Search for survivors

You throw your torch to the ground and dash frantically down the slope to the valley, praying desperately that there are survivors. The incline is steep and you're practically sliding down the side of the mountain, fighting to keep your balance. Miraculously, despite all the weapons and weight, you manage to stay on your feet as you charge down the incline.

Tri'lanna takes note of your urgency and sprints ahead of you, nimbly hopping and keeping her balance on the steep slope as she moves down. Her dexterity makes your own bumbling descent look even more amateurish in comparison and she quickly becomes a blot at the bottom of the valley, somersaulting over the last ridge and hitting the ground running.

As Tri'lanna vanishes into the treeline, you just reach the bottom of the slope. You charge forward and hitch your axe, ready for any enemies in wait, but no resistance appears. All around you, you can see animals fleeing the fire. Elk and deer dash around randomly, avoiding you and avoiding each other. Birds are screaming their shrill song, warning all creatures to beware. Strangely though, you see a lot of smoke, but not a single flicker of fire anywhere. Now and again, you see Tri'lanna, bow and arrow in hand, prowling the surroundings for enemies and stragglers. Secure in the knowledge that your back is covered, you focus entirely on searching for survivors, heading straight for where you think the center of the blaze is.

Drawing closer to the fire, you start to see the signs of a pitched battle, very recent. There are scorch marks on the ground, discarded weapons, and broken arrows hanging off the trunks of trees. Very soon, you stumble upon the first bodies.

What you see confuses you. The corpses are goblin, that much is certain. But their bodies are broken and twisted in a way that would be impossible by the standards of human strength. Furthermore, large roots and vines are protruding from the ground, ensnaring them and sometimes strangling them. It is as if nature itself rose up in defense of the forest and fought the attackers. Druid magic, you realize upon further thought. But if they had such immense power at their fingertips...

"How could they possibly lose?" You think aloud. But as you progress further, you start to see why.

What first shocked you were the numbers. The sheer, overwhelming, overbearing number of creatures that attacked the druids' home, orc, goblin, kobold, and lizardman alike. It wasn't just that their bodies were littered on the ground. All you can SEE are bodies. Nothing else. You cannot see the grass, the streams, or the rocks. Just the dead. Corpses upon corpses upon corpses of them. There are so many. They must have attacked with at least ten thousand men. You could not even take a step forward without trodding on a dead orc or goblin. You spot several druids among the carcasses, their woven fabric robes a stark contrast to the fire-forged iron and tanned leather of the attacking army.

The second sight begins to frighten you. From here on, it seemed like the battle took on a new shape. Dead bodies became replaced with dead nature. The grass strewn all around the battlefield was grayed and dying, trees were withered and leafless, like some unnatural and wicked **** had sapped all the life away from it.

Black magic. Evil wizards to counter druids, you think. The earth was the source of the druids' strength, so instead of attacking directly, they whittled away at their foundation, sucking away the life of nature. It must have started right at the beginning of the battle, the draining of life, and the druids must have held out for a very long time, but inch by inch, tree by tree, their energy was stolen. And without their magic to support them, the druids could not hold off the onslaught and were like saplings in a storm. There were no more dead attackers here, only dead druids. Their bodies cruelly hacked apart and defiled. Worse yet, you spot some of the female druids, and their fate was much more terrible. Their robes were shredded and from their positions you can tell that they were **** to ****. You utter a quiet prayer for the dead, hoping they find respite in another life.

And now you finally reach the druids' home proper, where you can see the blazing fire. It is situated in a large clearing, isolated from the rest of the wooded area. It is really just a small hamlet, a smattering of wood and stone cottages with thatched straw roofs, and most of the buildings now are just a smoldering heap, but a few still burn.

