Summary: What led Zelyra Erenaeth to be captured by drow and imprisoned deep within the Underdark? Well, that is an unrelated tale that begins on the surface. The Archdruids of Neverwinter Wood send two druids-in-training, a half-elven ranger, and a half-giant barbarian to investigate claims of a malevolent nature spirit's work against a small village on the northeastern edge of the forest. It was supposed to be a training exercise, nothing more. But what the party uncovers is something far, far more sinister.
A short story based on the horror one-shot 'The Cult of the Gol'Goroth' from Nerzugal's Dungeon Master Toolkit. (Please, no spoilers. I'll share it when the story is finished) This acts as a prequel to The Grey Warriors, but you do not need to have read that to follow this story.
Pre-chapter notes:
Hello, and well met!
If this is the first Dungeons and Dragons piece of mine you are reading, for context, this is the origins story of a character from my longer fic The Grey Warriors based on the Out of the Abyss campaign that ran from 2018 to 2021. Those who are unfamiliar with the game, or have not read The Grey Warriors, should be able to delve right in without issue as I do try to write to a broad audience.
For returning readers: here it is—the Goldleaf one-shot adventure and Zelyra Erenaeth's origin story! I'm finally connecting it all. We will start with a preface combination of Roots and Reminiscence. Those who have read these as interludes in The Grey Warriors can move on if they wish and dive straight into the 'official' chapter one. Nothing has changed. I combined them here to act as a refresher and to connect details that will be addressed later in the short story. Roots takes place approximately twelve years before The Grey Warriors, and Reminiscence is four years before.
Reader discretion is advised. This is based on a horror one-shot. Later chapters may contain content and/or graphic descriptions that are disturbing. So, to be safe, I am marking this story as M.
I am not affiliated with Wizards of the Coast. Nor am I being commissioned/paid to write this. (Too bad, that would be fun!) This is written purely out of love for the story my friends and I created. Many of the locations, monsters, and characters you will encounter are property of Wizards but as with any good story, this tale will not always follow 5e rules or even Forgotten Realms lore. We borrowed ideas from Matthew Mercer's world of Exandria and source guides from DMsguild as well. I will give credit when credit is due!
* Final disclaimer: I promise later chapters will be much shorter than this! This is a beast because I'm combining what was previously two chapters into one! *
Now, without further ado…
The Cult of the Gol'Goroth
Prologue: Part One
Roots
14 Marpenoth 1473DR
The City of Neverwinter
It was the most miserable of days. The wind howled. Thunder and lightning cracked overhead. Large droplets of rain plummeted from dark, billowing clouds as an autumn squall descended upon the coastal city of Neverwinter. The ordinarily bustling streets were eerily silent, for only the bravest of souls dared to journey out into the horrid weather. One very young half-elf, however, braved the elements. The air was chilled—so much so that she could see her breath. Rain pelted her slender frame with a vengeance, and her every step brought thick sludge splashing against her ankles.
When the half-elf's intended destination was finally in sight, a sigh of relief escaped her. The tavern looked positively inviting. Smoke poured from the chimney, and soft light streamed from its many windows to illuminate the darkened cobblestone street. Shelter at long last! This was where she was to reconvene with her elder brother, Zelphar. Finally, a place where they could sit in front of a warm fire and, with any luck, spare enough coin to purchase themselves hot drinks and something hearty to fill their aching bellies.
The White Dragon was unfamiliar to her. But Zelphar had surveyed the sleepy tavern once or twice since they arrived in Neverwinter a tenday prior. He insisted that it was safe, claiming that the old dwarf who ran the establishment was welcoming of outsiders and those who did not fit the mold. The water squishing in her boots miraculously felt less bothersome at the thought.
What a change that would be.
The half-elf quickened her pace and found herself standing before an unornamented wooden door in no time. Her half-numb fingers shakily grasped ahold of the handle and pushed. Immediately, a wall of warmth struck her as she crossed the threshold. The half-elf paused for half a second to relish it before glancing about the inner space.
The common room was far smaller than expected. Less than half a dozen tables were scattered throughout its interior. The bar entirely took up one side of the room while a sizable hearth occupied the other. A large cauldron hung above the blazing fire, and judging by the delicious smell drifting from it, the pot held a fresh batch of travelers' stew. Lastly, a rickety staircase led to the rentals upstairs at the far end, while the small door tucked away beneath it undoubtedly led to the kitchen and storage rooms.
Quaint and Cozy. Quiet. Just like the streets outside, the common room of the White Dragon was all but empty. The half-elf surveyed those present, hoping to pick out Zelphar's head of dark hair. But to her disappointment, her brother was nowhere in sight. An elderly hunchbacked dwarf wiped down tankards behind the bar. A halfling with combed back dark hair and a scruffy sort of man with short blond hair were engaged in a rousing game of cards at one of the middle tables. The girl absently noted the pair wore matching tan and black cloaks. The final patron was dressed in strange leaf-like leathers and sat alone at a table closest to the hearth. Their face was almost entirely obscured by a great leather tome lined with gold ink, but the long, pointed ears that peaked out from their head of inky black hair were a telling indication of race.
The half-elf paused, suddenly feeling self-conscious. She had never encountered a full-blooded elf before. What would one of the true fair-folk think of her? Would he view her the same as the humans did? [1]
Unfortunately, that would prove to be a mystery. Of the patrons in the room, only the barkeep noticed her entrance.
"Oh, hallo there! Take a seat, take a seat, little lassie. Can I get ye anything? A cuppa, or a bowl of stew, perhaps? It's blasted weather out there. Poor thing! Yer soaked to the bone! And yer hem is soaked three inches deep in mud!" the dwarf cried.
The young half-elf tore her gaze from the strange elf to gape at the barkeep. She could tell that he was not being cruel in his reaction to her haggard appearance but rather did so out of concern. Usually, the common folk were wary and distrustful. It was nice to be treated as an average patron instead of an ill omen or a nuisance.
But the dwarf's offer of food put her in a difficult position. Her coin purse was very much empty. In fact, it was nonexistent. She didn't even have a single copper piece on her person. Once Zelphar arrived, however, she prayed that would change.
"Nothing at the moment, thank you," the half-elf cautiously replied. Her lips then curled into what she hoped came across as a lighthearted smile as she added, "I'm waiting on someone."
To her relief, the old dwarf gave a short nod. "Aye, just holler when yer ready."
Once he turned away, the young girl's hands flitted to her aching belly. The offer of a hot bowl of stew was unbelievably tempting, for more than a day had passed since her last meal. Even then, that 'meal' had consisted of a half-eaten loaf of moldy bread plucked from a garbage pail and the last remnants of her waterskin.
