It was another half hour of traipsing through the trees before Aithwen's nose crinkled in disgust as they entered the section of forest closest to her hidden grove. An unpleasant scent rode on the shifting wind, souring the comforting sharp pine scent that normally greeted her. Slowing her steps and taking a deep breath, she realized that the male elf was not her only visitor in the woods today. Speaking a quick command in the secret language of druids, she sent the wolf cubs in opposite directions to flank their unwelcome guests and alert the pack as she continued her approach. Looking over her shoulder she caught Rhyldan's eyes and motioned for him to remain quiet before turning her attention back to the scent of the intruders as she relaxed the magical control she kept over her animalistic side.
Rhyldan could feel a strange, tense excitement building in the air around the druid as she walked ahead of him. It reminded him of how he felt on the rare occasions he was allowed to hunt and feed properly. When she made eye contact over her shoulder, he noticed that some of her features had begun to shift into something more… primal. Instead of the pale, icey blue-gray orbs that he already found captivating in such a short time, her eyes had begun to darken and her pupils had widened - becoming akin to that of a large predator. Studying her a little closer as her steps became even more deliberate, he noticed that her fingers were now tipped with long curved claws, a rippling of gray fur blurred the points of her ears along her auburn hair and a soft growl began rumbling from her chest. If he didn't have his advanced senses the sound would likely have escaped his hearing, but he wasn't an ordinary elf. Hadn't been for many years. Letting his heightened senses focus in the direction they were traveling, he noted the foul scent of kobolds and wargs coming from somewhere up ahead. There was some form of magic in the air as well. The thought that she had guests flitted through his mind, but he shot the idea down as her posture became more coiled and the barely perceptible growl grew in intensity.
How dare he! This is my grove… private, protected, mine, how dare he! Aithwen was absolutely seething, her lip peeling back from her fanged teeth. She recognized the stench coming from near the entrance to her hidden grove as belonging to that of one of the horrid little bands of arctic kobolds and wargs that did the bidding of the white dragon who laired beneath the northernmost peaks of the Ice Spires. She had made an agreement with the beast when she first came to the forest, an uneasy agreement, of course, but an agreement nonetheless. In simplest terms, the agreement was to live and let be. Her forest was hers and his mountain was his. So long as neither interfered with the other, there was no problem. No power struggle, no destruction, no needless death. But from time to time the old beast would try to manipulate her into doing his dirty work. She had denied his attempts nearly a dozen times over the last century and a half, but he kept trying. While it was true that Aithwen had done some pretty terrible things in her past, things that some would consider evil or needlessly cruel, each of those acts was in the service of the balance of the world and the Frostmaiden. She saw no semblance of natural balance in the 'requests' from Crythruxos, just pain. And greed. And needless death.
While most druids gravitated to either the view that nature itself - trees, stones, earth - was the most important part of all existence, or that all life no matter what form it takes - plant, humanoid or beast - was of equal importance. She believed as some rare few did, that all must be kept in a perfectly precarious state of balance in order to function. She was no Shadow Druid aiming to destroy all civilization. She knew that in order to know the light one must have darkness or there is no way to tell the difference between the two. The lesson that getting her hands dirty, fully bloody, was a small price to pay for balance upon Toril was one learned when she was quite young. Just as summer fades into winter and winter melts back into summer, life begets death and death nourishes life. Deeds of good and deeds of evil were simply meaningless classifications devised by so-called sentient creatures to justify their choices. Classification of action that had no place in the life or mind of any druid. It was a way of thinking that had eventually alienated her from her own master, her surrogate father, but managed to catch the eye of a high ranking druid of her enclave. It was that same worldview that guided her steps to become one of the most powerful druids north of the Chionthar, possibly all Faerun. Not that it mattered much in her mind, but it did bring about annoyances in her quiet life from time to time.
She was sure the dragon was after her strength specifically for some horribly stupid reason that would not serve the balance of the world. In the 150 or so years she had lived in this land she had learned one thing about the dragon known as Shadestriker: he was a fool. A greedy fool at that. He had airs that he was better than any of the other dragons who lived throughout the northlands and that he deserved to rule everything from the Sea of Moving Ice to the Endless Ice Sea. In their last interaction she found that he desired to cover the southern lands in ice and bring about an eternal winter. Much like the unending rime that had covered Icewind Dale barely 50 years ago when her goddess was rendered both physical and weak. She was certain he got the idea from her goddess' protective spell as he had no unique thoughts in his tiny, frost-bitten reptilian brain.
