Druid

and I can provide safe harbor if need be."

It takes another moment to think, to count, with the bulk of their attention elsewhere.

"...I can also scout." Or fight.

Their focus hones to the edges of the Weave where it bound itself with the energies of the natural world.

Still, though, they pick up on the strain in the old mage's voice. Gently, they offer, "If you know this Maggie's whereabouts, I can bring the boy to her,

Expanding the bounds of the spell to include the young man wasn't simple, exactly, not even for so enduring and experienced a creature as the Firbolg - but it certainly made the conversation easier.

"Eshenesra, this is the druid. Among your young allies, is there a woman called Maggie? Young man needs help and shelter. Sundrinker was here. Urgent."

@eshenesra.sunder.my

off if it brings no comfort.

"I [might] know someone who could help. A moment, then.

...three.... seven– no, six..." They count to themself undner their breath, then speak aloud,

Eyus?

The beginning of this horrific journey, it seemed, and the homeland of a great number of visitors in recent days. One wonders...

...Yes, a slim chance is better than inaction, and there is no harm in asking. They place a massive hand on his shoulder, light and gentle enough for him to shrug

even on a long journey.

Sending creatures to act in their stead could draw attention.

"Has this Maggie ever mentioned any names of her other friends to you? Or where her home might be?"

The former was a long shot at knowing [someone] to bridge contact. The latter... could work. He's small enough to carry,

No straightforward solution, then. They look back upon the city, watching the progression of the destruction as they rifle through ideas. Returning would be... risky, and likely foolish when they could simply find another option and lay low.

They are only short of 11 miles away, hardly a wingbeat from the behemoth.

But for the moment, they are safe.

"I can take you to a sanctuary of my own, but I know this time will be trying. Is there somewhere I might bring you to, someone in a safer place for you to rest?"

Nearly twenty times they Stride before finally emerging.

The landscape around them has changed, no longer in a forest but in a field where the tree they step from stands alone in a field of crops ready for harvest.

Midway to the horizon, the distant sight of wings still dives upon what remains.

and urge him through the wide, sprawling trunk of the old, weary ash he had struck.

Should he follow their guidance and merge into the tree, the pair would shift together from trunk to trunk, seconds passing in darkness between each transition.

always gave away a long-lived creature such as they.

Neither could they hide the exhaustion they felt after so many months of trying to counteract the damage. The screams of the city echo along with all the others caught without a defender.

"Away," they simply state. They cast Tree Stride

They aren't far behind him. When they reach him, they reach overhead to place their palm against the bark, murmuring again.

Their body may have been bolstered against the wear of time long ago, but hands, calloused from ages of toil and healing, scarred from the times they were raised in defense,

and even I could not hold it off alone. We need to leave, and quickly. When it is gone, [I] will help you search."

"We can return." They urge. They rise with him and ready to follow, though. They could hardly blame rash decisions.

But they'd already lost someone dear to this abomination; they [must] make those they can reach see reason. "It has not yet left, the threat it poses is still dire,

||I straight-up looked over it again and was just baffled bc I don't think I even thought about continuing it. lmfao oops

||I don't know how that last They got there. Ghosts probably.

"It does nothing by half-measures, and single-mindedly chases conquest because it will lend it greater power.

That you live suggests others may survive, but the city... the city will likely fall to ruin as have many before it. I am sorry."

They

"But the Sundrinker is a beast of ego." They lay their hands tenderly upon his leg, one on each side of the wound, and will the flesh and sinew to stitch itself together again. They coax away the rot, watching hawk-eyed to ensure none remains as they pull it back to the surface.

"...It will remain to be seen. Those of the cities often prove more adaptable than anyone would expect." The question gave them pause as they kneel, but the magic lingered in their hands. They see no point in lying. Still, their gentle tone works to soften the blow.

"Hold still, child, the wounds are grave but will not be fatal." Not as long as they continued to intervene. "I will help, and then we [must] leave this place."

Already, they begin to murmur, channeling the healing energy they'll need between their open palms, drawing on the world around them.

The city was lost. Him, they [could] save.

The thunderous steps approach, but gradually, they soften, they lighten, they change to something altogether different. The creature that emerges still towers over him, but they are a slender, easy Firbolg with nothing but concern in their eyes.

Something instinctual, something primal, urged them to charge on, to crush those who would dare intrude and defile–

No. They snort, shake their wooly head, and slow their fervored pace. They cast one look at the city and turn away, returning to the young man.

It does not wait for the foul creatures to accept their exile; as it hurdles forward, path angled to avoid the writhing pile of attackers, its trunk sideswipes to grasp at a draconic wing and pitches it into a tree with all its might.

Without a single step of a pause, the vibrations of the earth hum and ring with an unshakable natural harmony bearing an undeniable demand for the pseudodragons:

𝙇𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚. 𝙉𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚.

Moments later, its bearer appears: a hulking, solitary mastodon marching ever forward.

Branches and brush snap and bend as a massive, unstoppable force charges through the trees towards the sound of a humanoid cry.

No one stands alone in the forest, and no one lives by their own strength and wits. Every beast and tree played its part, even the rot.

But a protector, sworn to maintain its balance, would not suffer an unnatural infection such as this, nor the blood spilled upon the loam. The forest 𝙦𝙪𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨.

The forest quakes. They can feel the burn of a rancid rot.

Something feels wrong, unnatural...

unfamiliar, and yet–