Food seemed to be harder to come by in Neverwinter. She and Zelphar had not been in the city long, but they had quickly noticed that its people were struggling. And while being in a town full of so many below-working class citizens made it far easier for them to blend in, it also made pickpocketing more difficult. The siblings had one rule regarding their schemes: they only stole from those who looked like they wouldn't miss what was taken. They never deviated, no matter how desperately they needed the coin. That arrangement had kept them alive all these years.
Hesitantly, the half-elf sat down at a table nearest the door. Time then seemed to slow to crawl as she waited. Embers crackled in the fire. The dwarf whistled a jolly tune under his breath and continued his cleaning regimen. As their card game progressed, the cloaked figures threw loud, playful insults at each other. But the young girl's gaze remained locked on her mud-soaked hem.
At long last, the tavern door creaked open. A youth entered and made brief eye contact with the card players and the barkeep. All three acknowledged his presence but, as asked, said nothing to draw attention to the fact he was known to them. The youth did not want his little sister to ask questions. It was better for her to not know the lengths he had gone to keep them safe.
The girl's table wobbled not a moment later as the youth threw himself into the chair opposite her. She glanced up. Seated before her was an equally haggard-looking half-elf with tousled dark hair and piercing green eyes.
"Hello, brother," she cheerily greeted, a smile on her lips.
"Zelyra…"
He sounded tired, defeated. The girl's hopeful expression fell.
"What is it? How much did you get?" she asked.
Zelphar reached into a tattered pocket and slammed two silver pieces onto the table. "I'm sorry. It should've been more, but the bastard was cheating the cards! Maybe he's one of those magic users or something. I'm lucky to have even walked away with this."
"Wait—you didn't pocket this?" Zelyra whispered after looking around to ensure no one was listening in on their conversation. When Zelphar shook his head, she said, "You gambled for this, then? That's new."
The dark-haired half-elf shrugged nonchalantly and leaned back in his seat, "Thought maybe I'd try something different this time. I'm pretty good at reading people, after all."
"I suppose that is more respectable." Zelyra fingered one of the silver pieces and added, "You shouldn't be so disappointed. This is more than enough to buy us many a meal. Between this and the gold pieces you pocketed earlier this week, we should have enough to sustain us for several tendays. We might even be able to catch a carriage down to Waterdeep! I hear it's a wealthier city than this."
But Zelphar scowled openly, not sharing her positive outlook. "I'm famished. I'll order a tray and ask to refill our waterskins." With that, he stood and stormed over to the counter.
Zelyra's stomach rumbled again. Again, she was lost in anticipation of fresh, hot bread and a plate of fruits and cheese. A modest meal it would be, but enough to sate their hunger for the time being.
The front door opened and closed again. Zelyra would not have taken note of the newcomer's entrance at all if it hadn't been for the accompanied heavy, thundering footsteps. In the doorway stood a human with a clean-shaven head. Tall and beefy he was, with arms nearly the size of tree trunks. Most concerning, however, was the wild look in his eyes and the direction in which it was fixed. That stare was focused directly on the lithe form of Zelphar as the half-elf engaged the dwarf in conversation at the counter.
Zelyra sucked in a quick, panicked breath. She recognized the man. Whatever peace they had found in The White Dragon was about to be utterly broken.
"Finally tracked ye down, dirty othlir!" the man growled.
And just like that, chaos erupted.
The human crossed the room in three booming strides. One meaty hand reached out and grasped Zelphar by the collar, lifting him straight off the ground and into the air. The youth desperately kicked his feet to find purchase, but the large man didn't even blink at the effort.
Zelyra sprung from her chair and rushed towards them. "Wait! Stop! Please, don't hurt him!" she pleaded as she tried to insert her own, much smaller body in between Zelphar and his attacker. Despite her fear, she would protect her brother to whatever end. He was all she had.
The man's ire was focused solely on Zelphar. The girl was just in the way. With a mighty swing of his free hand, the man's brawny fist connected with her shoulder. Zelyra went tumbling. White-hot stars exploded in her vision as the back of her head connected with the counter behind her. She slumped against the ground, whimpering in pain, and could only look on in horror as the man tightened his hand around Zelphar's throat.
"Where is it? WHERE IS IT?!" the man shouted.
Zelphar could not have answered even if he wanted to. Instead, he could only sputter and cough while instinctively clawing at the hand holding pressure against his throat.
A furious mix of Common and Dwarvish cursing soon joined in alongside the large human's demands. And yet, aside from his call for peace, the kindly barkeep did nothing to help. Likewise, the cloaked human and halfling pair were frozen in their respective seats, watching the sudden display of violence with confusion and disbelief.
Zelphar's face began to turn an alarming shade of red. If the human didn't let up soon, he would suffocate. Humiliated tears spilled down the young girl's cheeks. It was just like all those years ago when they'd been swindled by that horrid innkeeper. No one cared. No one was going to help them.
In a strange twist of events, the leaf-clad elf that Zelyra had almost forgotten about rose to his feet. His book fell to the table with a thud. "They're just children. Leave them be!" he called out in Common.
"This one owes me money!" the man shouted in response. "Stole the gold right out of me mistress's pocket when she wasn't looking. We've been lookin' for the dirty rat for three days!" The human turned his wild gaze back to Zelphar and began to shake him. "Now, where is it? GIVE IT TO ME!"
Everyone in the room flinched as the elf's chair scraped loudly across the ground. He began to stalk towards the human, a predatory glint in his storm-colored eyes.
"How much does this child owe you?" the elf asked.
"Five gold," the human growled.
The elf shook his head in disbelief and said, "You disturbed the peace of this fine establishment over a measly five gold? He is only a child. Do you want that kind of blood on your hands?"
The elf's voice was soft and steady, but his veiled threat sent a shiver down Zelyra's spine. This was a creature not to be crossed. His elegant movement and the way his intelligent eyes glinted in the firelit room gave the impression of a deadly hunter. But fortunately, for whatever reason, the elf seemed to be on their side.
Zelyra's astonishment reached new heights as their rescuer reached into his own coin purse and promptly produced not five but ten shiny golden coins.
"Consider this reimbursement. Take it and be rid of us," the elf declared.
The human promptly released his grip on Zelphar's throat upon seeing twice what was stolen from him. The youth collapsed to the floor in a choking heap. Tears fell from his green eyes as he sucked in a much-needed breath of air. Zelyra ignored the throbbing at the back of her head and scrambled over to him. Red markings were already visible on his slender throat. By the morning, they would be black with bruising.
"Not all of us are privileged enough to think of five gold as measly," the man sneered, baiting his words as he snatched up coins.
The elf did not fall for it. "The debt has been settled. Now go and leave us to our peace!" he placed a hand on his sword's hilt as a warning.
The angry man cast a final, scathing glare at all involved and left the White Dragon just as suddenly as he appeared.