She could feel a vicious growl building in her throat as she allowed more of her animalistic tendencies to return and overtake her body. She felt teeth lengthen and grow sharply into fangs, her eyesight became sharper as her pupils shifted, her fingers itched as her nails thickened and grew to become claws, and there was a tickle on the tips of her ears as fur began to sprout along the outer edges.
One thing her kind kept strictly secret about their more powerful members is that they end up taking after a specific animal type and often must fight the instincts of that animal for the remainder of their existence; which could be a very, very long time. She knew of one archdruid, a wood elf who was himself a bear of a man, larger than any elf she had ever met before or since and shared a great many other qualities with the solitary beasts he preferred to wander with. Everything from a love of honey and naps to the sheer aggression that would come from threatening anything he saw as his was apparent in his being. She knew of another archdruid who was as stealthy and fickle as a craig cat, another as curious and agile as a monkey and yet another so gentle that she was constantly surrounded by flocks of birds and hordes of rabbits. Her animal side, however, was far more vicious than the other powerful archdruids she had met so far.
There was also a triggering event for each druid, a moment when their soul would resonate with a beast and shape their magic as they learned. These moments were kept secret even from the druid themselves until their knowledge and power reached a certain point. These events usually came either as young acolytes or in the time initiates wandered the wilds of Faerun, and involved an intense interaction with a beast or bestial monstrosity. The event that shaped Aithwen's animal heart happened as a young girl, the same winter she became an official acolyte, and was actually one of her most treasured memories. About three years after she had been found and began training with her half-elven master, Vander, he brought her to meet their enclave's high druid, Amelund, and to celebrate midwinter with other young circle members and new initiates.
While waiting to meet with Amelund, Aithwen was allowed to wander through the High Winter Grove. It was two days before midwinter and animals that aligned most with their honored lady of winter could easily be found. It was the first time she interacted with craig cats, reindeer, snowy owl, ice mephits, and chiwingas. Just as Master Vander was coming to fetch her to meet the archdruid, a massive winter wolf appeared out of the frozen mountain air before her. Winter wolves were vicious, intelligent, dangerous, dark. They were messengers, soldiers of the Frostmaiden. The other druids present were frightened for her, as she was just a child, even by Elven standards. But she wasn't. She looked into the pale cobalt eyes of the wolf, and the wolf looked back. She remembered thinking that she had never seen an animal more beautiful than the one that stood before her. From the corner of her eyes, she could see Master Vander and Lord Amelund approaching cautiously. But before they could reach her, the wolf let out a ferocious growl and snapped his jaws at the men. Both druids stopped approaching, knowing that the winter wolf was a creature not to be trifled with.
Aithwen's attention was on the wolf the entire time. Its fur with a faint sheen of ice and frost tipping each silver-white hair, intelligent pale blue eyes, and small clouds of frost accompanying heavy breaths, were mesmerizing. After giving his warning to the other druids, the wolf turned its attention back to the little auburn haired elf in front of him. It tilted its head to the side and continued just to stare at the girl. Slowly, Aithwen reached a hand out and placed it on the wolf's muzzle, much to the dismay of the elder druids standing around her. The wolf did not react and simply allowed the child a moment to touch his fur. She was in awe, the wolf's fur was both soft and coarse at the same time, it also had the contradictory feelings of the warmth of a living thing and the chill of a frosted wind. Her curiosity growing alongside her awe, she asked the beast in Elven for it's name, and introduced herself softly. The wolf simply stared at her in response before it's cool tongue darted out to deliver a numbing lick to the right side of her face before turning away with a deep chuckle and bounding back up the mountain.
She was only slightly aware of her master and the high druid rushing to her side as she watched the giant wolf disappear into the snow. She didn't hear the questions about her well-being, nor the reprimand for touching such a dangerous creature. When she finally came to herself again, she stared into her master's worried eyes with a look full of determination and asked him how she could be like the wolf she just saw. While her master stared at her with mouth agape in shock, Lord Amelund began to laugh. It was a large and deep laugh, one full of mirth at a child's words. Confused eyes moved between the two elder druids from the small child between them before Amelund calmed himself and put both hands on the girl's shoulders.
