Janus SilverOak, Elven Druid
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Janus was nearly home. His apprentice tasks were finished, harsh as they were. It had been his most difficult undertaking so far: with the barest of necessities, travel unaided to a foreign land, seek out other druids, and defend the wilds at all times.
He had succeeded beyond his wildest expectations. From the moment he arrived at the gypsy camp and learned of the woods, plagued by the servants of the drow, he had been an unstoppable force. He had fought the enemies of the woodlands back at every turn, his warcry ringing out: “Rillifane take thee!”
Something nagged at the back of his mind… he had been killed. And returned by the grace of the Seldarine.
But why had he died? He knew… it pulled at him. For all the self-restraint he had learned in the harmony among the forest, for all his dedication to Rillifane, he could never control his temper. Inwardly, he seethed with red anger at the excesses of civilization at nearly every turn.
He shook his head. Such concerns should not spoil his successful return. He walked calmly and easily, storm clouds in the distance.
He was almost home before he realized something had gone wrong. HeartStrong had rushed from the woods, a silent black blur. Janus burst into a furious run. As he reached the clearing before the entrance to his grove, he fell to his knees, shocked unconscious by the pain and hurt before him.
Minutes later, as he came to, he raised his gaze, his mind barely comprehending the destruction. His grove, his birthplace, his 150 years of learning the ways of balance, and purity – nothing but ash, soaked by the rain.
As he sat at the edge of the clearing, tears streaming down his face, he heard the gruff voice behind him: “My condolences, apprentice.” The voice was slow, and Janus knew it. “Orikalnn,” Janus spoke stutteringly, “you..you.. survived..” Janus could feel his temper welling with the lump in his throat. “Who has done this!?”
“You know who has committed this imbalance, apprentice. You know…”
Janus turned to face the mentor of his grove, but the treant was gone.
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The roar sounded, scaring birds into the clear sky for miles. The small caravan on a road through the woods was well armed. Ten men surrounded the covered wagon, swords and shields at the ready. Lord Des inside was confident as he sipped his heady wine. “No fool druid will dare to harm us, m’lady!” He reassured the drunken courtesan, who had persisted in annoying him with the rumor of the mad druid.
Fifty yards in front of the caravan, a black panther stood on the road. It roared at the caravan. After initial surprise, the sergeant belted out, “’tis only one druid, men! Have at it!”
The order had not reached their ears before the monster of a bear charged out of the woods by the road, roaring fiercely, madly. It crashed through the men, sending them flying as the wagon felt the full force of the bear’s impact. Wood and sawdust splintered into the air as the panther closed, quickly disemboweling the guards who hadn’t been hit by the bear-dozer.The courtesan screamed as the bear climbed on top of the wagon, now laying on its side. A huge paw extended into the wagon, claws piercing the drunk noble’s fancy clothing. He was lifted out by the huge bear, held face to face with a roar that deafened him, and a maw of teeth that threatened to swallow his head. And then they did.