Satisfied that the danger was over, the elf turned his attention to the children he had honorably defended. A pang of bitterness swept through Zelyra as his keen gaze swept over their bodies, for she knew what he saw. Tiny, pointed ears poked out from beneath her long, matted, blonde hair. Dirt and grime covered her hands, face, and just about every other part of her body. The plain cotton dress she wore was tattered and two sizes too small. Zelphar was not in much better condition. His dark hair was equally knotted and tangled. The breeches he wore had thrice patched holes in the knees and did not reach past his ankles—they hadn't for over a year now, but there was little they could do about that.
Beggars. Orphans. Urchins. That was what they had become. Unwanted. They were half-elves—othlir, the ill-born—neither belonging to the world of humans nor elves.
As the elf crouched down to her level, Zelyra was treated to a better view of his fair features. Despite their nomadic lifestyle, she and Zelphar had not personally met any full-blooded elves. Most of their interactions were exclusively with humans. Many a dwarf or halfling had crossed their paths over the years but never one of the fair-folk. Zelyra could not help but look at him in awe.
The elf's entire demeanor had changed. Noble, he seemed. He was cloaked in reddish-brown leathers, dark green leaf-like suedes, and white furs. A leather circlet of autumn-colored leaves set upon a head of long hair the color of endless night. However, the ageless quality of his features struck her the most. His eyes were like thunderous clouds before a summer storm, and even at the tender age of twelve, Zelyra sensed he held wisdom that surpassed many men's lifetimes.
When the elf spoke, his voice was firm, unwavering, and kind. So very different from when he had been addressing the human. "I will not hurt you, little one. What is your name?" he asked in Elvish.
When it took the girl a moment to respond, the elf feared she did not understand him. But at last, she replied inelegantly in the elven tongue. Their parents had taught them the language of their forebearers. But due to their frequent dealings with humans, Elvish had all but fallen out of use. Common was easier.
"My name is Zelyra, and this is my brother, Zelphar. I must thank you, sir, for your help," the girl said. Her brother grunted in acknowledgment as he pulled himself back onto his feet.
The elf smiled at them, revealing a set of pearly white teeth. "Well met, Zelyra, Zelphar. My name is Laucian Erenaeth. Are either of you hurt?"
"I can manage," Zelphar croaked. "It'll bruise by morning, but I've had worse."
Zelyra gently patted the bump on the back of her skull and winced when she felt wetness beneath her fingers—blood. The action did not go unnoticed by Laucian.
"Yes, I thought as much. That was quite a blow to the back of your head. I can look at it if you wish." The elf held out his hands and asked, "May I?"
Before Zelyra could answer, Zelphar cut in. "Will it hurt her?" he asked.
"Not at all. I wish to heal her if that is alright with you?" Laucian replied, chuckling lightly at the boy's protectiveness.
Zelphar held up a hand in appeasement. "Then, by all means," he said.
Laucian's mouth began to move as he quietly muttered something in a language neither half-elf knew. If Zelyra had thought that Laucian looked fair and noble before, that notion paled to seeing his face awash in golden light. Because as his healing spell took shape and flowed through him, the circlet of autumn-colored leaves upon Laucian's head seemed to come alive. Warmth enveloped the back of Zelyra's head as the elf cradled an open palm upon it. Then, in a flash, all her pain subsided. It felt as though she had never hit her head at all! And when Laucian eventually pulled his hand away, there was no blood to be seen though he had directly touched the wound.
Magic! It had to be.
Zelyra gaped at the strange elf in amazement. "You're a wizard!" she cried.
Again, the elf laughed. "Not quite, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve."
"Can you teach me how to do that?" Zelphar pleaded with wide eyes.
"Perhaps," Laucian replied as a thoughtful expression crossed his features. However, the revelation was kept to himself for the time being. Instead, he offered, "Allow me to buy you a meal."
"We couldn't ask you to do that, Sir," Zelyra exclaimed in astonishment.
"Please, I insist," Laucian said.
Neither put up more of a fight. And when the portly dwarf dropped steaming bowls of traveler's stew and a pot of tea in front of them ten minutes later, the children tucked in with vigor.
Laucian watched the desperation in which they consumed their meal with a raised brow. "Don't worry. It won't disappear on you," he cautioned.
Zelyra glanced up at the elf for a moment before dropping her eyes back to her stew in shame. She knew neither she nor Zelphar were being mindful of their manners. But the food was so good. The soup was hot, savory—like nothing she had had in months! They never splurged when it came to ordering food. They couldn't. What coin they scrounged up had to last them for as long as possible. Necessity always won.
Appearing equally chastised, Zelphar wrung his hands together nervously. "Sorry for our rudeness. This is the first meal we've had in days, and the last thing I consumed was nowhere as good as this," he said.
"Not eaten in days?!" Laucian's heavy brow furrowed. "I should've asked earlier—you two are still quite young. How old are you?"
Again, Zelyra hesitated but could not fathom how such information might be harmful. "Twelve winters," she said.
"Sixteen," Zelphar offered.
"And where are your parents?"
"Gone," the brother bit out.
"Gone? Gone where?" Laucian asked in alarm, his gaze darting between the pair in increasing concern.
Though much time had passed, the answer to that question was something still very fresh in Zelyra and Zelphar's hearts. Were they to be so free with this stranger? Zelyra exchanged a careful glance with her brother. Looking into his eyes, it was as if she could almost read his thoughts. What more harm could they possibly get themselves into? Laucian had been kind to them thus far. Perhaps a little honesty would finally get them somewhere.
"They went missing in Mirabar four or five winters ago. None of the townspeople would help us look for them," Zelyra admitted.
Absentmindedly, the young girl clutched a pendant carefully concealed beneath her bodice. It was the only thing of value she and Zelphar had. But no matter how bad things got or how desperately they needed coin, she refused to part with it. The necklace had originally been her mother's. It was the only thing left—the only thing the terrible tavern-keeper hadn't stolen in the confusion of their parents' abdication.
Her bottom lip began to quiver, and Zelyra could not look Laucian in the eye; such was her shame. The innkeeper's harsh words to them that day replayed in her head as she said, "H-he said that our parents didn't want us anymore. That's why they were gone."
"I am very sorry for your loss." Gentle fingers clasped the girl's chin and urged her to look upward. When Zelyra met Laucian's gaze, she was surprised to see a furious fire in his storm-colored eyes. He said, "But I am certain whoever told you that was lying to you. A loving parent would never willingly abandon their children."
Another tear slipped down her cheek, which Laucian immediately wiped away.
"We waited. They never came back," Zelphar said. He angrily kicked the floor under the table with his worn boots. Of the pair, Zelphar had taken their parent's disappearance the hardest. A part of him believed the suggestion that they had been purposely abandoned. But, he continued, "We've bounced from city to city since then. We don't usually stay in one place for very long before moving on again. We've only been here in Neverwinter for a tenday but were thinking of using that stolen gold to hire a carriage to take us to Waterdeep. There's more opportunity there."