"My dear child, it takes a great deal of power and determination to gain the ability to take on any qualities even slightly resembling a creature as blessed by the frostmaiden as that one is. It would take you a great many years of hash, painful and often disheartening training. So think carefully before you answer: is that what you want? You have yet to take the acolyte's vow, afterall." The high druid's green eyes looked into determined gray as Aithwen nodded her assent immediately.
"I am ready, Lord Amelund." Aithwen spoke confidently. "I may not remember anything before the past three years, but whatever my life was, I just know it held a great deal of pain and fear. I was spared by the frostmaiden and I know what I want for my future. I will endure anything to gain the ability to protect the life I make."
Amelund smiled at the girl and nodded while Vander watched stoically as the girl he found bleeding out in the snow declared her intention with a confidence and strength of will he hadn't realized she held. Closing the distance between them, he placed his hand on her back and began guiding the child to the stone circle used for their rituals. The first step of the training the high druid spoke of was to begin that very moment.
An elderly gnomish druid stood among the stones, waiting with a faintly glowing bottle of blue liquid and a rather thick needle near a slab of stone large enough for the short humanoid to sit on. She bade the child kneel and tilt her head forward. Brushing the child's hair aside, the gnome dipped the needle into the bottle and brought the implement to the girl's skin. At the nape of her neck, just below the line of her short auburn hair, a small tattoo was slowly and painfully inscribed on her skin. A crescent moon and a six-pointed snowflake with a diamond done in the enchanted and freezing blue ink, marked her not only as an acolyte of the frostmaiden, but initiated her as a druid pledged to the circle of the moon. Aithwen lost consciousness immediately after the initiation tattoo was complete. Her dreams that night were filled with fantastic creatures, large beasts, great magics, foreshadowing of pain, and the ice-clad form of the goddess herself.
She spent the next day in harsh hand-to-hand battle training with the other acolytes and older druids ranked as Frostkin; and then preparing for that year's midwinter run. When the moon crested the horizon and the sun fully set, their celebration of midwinter began. Dressed in nothing but a simple blue sleeveless cotton gown bound with a white belt bearing the six pointed snowflake of the Frostmaiden and her arms painted with silver-blue rune prayers, Aithwen strode into the trees with the other initiates to spend the night amidst the snow and cold to prove not only her loyalty to the winter goddess, but her determination to succeed.
Giving a short, violent shake to her head, Aithwen shook the memories from her mind as the wolf within her heart laughed at her nostalgia. It was foolish to get lost and memories when an enemy was at her home and a stranger at her back. A pulse of cold from the tiny tattoo on her neck reassured the druid that her goddess was with her. Her now fanged mouth broke into a sinister grin as she took in her surroundings. It was time to play with some trespassing kobolds.
Rhyldan found his curiosity peaked yet again by the female striding along in front of him. Just a moment ago her steps had slowed, almost as if she were contemplating something. She shook her head and began stalking forward once more. His heightened senses could tell that she was excited at the prospect of whatever lay before them. It had been a long time since he had last smelt the awful little dragon-like kobolds, and he wondered why exactly this group was so far north.
The druidess stepped through a rather thick tangle of drooping branches and disappeared completely from his sight. Rhyldan slowed his steps, following cautiously. The growl that had been emanating from the female grew in intensity, a truly beastly snarl rippling from her throat and transforming into a rougher, deeper version of her voice.
"You are trespassing here. Explain yourselves or die. Painfully." Aithwen's voice was full of dark fury and the promise of violence. Rhyldan found himself swallowing thickly as a trickle of fear ran up and down his spine. The last voice he heard with a tone like that belonged to the devil bitch that had ruled his life and cursed him to his current existence without hope of ever changing it for the better. Carefully, he reached out and pulled back a few branches to catch a glimpse of whatever was happening on the other side of the foliage.
