As William continued his leisurely walk through the grove, his senses were suddenly piqued by a most enticing aroma wafting from the direction of a cooking station.
It was a delightful combination of the familiar scent of porridge and toast, a smell that instantly brought a smile to his face.
"Come on," she said, her voice gentle yet firm.
She turned around, revealing a face that was etched with the passage of time, but also held kind features that seemed to radiate a gentle warmth.
Yet, there was a strange light in her eyes, a hint of mystery that made William understand that she was more than she let on.
Auntie Ethel as she was called but William had been here before when the world of Faerun was merely a game world as he knew very well what she was capable of if cornered.
"Thanks for the food!" He says with a smile that did not reach his eyes.
Auntie Ethel waved him off casually, going back to the task at hand, but just as William is about to leave and sit down she turned her head and spoke.
"You're an interesting individual, lad. If you ever happen to find yourself down south in the swamp, I'd be delighted to have you for dinner!"
She licks her lips, but William is unable to see the hungry expression in her eye as she has her back turned.
William felt a shiver run down his spine but through sheer will he was able to maintain a polite smile.
"I'll definitely keep that in mind if I happen to be in your general area. Thank you so much for the offer!"
He sat down at a table where he could see a group of Tiefling refugees huddled together, each with a plate of food in front of them.
Several of the individuals present had been actively involved in fighting to protect the grove, and it was evident that many of them had suffered battle wounds, with visible bandages wrapped around them.
Across from the table where they sat, there was another occupied by a group of Druids who, utilizing the potent magic that came directly from the natural world itself, were capable of restoring themselves to levels of near-perfect health.
Their faces were cold and distant as if they were still mentally back in the battle for the grove.
One druid's eyes met his, and seemingly taking offense, the druid immediately stood to his full height, a vein on his neck threatening to burst as he yelled out, "What the hell are you looking at?"
William's initial startle quickly gave way to a chilling coldness settling in his eyes, and he slowly stood up from his chair, his gaze fixed directly on the druid who had so rudely interrupted him as he was about to eat.
"You are about to start something immediately after a deadly battle, shouldn't you feel some measure of shame boy!"
His truthful words, though intended as a confession, came across as laced with such venom that they seemed to shake the very foundation of the druid who had earlier yelled at William.
He had witnessed the Half-Drow personally dispatch a number of Shadow Druids during the course of the battle, and as a result, he was now harboring serious doubts about his own ability to stand up to this formidable opponent in his current weakened state.
With a deliberate movement of his legs, the druid settled down, but his gaze remained fixed on William, his eyes seemingly intent on memorizing the other man's features.
After a few seconds of glaring William turned his head back to his bowl of food and began eating, his face showing a look of pleasant surprise when he chews.
"Those are goodberries, berries formed using druidic magic and often hoarded by druids for times of hardship, try the wine!" A Tiefling refugee said before taking a long swig from his mug, a purple discoloration appearing on his upper lip as he lightly slams the mug back onto the table.
As William took a measured sip of the wine, he heard a pair of heavy yet firm footsteps approaching from behind.
Turning his head, he noticed that Halsin had joined him without a word, his presence seemingly unannounced.
The bench, a sturdy oak, let out a soft groan as the Arch-Druid's imposing figure settled down beside William, the wood flexing but showing no signs of breaking.
This mirrored the grove itself, which seemed to be supporting the weight of the Arch-Druid with remarkable ease.
For a long moment, Halsin said nothing.
He simply kept his gaze fixed ahead, his eyes sweeping past the flickering cooking fires, the murmuring voices of the refugees, and the stern presence of the druids, continuing straight into the deeper, more verdant area where the dappled sunlight filtered through the dense foliage, creating a pattern of light and shadow that resembled stained glass.
Then he exhaled.
It wasn't the satisfied, triumphant breath that you might have expected from a judge who had successfully delivered justice.
The sigh he let out was a heavy, dragging one, a sound that seemed to pull something loose deep within his chest, leaving it behind on the cold stone beneath him.
"I taught her to listen to the wind," Halsin said at last, his voice low, almost swallowed by the ambient sounds of the grove. "To feel the patience of roots. To understand that power taken too quickly always poisons the soil."
His fingers squeezed tightly around the walking staff that he held resting against his knee.
"She was stubborn," he said, his voice laced with a faint, almost fond edge that quickly gave way to something more hardened. "But she was brilliant and fiercely protective. When others doubted themselves, she never did. That, I believed, was remarkable strength."
For a brief moment, Halsin simply closed his eyes.
"I was wrong."
William remained completely silent, his expression unreadable.
He felt a strong sense that this wasn't supposed to be a guided conversation, something he could just follow along with.
It was an admission that simply spilled out into the open because someone happened to be close enough to hear it.
Halsin stated, "As soon as I stepped out of the grove, I placed my trust in her far beyond simply granting her authority."
I placed my complete faith and trust in her, believing she would hold this place with the same utmost care and devotion as one might approach guarding a child.
A humorless breath escaped him.
"Instead, I returned to find she had become a knife buried in its heart."