"Have you truly nowhere to go? No other family can take you in?" the noble elf asked them sadly.
Zelyra and Zelphar shook their heads. They did not. If they had extended family, they had never met them and wouldn't even know where to start looking.
Laucian's earlier thought returned, and this time, it was accompanied by a familiar guiding wind that brushed his cheeks and pierced his heart. The children had potential. They could be taught the ways of his druid circle. After all, Taras Aldar desperately needed a new generation of guardians. What once was a sprawling wood-elf haven had dwindled to a shadow of its former self. Just as all things since the Spellplague ravished Faerûn. It had been the elder's fear for some time that if his people did not start branching out—if they continued to hide behind their wards and keep to their own—their beloved sanctuary would one day be lost to the same sickness that now infected Neverwinter Wood.
And so, the druid told the children about his home, Taras Aldar, and the diligent sword-wielding druids who guarded it. In exchange for a safe and comfortable place to stay, Laucian and his people would require help protecting the village from the dangers in the forest. The tasks that Laucian and his people carried out were often dangerous and not something to be taken on half-heartedly, but surely it would be a step up from the children's current impoverished and thieving lifestyle.
"And I must stress that if you accept this task, you must leave your pickpocketing days behind you," Laucian sternly told the pair. "Do not steal from the people of Taras Aldar."
Little did he know that only one would take that advice to heart.
Knowing it was a lot to take in, the druid told the children to consider his offer. He then spoke with the barkeep about procuring a second room for the night. After all the poor brother and sister had been through, they deserved a comfortable night's rest.
A private sleeping space with walls and a roof over their head. A large bed, pillows, and blankets. And the use of the washroom adjacent to the common room! These run-of-the-mill commodities were considered luxuries to the brother and sister.
Zelyra immediately turned in after a warm bath and spent time plaiting her hair like her mother had done when she was a little girl, but Zelphar lingered in the common room until Laucian went up to his room. And when the wood elf was gone, the youth finally acknowledged the human and the halfling. A lengthy discussion was had. Zelphar's plans had changed for the betterment of his sister, but it could still work in the guild's favor.
The rest the children took that night could be considered the most peaceful since the fateful night in Mirabar when their parents had simply…not come back.
The following day, Zelyra and Zelphar accompanied Laucian into Neverwinter Wood.
. . .
In their short time spent in the city of Neverwinter, the children had heard rumors of the fabled Wood beyond. It was said to be dark and dense with an undeniable presence of old magic. Stray too far from the path forged by the wood elves that protected its borders, and one might never be able to find their way out. Not only was it the home of many wild beasts, but it also was not uncommon to stumble upon a malevolent fey creature every now and again. Only the bravest—or foolhardy—of individuals dared to enter such an accursed forest.
When Zelphar and Zelyra expressed their worries, Laucian calmly told them they would bypass most of the Wood. Then, to their amazement, the elf transformed into a giant eagle to carry them safely above the tree canopy. The ride was exhilarating and just the pinnacle of what Laucian and the druids could teach them. The children justifiably had many questions when the elder transformed back into his elven form.
Once inside the village, Laucian informed the children that he would need to speak with the village masters—four archdruids, each with a niche of expertise in the Circle—about their care. The elder then caught the attention of a passing young boy and requested that he show the pair of half-elves around in the meantime. The boy looked as though he wanted to protest but begrudgingly gave his agreement. To defy the order of an elder was not in his blood.
One look had Zelyra marveling at the boy, whom Laucian soon formally introduced as Varan Fenhirel. He appeared to be around Zelphar's age or perhaps slightly younger and had chin-length dark hair, bright blue eyes, and slightly pointed ears. With a start, Zelyra realized that Varan was half-elven—just like her! She had never seen another of her kind aside from immediate family, for her parents were also half-elves. The girl felt giddy then. Neither had she much of a chance to be around many others her age. For so many years, all she had was Zelphar. It would be nice to make a new friend.
But Varan took Zelyra's staring in a much different way as he also sported a terrible scar that spanned the entire length of the right side of his face.
"It's from an orc," the boy said flatly in Elvish.
"Oh! No, I wasn't—it's just, I've never seen another half-elf before," Zelyra hurriedly apologized.
Varan relaxed, but only slightly.
The young girl smiled assuredly and gestured to his scar. "It doesn't bother me, you know," she said. "Scars show the pain we've been through. They show what we've survived. You should wear it proudly."
Varan looked at her with fleeting awe before dropping his gaze to his boots.
Zelphar pointedly elbowed his naïve little sister in the ribs. And the chastising glare that followed told her that she'd said too much. But Zelyra carefully read Varan's demeanor. Though he did not meet her gaze, the boy stood slightly taller. Almost as if he meant to take the advice to heart.
"Anyway. It's a pleasure to meet you, Varan," the girl tried again as she held out a hand. "My name is Zelyra, and this is my brother, Zelphar."
"That's a mouthful," the boy said candidly as he politely excepted the proffered hand.
Then to Varan's complete bewilderment, the girl brazenly twisted his arm and looped hers through it. "Well, if you're to show us around," she began. "You must also tell me what it's like to live here! I want to know everything!"
Zelyra dragged the flustered boy off in a random direction of her own choosing. Zelphar hurriedly followed them.
As Laucian beheld the retreating trio of half-elves, he could not help chuckling. When Varan had first arrived in Taras Aldar, he had been mute. The boy had since found his voice, but it was not often that anyone heard him speak unless it was required of him. And yet, today, he had spoken out on his own accord. Not just once, but twice! Perhaps bringing Zelyra and Zelphar to the village would finally break the boy out of his shell. The elder watched the children until they rounded a bend and were out of sight. Laucian then turned on his heel and sought out the masters.
It did not take long for Varan to show Zelyra and Zelphar around the village. Taras Aldar was relatively small. Thirty or so tree-dwellings called trazaethe functioned as living spaces for the druids and their families. Bridges fashioned from vines, branches, and other vegetation spanned from tree to tree, providing a quick way to travel between trazaethe. Just like any other small settlement, one could find their essentials. A fully functioning forge, armory, meeting hall, medicinal stores, and food storage houses. There was even a library and tinkering workshop run by the Circle's lore master. The never-freezing river flowed directly through the village's center as an open aired bathhouse. Additionally, many gardens and sites were dedicated to various gods and goddesses of the First Circle.
While Zelyra had countless questions about the druids and what they did, Varan could not answer most of them. He was not a druid and had little dealings with them—for now. Instead, he was in the fledging stages of training to be a ranger. As his training progressed, however, the young ranger would learn to work alongside the druids. In more advanced training, druids and rangers were paired and taught specialized battle tactics designed by the swordmaster herself.