Aithwen stood with her weight balanced forward onto the balls of her feet, ready to spring at a moment's notice. Standing in an arc in front of a copse of what Rhyldan thought were fir trees (he was never very good at telling the differences, honestly) were a dozen kobolds and four more on wargs. The kobolds didn't look like any he had ever seen before. While most kobold were brilliantly colored, these had scales ranging from white to gray with hints of blue. They were also better armed than he would've thought with well made pikes, swords and crossbows all leveled at the druidess.
One of the larger kobolds stepped forward, "His greatness, the mighty Shadestriker, demands your presence, elf. His glorious magnificence's wrath has been provoked! Vile druid, you harbor secrets within your trees our almighty master desires. He commands you to deliver them at once!" The lizard thumped the end of his pike on the mossy ground and the other kobolds gave a small cheer at the proclamation from the dragon.
Rhyldan wondered how the druid would respond to such a 'command' and his eyes moved back to the druidess whose shoulders began to shake. She must be furious. Whoever this Shadestriker is either has enormous balls or is an enormous fool. I just met the woman and her power is obvious. I wonder which he is? Rhyldan's musing was interrupted by the sound of Aithwen's laughter.
The elf and the kobolds all stared at the druid in shock as one of her arms wrapped around her middle with the force of her mirth. Rhyldan felt a smile spread across his face at the sight. Fool it is. Gods, her laugh is like music… Rhyldan's smile disappeared as quickly as it spread at his thought. Idiot! Don't get distracted. Use the bint and run. Don't think about her pretty laugh or smooth skin or those long legs… Gods dammit! Get it together ya damned ponce! Freedom, Rhyldan. That is what matters. Not a pretty bird in the wilderness…
Aithwen's laughter faded into heavy breaths as she shifted her hands to her hips and did her best to calm herself. Crythruxos has gotten bold. Demanding? Ha! I have more secrets hidden than he can imagine. I wonder which one he thinks he has a claim to? The amusement faded from her eyes and was replaced with her typical cold gaze. Still standing in a relaxed pose, she replied to the kobold standing barely ten feet away.
"Demands? Desires? Commands? Bah!" She scoffed and scowled. "Really, Jorix. You know better than to use such words with me. Care to try again before I am 'provoked'?" There was a falsely sweet tone to her words that the kobolds couldn't decipher, but Rhyldan heard the silent promise of violence within the simple words.
The large kobold, Jorix, huffed. "Take care, druid! His magnanana…maganana… uh, his large greatness will not take such attitude form such a lower being such as yourself! He will hunt your wolves, freeze your grove and crack your bones between his mighty teeth!" There was a smug look on his face as Jorix believed he had verbally gotten the best of the druid.
Aithwen rolled her eyes and turned her body just enough to make eye contact with Rhyldan through the leaves where he remained hidden. Her eyes held an amused glint as she sarcastically responded to the kobold. "Wow, Jorix. Your threats have really caused me to rethink my response." The kobold's chest puffed up in pride but quickly deflated as the druid continued. "Sadly, for you, my response is that I am no longer just annoyed, but angry with your master's little threats." Aithwen gave a dramatic sigh. "I guess you and your… men… will just have to die." Her eyes snapped back to the white kobold who seemed to have paled at her words and began to take steps backward. Before the little beast could get far, a chorus of growls and howls erupted from the forest around and behind Rhyldan. Spinning around quickly, he saw a dozen arctic wolves and direwolves emerge from the trees to advance on the now frightened band of kobolds.
Aithwen made a small, unfamiliar gesture with her hand and the temperature of the area began to plummet quickly, small crystals of ice appearing and whirling in the air. Her hand darted out and with a soft word a sharp knife made of blue ice came into existence a scant moment before striking Jorix squarely in the chest. The kobold leader staggered and stumbled as the force of the magical weapon caused him to nearly lose his balance before the shard shattered and knocked him to the ground. One of the smaller kobolds let loose a crossbow bolt that struck the druid in the side. Its cheer of success quickly turned to a shriek of pain as the largest of the direwolves snapped its jaws around the creature's leg and began roughly shaking the foolish beast until the shrieking stopped with a sickening crunch.
