Against the Tempest's Roar
Reacher Deva druid
Deva are rare enough, and I am a Deva Druid.
My first few years in the Elden reaches both surprised and disappointed the elders. They expected a warrior-savior; they got an ignorant woman-child. I spent a handful of years training to be Druid, because when I arrived, I embodied little knowledge and no skill. They chose my clothing for spectacular effect, mimicking those of my race who gravitate toward cities, and the power of society (to be fair, the majority do so). But at my borning, the forest imprinted on my body the softness of nature, and civilized fabric chafes as much as metal armour.
The Elders knew better than to pressure me when I cared neither for fighting nor for pageantry, but I knew they were disappointed. Eventually, they began to indulge my thirst for knowledge of the forest, and its denizens. In return, I learned to be their eyes and ears in the world.
My skin now displays only thin, faint markings of the Deva race. Balance has been restored and more, overtaken. I am content in my ramblings.
Where was I on the Day of Mourning? There. A simple and routine investigation of malice afoot in the world drew me to within sight and sound of that terror. I met four people that day, whom I must work to avoid. I stay in the wilderness; I also remain only where I know they are not. When one approaches where I am, I leave. I do not know how or why I feel their presence, but I do. Oh, I have corresponded a bit with the scholar, trading bits of interesting arcana, but Dulcinea is more interested in the devices of devised arcana than in my beloved arcana of nature. And now, I trick myself out in Deva Urbana, to attend this commemoration of the day. Lord Bren was there, yes indeed, the Lord Bren who hosts this Remembrance. He and another soldier were there with us on the day of Mourning. With us, the five. No we were not there together, either. It was rather like a pick-up-game of Jousts, we were all there for one or another of our own reasons. When attacked, we defended ourselves, individually and then together. Yes just the five of us. Bren and the soldier were captives and we secured their release with our victory. A walking coma had hold of the boy-soldier, and we found him parked inside a dragonmark traced on the floor.
Do I feel the presence of Bren or the boy? Not that I know, but they both come and go in my dreamsleep. I can tell you that all five of us are this moment gathered here in Sharn. I wonder who of us will attend the event. Oh yes, I long ago noticed that I speak in terms of us when I speak of myself and the four strangers who converged on that spot, on that day. But I am sure there were many other “five”s to be found on that day. Why would the words concern us?
What words? Words of nonsense to even the greatest scholars. Pay no attention to the ramblings.
And the bound pages in her hand were once again blank.