Varan shared all this with Zelyra and Zelphar in short, halting sentences. Before long, the boy's voice started to grow coarse. He soon switched to simple hand gestures—Druidic Sign—explaining briefly what the various signals meant as he signed them. Surprisingly, the other two caught on rather quickly. And as much as Zelyra wanted to ask why the boy had no voice, she kept the curiosity to herself. It would not do well to offend her new friend.
"Which tree dwelling does your family live in?" Zelyra asked the young ranger as the trio found themselves back in the center of the village, where most of the trazaethe were.
"My mother is dead," Varan said aloud.
The girl's hands flew to her mouth.
"I'm so sorry," she immediately apologized.
Judging by the sharpness of his tone, Zelyra did not dare to ask after the boy's father. Instead, she exchanged a pointed look with her brother. Varan was alone—just like them. The brother and sister could guess how the young ranger received his ugly scar then. There had been rumors of orc hordes razing small villages in the north for several years. Zelphar had always steered them towards more populated settlements for that very reason. So it was not out of the realm of possibility to think that Varan's family might have befallen that terrible fate.
"Our parents are also dead. At least, from what we believe," Zelphar said.
The young ranger eyed the brother and sister, echoing, "I'm sorry."
Zelphar waved a hand to dismiss the concern. He looked then to the large longbow strapped to the young ranger's back. It dwarfed him, seeming better suited for a full-sized adult than a youth. And yet, it did not hinder Varan in the slightest.
"I reckon the bow is your weapon of choice, huh? Care to see how you size up against a street rat?" Zelphar proposed.
Despite having opposing personalities, Zelphar and Varan quickly hit it off. Varan was well versed with both a longbow and duel-wielding swords. Meanwhile, Zelphar was eager to show off his street smarts. In no time at all, a friendly challenge erupted between the pair. Whereas Zelphar was reactive and knew precisely where to put his strength to throw his opponent off balance, Varan was light and nimble. Zelyra watched as the young ranger somehow bested her brother every time. He was well disciplined, and it showed. Fortunately, instead of being put out by a superior opponent, Zelphar welcomed the challenge and learned from it.
After playing the silent spectator for a while, Zelyra grew bored and began weaving together a crown of long blades of grass, flowers, and many sprigs of holly plucked from the tree she sat beneath. The girl had noticed that many of the druids wore elaborate headdresses made from bits of nature. She wanted one too!
When the crown was complete, Zelyra proudly placed it on her head and called out to her brother and new friend. "How does it look?" the girl asked.
Varan blinked. Once, twice. Before saying, "You look nice."
"I can make you one," Zelyra offered cheerfully.
Before the ranger could respond, Zelphar shook his head in disgust. "Don't be ridiculous, sister! He doesn't want one. Boys don't wear flower crowns," he claimed.
His sister said, "I never said it would be a flower crown, Zelphar! Didn't you see the circlets that all the elves were wearing? Laucian had one!"
"Only the druids wear those. I'm going to be a ranger," Varan said. But when Zelyra's spirit visibly dulled, the boy backpedaled and said, "But if you made one—maybe."
When Laucian found the trio later, Zelyra was hard at work crafting crowns for her brother and her new friend. The young girl made a point to add flowers to Zelphar's out of sheer spite and quietly told the elder druid such when he asked what she was doing. Laucian barked out a laugh. He'd forgotten the sweet innocence of children. He then called the boys over and informed his new charges that the masters had approved their addition to the village. Tonight, they would stay with a female elf named Artana.
"Is that your wife?" Zelphar asked.
For the first time, Laucian lost composure as a shadow of unadulterated grief swept across his ageless features. And at that moment, as the elf looked down at the three half-elven children standing before him, all he could think of was what could have been.
"No. My dear wife has long since passed," Laucian said.
Such was the price of mortality. They had not known when they wed that she was barren and would never be able to conceive children. After her passing, Laucian had turned to the road and not looked back. He had journeyed to the darkest parts of Faerûn, the lands below that knew not a sun, perhaps hoping to find his own end. And yet, he still could not put her memory behind him. He eventually returned to the Circle of Swords and Taras Aldar, only to find it near devastated by a volcanic eruption. His life held a new purpose then.
Zelphar immediately stammered out an apology. "I'm sorry. I meant no offense, sir. I didn't realize—"
"Do not fret, young one. I take no offense. It has been many years since her passing, but the loss of a mate is something one can never truly let go of," the elf said.
"Artana is the Circle's sword master," Varan said quietly. "She personally trains the sentries."
"Sentries?" Zelphar asked curiously, eager to change the subject.
"The sentries guard our outposts. They are our senior rangers, an elite force of protection for the Circle," Laucian explained.
Zelyra's eyes darted as she asked, "The rangers don't stay in the village?"
"No. They spend most of their time at the outposts. But until he completes his training, you will often find Varan here in the village," the elder revealed with a gleam in his eye. "That is why you asked, is it not?"
"I was only curious," the girl squirmed.
But it soon became apparent that it was far more than curiosity that begged Zelyra's question. When it was time to say their goodbyes, the girl gave the young ranger's cheek a quick peck. And when her brother made a gagging sound, Laucian could scarcely contain his laughter. A world of change this trio was sure to bring the village, indeed! And yet, the druid did not consider that a bad thing. The sleepy hamlet of wood elves could use some excitement.
"Thanks for showing us around today, Varan!" the girl called out as Laucian herded her and her brother away.
The young ranger could only stare after the confusing whirlwind of a girl that had disrupted his everyday routine with wide, flabbergasted eyes. He stood under the holly tree for many minutes before collapsing against it. It was then he noticed the crowns Zelyra had been making. One for him and one for her brother.
. . .
The pair of siblings found Artana to be nice enough, though stern. The Circle's sword master wore an extravagant headpiece of thorns, branches, and trailing moss that fanned out into a semi-circle around her forehead. Her leathers were similarly lined with various types of moss and vibrant vines. Loose, wavy dark hair fell all the way to her waist, and the pale blue tint of her skin indicated that Artana was a moon elf rather than a wood elf. The swordmaster's studies of swordcraft and the power of starlight had spanned over a thousand years, earning her the titles of archdruid and Master of Swords. Her equals—Bael, Master of the Hunt; Naitha, Master of Medicine; and Ansron, Master of Lore—had spent similar centuries in service. [2]
Zelyra thought to tell Artana that she could not fathom living and studying that long…but, for once, kept her mouth shut. The ancient magics that seemed to waft off the archdruid and visibly pulse around her like thousands of twinkling stars were very intimidating.