The sudden silence spurred action from everything within the clearing which was rapidly colored with splashes of blood as wolves and wargs leapt, jaws snapping at each other as kobold weapons flew and jabbed. Rhyldan watched in awe as Aithwen calmly snapped the bolt protruding from her abdomen to a stub and launched herself into the air. The druid hung suspended for a moment before landing on the back of a warg and tearing out the throat of its kobold rider with her elongated claws and tossing the lifeless body to the ground before swiftly dealing with the frantic beast beneath her feet. The scent of the blood and the calm manner in which the female dealt death made Rhyldan's mouth water with more than just hunger. Feeling the desire to kill rise in his chest, the male stepped through the foliage as one of the smaller kobolds attempted to flee the slaughter. His hand snapped out and grabbed the creature by its neck. Lifting the little beast he unsheathed one of his daggers and plunged it right below his fingers. Blood, hot and thick, flowed over his fingers. Clenching his jaw he resisted the urge to sink his teeth into the wound and gulp down the thick ruby liquid. He couldn't afford to reveal himself just yet. Letting the now limp body fall to the forest floor with a sigh, Rhyldan looked for another victim for his knife.
Aithwen snarled as her claws ripped through the soft belly skin of another kobold. Pausing for a moment she looked at her pack. Over half the kobold were dead along with three of the four wargs, the final beast was bleeding badly as it was being toyed with by the direwolf pups and two of the smaller arctic wolf pairs. Out of her peripheral vision she noticed Rhyldan grinning as he stalked unseen behind one of the remaining kobold, his hands and dagger coated in blood and glee in his red eyes.
A fresh wave of pain spread from her side as Jorix snuck up behind her to land a hit with the haft of his pike near where the bolt struck. Spinning quickly her clawed hand snatched the pike haft and yanked the large kobold closer. "Bad choice, Jorix." The druidess bared her fanged teeth and swung her unoccupied fist at the kobold's jaw. The punch sent the beast reeling. Throwing the pike to the ground and surging forward, Aithwen struck again and again with her clawed hands until Jorix stumbled and fell. Summoning vines to hold the kobold down until she was ready to deal with him, she caught one of the smaller beasts as it ran by. Using the beast's momentum she rooted herself to the earth and tossed it over her shoulder and into a tree where it slumped, stunned, caught on a low branch.
A yelp of pain sounded from one of the arctic wolves and Aithwen spun quickly, launching herself toward the wounded wolf. Letting instinct guide her limbs the druidess attacked with claws and fangs, hot blood coated her tongue and spilled over her chin as she ripped the throat out of the kobold threatening her injured pack mate. Dropping to her knees and extending bloody hands toward the whimpering wolf Aithwen called on the healing frost within her blood and within moments the fatal tear in the wolf's stomach was gone.
"Impressive." Rhyldan's voice came from just behind her right shoulder as the wolf licked the blood from Aithwen's chin in gratitude before returning to its worried mate.
The druid looked over the impromptu battlefield. All the intruders were dead with the exception of Jorax and the little kobold laying stunned at the base of the trees. Her pack and grove were safe, for the moment. Turning her attention to the male behind her, Aithwen gave a low chuckle. "You must be easily impressed then." Keeping her eyes on Rhyldan she spat out some of the foul blood that had pooled in her mouth before standing and wiping at her bloodied chin. "Blegh. Kobold."
"Can a man not complement your skill, pet?" Rhyldan asked with a smirk and chuckle.
Aithwen narrowed her eyes and decided to play along. Giving an exaggerated shrug, she playfully responded, "Depends on what a man expects to receive in return for such a compliment." The delightfully shocked look in his eyes was worth playing the game for just a moment. Breaking eye contact with the handsome elf and striding over to the struggling Jorix, Aithwen pondered her next action. The dragon had struck too close this time. A violent message was required. Unfortunately, that would also bring about a retaliation from the white beast. Or at least a temper tantrum. Likely both. While she was certain she and her pack could deal easily with whatever his temper threw at them, she regrettably had a guest and her next decision would affect him as well.
"I am afraid I will have to apologize to you, Rhyldan." Aithwen sighed, her slitted eyes meeting his for a moment.
Rhyldan's head tilted to the side as he watched the druidess move with purpose toward the bound kobold. "Whatever for, darling?" He asked.
