branches twine together above them all,

As the elves cross the bounds of the circle together, the moss creeps and thickens behind them. Healthy saplings break through the muck and mouldering earth, rapidly forming supports for the moss to climb higher, higher. It nets between each branch, painting over the light of the ruddy moon

Very silly. The sun isn’t tea

Every so often they glance at the moon, but they don't rise until the circle is closed and complete and they await the others.

they say firmly, determined, "and the safest den I could offer. I know it well and the journey will be gentler for it."

They keep drawing, digging out sloping curves that form a simple pattern and fill with growing moss in the wake of their touch.

The druid catches Solas's look of frustrated resignation. In return, they offer him one of sympathy, though they are already in motion, tracing a wide circle in the earth beneath their feet.

"I know it can be unpleasant, and no better for your shock. Once more, but this is the last,"

Whatever this land was, whatever haunted it, felt deeply unnatural, antithetical to all the druid held dear. "Are there more of its kind? We may wish to find or create shelter before we lower our guard."

"I will go with you, when the time comes. Many eyes and hands will make shorter work than two, and the forest will lend its aid if asked."

Their eyes don't leave the fading creature for several moments, not until Solas looks their way and they return a humble nod.

||*struck

They stand firm where Solas stumbled. Their ears flick, listening to the world they've come to; the trees here don't speak the language they should and the grasses and reeds sing dissonant songs of encroaching darkness.

Attuning with this strange world would be difficult. For now, they keep watch.

"Sundrinker steuck again. Without able defenders protecting the city...

Well. Suzail was luckier." They huff with frustration, like a bull bothered by a particularly loathsome fly. There's a quiet pain there, though, remembering the missing shield that no longer held that line.

They emerge from another close behind @maggie.sunder.my, gasping softly from the effort of their crossing, and with the quiet shock of such a drastic change in their surroundings.

They reach beyond the bounds of this plane to what lies beyond, searching for the roots and leaves that offer a welcome landing where Eshenesra has directed them. With a deep, quiet prayer and a gentle tug to follow, Druid steps through the trunk.

It's a strange world she describes, and one the Firbolg has not yet traveled. Two paths lay before them, one familiar and one foreign; they must choose, and ensure the boy's safety through whatever may follow...

The hand on the trunk turns, fingers outstretched against its bark.

Let me ask.

[Holds up a duck]