The swordmaster and Laucian then provided the children with a hearty meal and a pot of delicious tea brewed from herbs hand-picked by Artana herself. While the group ate, the children were given a further rundown of the village. The inhabitants of Taras Aldar were almost exclusively wood elves, but a few humans and moon elves were also scattered amongst their ranks. Not many were druids. In fact, most were commoners. In total, there were approximately fifty persons living in Taras Aldar. And there were precious few youths. In fact, until Zelyra, Varan had been the youngest. The humans among them were all grown, middle-aged, or older. And the youngest elf had just celebrated her eighty-ninth birthday.
A force of thirty rangers and a small handful of nomadic barbarians made up the rest of the Circle's population. Often, these individuals acted as the village's contact with civilization. And unlike the core inhabitants of Taras Aldar, these individuals were not limited to elves and their kin. Instead, the rangers were a hodge-podge of elves, humans, forest gnomes, halflings, and dwarves. There was even a goliath among their ranks! Many of these rangers and barbarians kept to themselves or worked in small groups, preferring to immerse themselves deep in the wild. But others partnered directly with the druids to run a series of sentry outposts two miles from the village's center.
It was a complex chain of command, all hidden under the shroud of a cursed forest. To many outsiders, the druid circle that had once dominated the Llewyrrwood had nearly passed into legend. Yet the Circle of Swords remained. Though much weaker than in past times. [3]
"Your stay here with Artana is only temporary," Laucian told the children as they finished their meal. "It is just myself in my dwelling. It isn't much, but there is room for both of you. Once it is properly outfitted, you will stay there and begin your training with me." He straightened slightly and added, "I have offered to accept you both as my charges."
Zelyra brightened at the words. Her brother had done what he could through the years, but it was not the same as having a parent. Zelphar's reaction to the news, however, was very different. The youth immediately soured at the thought. He'd survived on his own, by his own rules, for too long now.
Then and there, spidering cracks formed between the previously inseparable brother and sister. Those cracks would continue to bleed. Until one day, the threads tethering them would snap altogether, leading to a great divide that would change their lives and countless others they'd yet to meet.
Eventually, Laucian announced that he was to take his leave.
Zelyra hugged the elder and said, "Thank you."
A serene smile swept over Laucian's features. "She put me in your path for a reason," he murmured in her ear.
Zelyra's brow furrowed. Who was he speaking of? Not Artana, surely…
But Laucian did not elaborate aside from, "We both have lost much. I think we can learn from each other."
The druid patted the girl's head, cordially nodded at her brother and Artana, and then was gone.
Artana showed the children to their cots at the top level of her multi-platformed tree dwelling. "Should you need anything, just call. I will hear," the swordmaster told them before gracefully sweeping down a vined ladder to one of the lower levels and leaving the pair to themselves.
As soon as she was gone, Zelphar whispered to his sister, "You don't sense anything weird here?"
"No, I don't think so. I trust him," Zelyra answered, referring to Laucian.
After mulling it over for a moment, Zelphar admitted, "I suppose I do too."
"I think he's been alone for a long time," the girl said sadly. "I could be wrong, but I think he just wants a family. Maybe he lost his too."
"I suspected the same after I made that stupid comment today," Zelphar replied.
"You didn't know—"
"No. I opened my big, fat mouth," the boy self-deprecated himself. Then, he asked, "Speaking of…what did Laucian say to you as he was leaving?"
Zelyra bit her lip. Somehow, she felt as though Laucian had made that comment to her and her alone—for reasons she did not understand. The girl thought carefully before answering, "Just that we both have lost much, and he thinks we can learn for each other."
Zelphar nodded thoughtfully.
"I thought Varan was nice too," the girl added shyly.
Against her will, a blush rose on her cheeks.
"Why do you look like that?" he demanded, his face scrunched in distaste.
"Look like what?" Zelyra squirmed, her blush deepening.
Zelphar eyed his little sister sharply, suddenly catching on to the combined cues of her tone and blushing. She had a crush on Varan! That wouldn't do—Zelyra was too young. Varan was nearly three years older than her.
"You were far too free with Varan," Zelphar said. "You don't even know him!"
"You seemed to get along with him well enough," Zelyra argued. Then, before her brother could retort, she said, "I know we don't know him well, but…I have a good feeling about him too. He's like us. He's been hurt before, and I'm not talking about his scar."
Zelphar huffed and turned over on his cot to face the wall. "Keep your feelings to yourself. Go to sleep, little sister," he said.
And as Zelyra drifted off to sleep that night, she decided she liked Taras Aldar and its people very much. It was nice to finally have a place to call home.
. . .
Prologue: Part Two
Reminiscence
Uktar 1480 DR
Neverwinter Wood
The darkened forest passed in a blur as the forest cat cut a speedy path through leafless knotted and twisted trees. Dried yellow and brown brushwood crunched beneath her every step. The thrill of a chase was exhilarating. For the panther held not human faults. Never in her half-elven body could Zelyra have done anything like this. It was a shame the form would only hold for an hour. She could spend days exploring the cat's senses, abilities.
After months of meditation, the druid had tapped into her beast shaping ability at long last. Bael, the Circle of Sword's beast master, had grown frustrated with her lack of progress as of late, but Laucian never once doubted her. The transformed druid continued bounding and springing over gnarled roots and thorny underbrush for some time before her heightened sense of smell caught the scent of another. It was an appealing scent—musk, mixed with wet earth and pine—humanoid in nature. And male, definitively male. Zelyra wasn't sure exactly how she knew that, but she did.
Her feline ears twitched in alert as the branches in a tree above rustled. Then came a flash of grey fabric. One of the rangers was following her, Zelyra realized. If a panther could grin…
Zelyra slowed her pace, allowing her pursuer to close the distance.
There was only a split second to react as a cloaked figure dropped from the trees above, landing with light-footed grace directly in her path. Zelyra pounced, crashing into them with enough force to send the pair careening to the ground in a twisted heap of leathers, sticks, crunching leaves, and sleek golden fur. The figure, a half-elven male, made an instinctive attempt to roll from beneath her, but in her panther form, Zelyra was faster. The feline dug her claws into the dirt on either side of his head and peered down into a familiar pair of bright blue eyes, her teeth bared in delight. [1]
She took a deep breath, expecting to smell fear wafting from her prey. But instead, Zelyra was struck with that same dank scent, amplified now due to their proximity. The scent, comforting, like the Wood after a fresh rainfall, swirled within her nostrils, overwhelming her already heightened senses. The druid lost all other train of thought as she crouched further, sniffing him curiously.
The ranger's expression was blank, unimpressed. "Zelyra. Get off me," he ordered.
A low growl formed in the back of her throat and her tail thrashed back and forth in irritation. How did he know? And why was he trying to ruin her fun? She was still adjusting to—
In a swift display of equal parts strength and agility, the ranger twisted one leg around her torso, locked his arms around her front legs and flipped them. When they settled, he locked his legs on either side of her and sat directly on her torso, limiting any movement she dared to make. The ranger dipped his head low, outright scowling now with disapproval. As he did so, the tips of his unbound, shoulder-length dark hair brushed her nose. Zelyra never would have guessed whiskers could be so sensitive. She sneezed, sending a spray of feline snot straight into his face.