Upon closer inspection, you notice a series of lattices, made out of some tough, non-flammable material. You think it's some kind of damp, leathery vine woven in complex patterns so that it hangs overhead of the druids' hamlet, catching any bursts of fire that might arch towards the surrounding trees. With immense surprise, you realize that this is an extremely controlled fire and there is no danger to the rest of the valley whatsoever. With these vine-lattices and the elimination of any kindling between the forest and the village, the druids who lived here took great and meticulous steps to insure that any man-made fires would not spread to the surrounding natural forest. You already see the remaining fires start gutting out, lacking the fuel to continue burning.

You pick your way carefully through the tiny village, gazing mournfully at the bodies scattered here, searching for someone who was still alive. It was a full-on rout by the time the army reached the hamlet, every remaining druid was running for his or her life at this point and none appeared to survive. By the time you reach the other end of the village, you have searched practically every house and hovel and found only more dead.

In the last home though, a cozy place with two cots and a small dining table, you spot a man in a sitting position, leaning against the cottage wall. He is bleeding from gashes on his face, and his chest and abdomen look like a total wreck, being shredded into ribbons, but he is still breathing.

As you step towards the old man, his eyes snap open and one of his arms shoot forward. He starts chanting in a low voice and tracing lines in the air with his outstretched arms. You can feel the air bend and compress around you, but it abruptly ends when he takes a better look through his bloodstained eyes. When he realizes you are human and mean no harm, he lowers his arm and beckons you to come closer.

"Are there any more? Any more of those demons?" He asks, staring up in you face. You shake you head and say no.

He breathes in relief, and even that makes blood gurgle in his throat. The old man raps on the wooden floorboards with his knuckles and says,

"Ceinwyn. Come out, it is safe."

You hear a scraping noise, like a bolt being unlocked, and then a young woman in emerges from a secret hatch from under the cottage. She is covered in soot, sweat, and mud, so it is hard to make out any defining features. You can see that she is wearing a simple frock though, modestly covering everything from her chest to her knees, but what color it originally was is lost from all the dirt.

Looking at the girl, the old man smiles like he is looking at his own daughter. "I'm sorry, Ceinwyn. It looks like our lessons will have to stop here."

The young woman's lips quiver, "Master Derreth..." She says.

The old man called Derreth turns to you, appraising you carefully. "I know that you carry the stone, young man - I can feel it pulsing - but I'm afraid I lack the...faculties to help. My young apprentice Ceinwyn, on the other hand, will be more than enough to aid you. Although your quest will be harder for it, please protect her. She knows nothing of the dangers outside the valley, and has much to learn about druid magic and life as a whole."

The druid's breathing is getting shallower now. It is as if, now that Ceinwyn is safe, all the strength is draining from his body.

"No...no! Well find someone to help you, someone to heal your wounds. Master, please, you can't die yet!" Ceinwyn shakes her head in denial, wanting to stay by his side.

"Child, look at me." Derreth the druid says, raising his arm to show her. "Look and understand that there is no helping the damned."

There, on the underside of his forearm is the cursed mark of the demons. The same cursed mark that slowly killed Melena, so many days ago. "I am undone, but Vanarim must be stopped. There is no one else who can do it."

"But I'm just an apprentice!! I can't!" She wails covering her face with her hands.

His eyes close and he reaches out to pat Ceinwyn's head, softly consoling her. His breaths are slow and each one seems to take a monumental amount of effort. "You can and you will. You will hurt and you will suffer, but you will learn. And in the end you will win. Promise that you'll do it. For me."

Only after a few pained moments does she finally nod, acknowledging his request, but she keeps her face hidden. He smiles. You can see him fading fast.

"You look like you have something to ask." He says, turning to you.

Truthfully, you want to ask a hundred questions. How do we stop Vanarim? Who attacked you? How do you use the stone? Is there anyone else we can go to for help? And so on. But you don't think he has enough life left in him for long answers. Only one question seems to fit right now:

"What is the Shining Stone?"

"It is," The old man struggles to whisper, "...the price." Derreth lets out a small sigh and shudders once. Then the last druid is no more.

Ceinwyn lets out a wordless howl and curls up next to her former master, weeping for all that is lost to her. And all you can do is stand by and watch as your own hopes die with him, wondering what you are going to do now.