"I promised to escort you to Hartswick tomorrow. Unfortunately, that may well be impossible to accomplish as I cannot allow the actions of that spoiled brat of a dragon stand." The druid turned her attention to the struggling lizard. "Your master has overstepped, Jorix. Overstepped and overreached." She crouched and her head tilted to the side. "Threats. We had an agreement. An agreement that has stood for nearly two centuries. Over all that time he has tried again and again to gain my power for his own use and each time he has failed. It is time to remind the so-called mighty Crythruxos of the consequences of violating an agreement with a high archdruid." A cold smile spread across her face, Rhyldan couldn't help but think such a look both belonged and was out of place on her face. It made her look vicious and cruel. He found himself thinking that he didn't like that look at all.
Jorix's eyes went wide at the druid's words and he began struggling to free himself from the vines with every ounce of strength he had left. He knew the female was dangerous, had tried to say so to his master. A whispered word and the touch of a clawed finger was all that preceded the feeling of soul-numbing cold that spread throughout the kobold captain's body. He found his voice frozen, unable to scream at the intense amount of pain radiating through his form as he felt each cell freeze and burst. It was agonizing. Aithwen stood and walked away from the dying kobold to the only other living member of the unfortunate party. Summoning an orb of water, she flicked the chilled substance into the small kobold's face. The beast woke up sputtering and stuttering draconic phrases.
"Enough, kobold." Aithwen's voice was ice. "You have the privilege of being the only survivor of this ill-thought little venture of yours. Or at least, you will be shortly. Jorix is currently feeling what freezing to death cell by cell is like, only it will happen in a matter of painful minutes instead of numbing hours." The grayish kobold seemed to pale further as his eyes darted behind the druid to where Jorix was held to the ground with a look of horror and agony on his reptilian face. "You will watch. Once he is dead, you will take word to your beloved Shadestriker and remind him of our agreement. Tell him how quickly me and mine dispatched yours, describe Jorix's death in detail. Remind him that he is no more than a giant beast in my eyes and I will not hesitate to subject him to the world's balance if he dares to tip the scales or places one clawed appendage upon my territory. He may be a dragon, but I am Auril's Rime and I have slain my share of dragons. He will do well to remember that lest his bone and hide find a new home in my armory." The kobold's eyes were glued to the dying form of his leader, unable to even acknowledge the druid's words over his fear. She scoffed and walked over to Rhyldan whose eyes had not left her for a moment of the exchange.
"I truly must apologize again, Rhyldan. I know that staying in a druid's grove is not an experience relished by many - especially those from the southern cities - but we will likely have no choice. White dragons are incredibly petty creatures and this will send the beast into a snit. It is far too late to set out safely tonight and it will unfortunately not be wise for you to travel for a few days, I am sorry." Aithwen's ice blue eyes had returned to normal and were sincere as she studied the other elf's face for a reaction.
Rhyldan shook his head. "You're apologizing to me? Really, pet? A dragon just sent his minions to threaten you and you are treating it as though it is just another bleedin' tenday! Does this happen to you often, luv?" Words he originally meant to tease had a strained honesty as he spoke.
Aithwen chuckled, "Not often, no. But Shadestriker is an arrogant fool, and like all white dragons has a memory like stone. He knows I hold power and he wishes to use it for himself. He has tried convincing, tempting, tricking and threatening me into working for him. I have refused every advance for the last 150 some years but still he tries. Thus, we must do this dance again and again until the day we finally tire of each other and begin the process of killing the other." She sighed heavily, "It is a nuisance."
Rhyldan found himself shocked at how matter of fact and careless her words seemed. "You have been arguing with a fully grown white dragon for decades and you call it a nuisance? Gods, just who are you, luv?"
Aithwen smiled and chuckled at the pure curiosity behind the lightly asked question. "I was told once that I'm a mystery, a contradiction and an annoyance." She shrugged and began walking toward the line of overlapping needle-leaved trees. "Only Auril truly knows! Now come, you will not be able to pass through unless you are touching me and I need to wash the kobold stench from my things." The druid stopped and placed a hand on one of the giant trees with a whispered word before her eyes found the other elf again.
Rhyldan just stared at Aithwen dumbly. This woman… gods, what is she? Rhyldan, you just may be completely bloody buggered even more than you were…