To his credit, the ranger did not bat an eyelash to the glob of thick saliva dribbling down his chin. Instead, he snarled, "You know the rules. You shouldn't have ventured so far from the village."
Her control over the panther form, unfortunately, waned then. Zelyra found herself reverting to her half-elven body. But strangely, the strong scent remained. Curious. [2]
"How did you know it was me, Varan?"
Zelyra already knew the answer but asked all the same. Her brother's childhood best friend had the uncanny ability to make an appearance whenever she was about to do something stupid or precarious. It was as if he had a sixth sense for it. Before, his protective behavior had been a favor to her brother, Zelphar. Now, it was his duty. The sentries were the eyes and ears of the forest. They knew every coming and going. And it was their responsibility to both defend and keep their village secret at all costs.
"You've been trying to take that form for months," Varan muttered distractedly. "And I've never seen any forest cat with eyes as green as yours." The ranger rolled back on his heels, making a point to put a safe amount of distance between them.
"Not just any cat—a panther!" Zelyra corrected, smirking as she sat up and began removing bits of dead leaves and stray twigs from her golden braid. "I suppose I make a pretty feline, don't I?"
Varan dodged the baited question. Zelyra was acting weird. Well, weirder than normal anyway. "Why were you smelling me?" he demanded.
For a moment, Zelyra considered lying but she couldn't pass up an opportunity to make him blush. Perhaps it was nothing more than the adrenalin rush from her run, but the druid felt foolheartedly brave as she confessed, "You smell good." To her delight, the mask cracked—precisely as she'd hoped. Red instantly stained Varan's cheeks, his neck, the points of his arched ears.
"I…smell good?"
Zelyra nodded as she leaned forward and took another exaggerated whiff in jest. The proximity sent Varan spiraling in another involuntary fit of embarrassment. So much so that the long, pinkened childhood scar that marred the right side of his face all but disappeared.
"You're strange," he grumbled.
"You like it," she refuted.
"You shouldn't have come out here alone," Varan chastised as he rose to his feet and held out a hand to help her stand. Despite the chivalrous gesture, he couldn't look her in the eye. And further damning, the flush remained on his cheeks and neck. The ranger battled to squash the unwanted emotion as he asked, "Does Laucian know?"
"He—no, my father doesn't know. But I wasn't alone," Zelyra countered, accepting the proffered hand with a playful grin. "Peanut is with me."
As if to prove the point, the fey mouse peeked his little head out of his usual hiding place within the nape of Zelyra's braid and squeaked.
"Peanut does not count," Varan said.
Zelyra shrugged. "I knew you'd find me eventually."
Varan breathed heavily in and out of his nose. It was so easy for him to forget how young Zelyra was, in both physical age and experience. Such was the curse of being only half elven. The body matured at a quicker rate than the mind. At nineteen, Zelyra was quickly approaching the cusp of adulthood. But her behavior at present showed far too much childlike innocence.
It was no fault of her own, Varan knew. Zelyra had been relatively sheltered all of her life. For even when she and her brother had been forced to the streets as children, Zelyra had been unknowingly protected by both the shadowy dealings of Zelphar and a network of thieves. And now, among the Circle, there were plenty of watchful eyes between Laucian, the masters, other druids, the sentries, and of course, Varan himself. Zelyra did not know what it was like to truly be on her own, to have no one watching her back. And she certainly did not know what it was like to be forced to grow up too fast as Varan himself had. Thus, the ranger chose his next words with care.
"You can't rely on me to always be there to protect you," he warned. "One of these days you will get yourself killed if you don't stop to think before you act." The words tasted like ash in his mouth. But Varan saw at once they had the impact he intended. Zelyra's bravado crumpled to guilt.
Laucian had limited her access to the forest without escort for a reason. Neverwinter Wood was dangerous. The Circle did not quite understand what was causing it, but the sickness that lie beyond the protection of their wards was gradually getting worse. Everything about the forest—from the swirling mists to the twisted trees, even the creatures that inhabited it—aimed to trick, to deceive, to cloud one's senses. Zelyra was still in training to face those dangers. She knew only a handful of spells and had only just managed to beast shape for the first time. If something else would have crossed her path, and Varan hadn't been tracking her—well, there wouldn't have been much she could have done to defend herself.
Zelyra knew that Varan was right. Just as he always was.
Varan swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he struggled for words. Eventually, he gave up on speech entirely and fell back on old habits by bringing his hands up between them.
"I'm sorry," he signed stiffly. "But I don't want you hurt. I've…seen it happen before."
As his nimble fingers drew out the final words, something abruptly changed in Varan's demeanor. Anger swept across his features, so fierce and so consuming it sent a shiver down the druid's spine. And yet, Zelyra knew this anger was not directed at her for the ranger looked through her, not at her, as if trapped in some terrible vision.
Perhaps he was.
Varan had never said exactly how he'd come to live amongst the druids, almost entirely mute and alone, and at such a young age…but Zelyra had her suspicions. The tusk that the ranger wore around his neck was telling. The druid reached out and gently brushed her fingertips across his hands, which presently were balled up into tight fists. "I understand," she breathed to him. "I won't come out here alone again. I promise."
Varan blinked. And when his attention focused, it was Zelyra that he saw. Not the broken body of the mother he could not save. He was back in the present.
The ranger relaxed his fists. "It's getting late. You should return to the village."
Zelyra nodded, taking note that the already dim forest was getting that much darker. "Will you walk back with me?" she asked after a breath.
His mouth twisted with reluctance and Varan again saw the impact that it had. Her shoulders slumped. Zelyra feared he would say no. And she was right too, after all. Why should he further shirk his duty for pleasure? And yet, they had so little time together as it was. It wasn't shirking his duty—was it, if he was escorting a druid safely back to the village?
The ranger glanced to the treetops as just the slightest hint of a smirk appeared on his lips. "I'll race you to the holly tree," he countered. Varan didn't wait for her response. In a blink, he had already scaled one of the large trees before them.
"Those damn boots," Zelyra groaned as she watched Varan race across the spindly boughs with speed and skill that defied what any person should have been capable of doing. The magic boots he proudly wore had been his gift from the masters upon taking up the Oath of the Sentry. It was best not to let him get too far ahead. [3]
The first transformation had been painful. The second was not. Her body had already adapted to the new magic. After a moment of focus and concentrated breathing, Zelyra's bones popped and cracked as her half-elven body reformed. A great forest cat with golden fur and piercing green eyes soon appeared in its place.
In the panther form her sight was sharp and focused, her sense of smell impeccable. This time, she was the huntress. The feline took a deep breath to mark the ranger's scent as she experimentally stretched her claws in the dirt. And then she pounced, dashing after the ranger with a burst of speed.
To Varan's credit, they were neck and neck nearly the entire way. It wasn't until they were a few hundred feet from the village wards, when Varan was forced to exit the trees and run on foot, that he began to fall behind.
Zelyra burst through a point in the path—a large thorny brush pile that should have stopped the feline in her tracks—but as she seemingly crashed into it, there was nothing but air. The druid blindly felt her way through the illusion, an effect of the masters' mirage arcane spell, taking the precise route that had been taught to her the moment she began her training. All the while, Varan was at her heels.
In a matter of minutes, the fog lifted. Dying vegetation and thorny underbrush gave way to healthy, soaring trees and lush green grasses. The oppressive gloom of Neverwinter Wood fell away. The kind of warmth one felt in their very bones replaced it. Blue and green tinted, twinkling orbs of light illuminated the dim interior. Spiraled staircases and vined bridges connected one tree to the next. Small, partially enclosed ringed platforms covered in furs and hides were nestled within the trees' massive boughs.
They were home. Having successfully navigated the wards, they had officially entered the City of Towering Trees. Or as the wood elves called it, Taras Aldar.
Various elves clad in leathered armors, hide, and earth toned suedes looked up from their respective tasks as the golden panther and hooded ranger ran at full speed for a large holly tree at the very center of the village. If it were anywhere other than Taras Aldar, this likely would have been a strange occurrence. But amongst shapeshifting druids…well, the sight only held their attention for only a split second.
Zelyra was the victor. Varan bent at the waist and rested his hands to his knees, panting heavily but graciously accepted defeat. The druid had a sneaking suspicion that he had let her win, though. Between his boots and a bit of magic to lengthen his stride, there was no reason the ranger should not have beaten her.
As she reverted to her half-elven form, the druid heard lighthearted clapping. Zelyra turned and found the tall, noble form of her father standing just a few paces away. Laucian's storm cloud eyes were lit with mirth and his ageless face was utterly serene. He was dressed in his usual reddish-brown leathers accented by dark green embroidered suede and white furs. And his circlet, a thick leather band formed in the shape of a crown of leaves, set upon a head of long hair the color of endless night.
"Bael would be impressed," the elder called out. "You bested his star pupil."
"She's fast in that form," Varan complimented with a slight wheeze.
Zelyra waited nervously for Varan to rat out her impulsive adventure. But the ranger had no such intention. He instead excused himself, citing the need to return to the outposts. Both Laucian and Zelyra invited him to stay for just a while longer to rest and share a meal, but Varan would have none of it. His duty called. Thus, Zelyra offered the ranger a small wave as he and his grey cloak disappeared into the illusion of the wards once more.
That was how their friendship had been since he was offered the oath. Varan disappeared just as quickly as he appeared. But if Zelyra needed him, he was never far. She could only hope that when the ranger had more experience and had risen through the sentry's ranks, he wouldn't have to try so hard to prove himself. Perhaps one day, they would have more time. In the meantime, she would commit the warning he'd given her to memory. Think before you act.
Laucian rested a steady hand on Zelyra's shoulder before steering them towards the mead hall, which was incidentally, the only grounded structure in the village. And though he said not a word to his adopted daughter, Laucian had a fairly good idea what had happened. It was not often that Varan left the outposts. It typically took a direct summons or the actions of a certain someone to call the dedicated sentry away.
There came a time in every druid's life when they were called away from their Circle. Laucian's journey had followed the death of his wife. He spent countless years on the road alone until one day, by chance he found Zelyra and Zelphar on the streets in the city of Neverwinter. A decade had passed since then. In that time, Laucian had come to love Zelyra as he would his own flesh and blood. Her chance for adventure would come. But as any parent was right to, Laucian feared for that day. For the elder could only pray Zelyra's impulsiveness and blind loyalty would not come back to bite her—as it had her older brother.
Roots Notes:
The Forgotten Realms month of Marpenoth, or the Leaffall, coincides with our idea of October. The date was chosen at random. It's my wedding anniversary, lol :)
[1] The term "fair-folk" is decisively Tolkien-istic language. The flashback scene with Laucian is the first piece I wrote about our OOTA campaign in early 2019. It was a way for me to flesh out Zelyra's backstory, her connections to her loved ones, etc. At the time, I knew far more about Middle Earth than I did about the Forgotten Realms. I'm sure it shows. Similarly, you'll see language borrowed from the first campaign of Critical Roll with the term "othlir" and the idea that half-elves are not well received in traditional elven or human society. I think the Forgotten Realms Elvish equivalent is biir, meaning 'garbage,' but I like the translation of 'ill-born' better.
[2] I'm going to get deeply nerdy with language here…
In our gameplay, Ansron was called Erestor, Bael was called Beorn, and Naitha was called Gothi. All three were unoriginal and borrowed from other content—Erestor and Beorn from JRR Tolkien's world of Middle Earth and Gothi from How to Train Your Dragon. When I began writing The Grey Warriors, I decided they needed original names. I chose the new ones randomly, but the prefix and/or suffix correlate to the Elvish language in DnD.
- Ansron (Ansr: rune, -on/onna: Keep/Keeper)
- Bael (Bael: guardian)
- Naitha (Nai: oak, -thal /-tha: heal, healer, healing)
Taras Aldar comes from Tolkien's Quenya language and roughly translates as City of Towering Trees.
taras (a great towering building, mount, hill) alda (tree, branch), aldar (plural "trees")
[3] The elves originally called Neverwinter Wood the Llewyrrwood. It was once part of the ancient Elven colony of Illefarn, which managed to survive the Crown Wars.
. . .
Reminiscence Notes:
The month of Uktar's common name is The Rotting and coincides with what we would consider November.
[1] In game, I always described Zelyra's forest cat form as being a black panther. But I better like the idea of Zelyra's animal forms taking aspects of her half-elf form. Zelyra has golden hair and green eyes. If she wild shapes into a shark, she'd be a weird gold shark, and so forth. I got the idea from a post I saw on Pinterest about setting limits for shapeshifting characters. They cited the example of Beast Boy from Young Justice/Teen Titans: "he can transform into a lot of animals, yes, but they're all obviously green and unnatural, making it difficult for him to blend in with other animals." I thought that was an interesting mechanic and rolled with it—for Zelyra anyways. This may not apply to other druids.
[2] Another head cannon of mine with the beast shaping ability is a side effect of heightened smell. Many of the forms a druid can take have advantage on perception checks that rely on smell. Since beast shaping is a part of who they are, I like to think that sensitivity never fully leaves them.
[3] The official magic item equivalent to what Varan wears is Slippers of Spider Climbing. But…I can't imagine that slippers would be very practical for a hunter who ambushes people from the treetops. Thus, I changed them to boots.