His gaze shifted downward, finally settling on the earth that lay directly beneath their feet, where the roots were partially buried but undeniably present.
"Passing judgment was necessary," he said, his words measured and deliberate. "But necessity does not make it right... only right in the moment."
Finally, he turned his head, finally looking at William directly for the very first time.
There was no challenge in his eyes.
Only exhaustion.
"Punishing an enemy is a simple matter," Halsin spoke quietly. "But to punish someone you once cherished… that is a wound that leaves a scar that will never truly heal."
For a brief, fleeting moment, the imposing Arch-Druid, that ancient protector of the wilds, seemed less like a powerful guardian and more like a weary father, burdened by a weight he couldn't seem to shake off, no matter how strong and capable his shoulders were.
The grove continued around them.
Life went on.
Food was eaten.
Laughter sparked faintly among the Tieflings.
But between them, something heavy and unspoken settled into the space, rooted deep, waiting patiently to see whether time would eventually heal it or simply grow around it, leaving it intact but emotionally distant.
With a final, deliberate scraping of his bowl, Halsin carefully wiped away the last vestiges of stew, his wooden spoon making a soft, gentle dragging sound against the grain.
He then set the spoon down gently, leaving it aside.
With a slow, deliberate exhale through his nose, he released a hot, steady breath, as if he were finally letting go of something that had been lodged deep within his chest for too long.
Only then did he turn to William.
"Whatever judgments history may make about this day today," Halsin stated, his voice both low and sincere, "know this: Without your intervention and contribution, this very grove you see standing here would be reduced to ash and decay by this point."
His eyes held William's, not with ceremony, but with the weight of truth.
No flattery.
No embellishment.
He continued, his voice a low murmur, nodding slightly in the direction of the deeper roots that stretched beneath them. "You stood against those who tried to defile it," he stated, his gaze fixed on the ground. "The wild remembers such things, and I do as well."
Halsin rose to his full height, his figure appearing even more imposing now that he was standing upright, and he rolled his shoulders back and forth in a motion that suggested his muscles were ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
He admitted, his voice sounding more natural now that he had accepted the situation, "I cannot remain here, not yet."
He gestured broadly towards the grove surrounding them, towards the druids, the refugees, and the fragile peace that was slowly but surely beginning to knit itself together.
"This place needs time to heal. And so do I."
His grip on his staff tightened for just a moment, and then it relaxed again.
Halsin declared, "I am entrusting the care of this grove entirely to Rath, who will act as my successor. Rath possesses both wisdom and patience, and I must add that he tends to be far less susceptible to the tendency for grief to fester into a hardening of the heart; I am confident that the grove will flourish under his watchful guidance."
After a very brief pause, Halsin finally turned his gaze back towards William, his eyes seeming to really look at him.
"There are matters beyond these roots that require my attention," he said quietly, his voice laced with a hint of seriousness, "shadows that cannot be ignored simply because the forest still stands."
A faint, almost wry curve could just be seen touching the corner of his mouth.
And honestly, walking them alone has just never been something that I particularly enjoyed.
He tilted his head just a fraction, showing a gesture of respect rather than authority.
"William," Halsin asked, his voice a gentle tone, "do you happen to find yourself in the need for a traveling companion?"
William barely hesitated.
The offer practically hovered in the air, visible for just a fleeting moment before his hand moved, his fingers steady and deliberate.
There was no flourish to the gesture.
No grand declaration.
Just intent made manifest.
Halsin watched the other man for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, then finally nodded slowly, as if a significant internal burden had finally been lifted from his shoulders.
He reached out in turn.
Their hands met.
The Arch-Druid's grip felt firm and calloused, yet there was a warmth to it, a sense of living power radiating from within.
William's demeanor was just as steady, exuding an air of quiet determination that spoke of resolve forged not through the passage of time but rather through the crucible of blood and conscious choice.
Although the handshake itself was quite brief in duration, it possessed a gravity and significance that went far beyond a simple greeting between strangers.
Instead, it felt like a powerful expression of an agreement struck between two men, both of whom bore a deep understanding of the profound pain of loss and the weight of personal responsibility.
Somewhere deep within the intricate fabric of the weave, something old and incredibly patient began to take note.
Far from the warmth of the grove, tucked away beneath its thick canopy where sunlight fractured into sickly green shards, a serpent began to stir.
The forest floor was a picture of dampness and life, a quiet activity going on all around. Moss clung to the roots like old scars that seemed unwilling to disappear.
Coiled amongst the fallen leaves lay a snake, its scales marked by a single, pale scar that ran across her face.
Kagha.
The magic holding her down finally unraveled.
The sleep spell, once holding firm, began to dissipate as if carried away on the subtle, ambient currents of druidic energy, dissolving like a thin mist before the first rays of morning light.
Her eyes snapped open.
For a brief, terrible moment, confusion reigned.
Then memory struck.
Roots.
Judgment.
Pain.
She tried to rise and felt it instantly.
No arms.
No legs.
No voice.
Her body moved wrong.
Too fluid.
Too long.
Realization hit like a blade.
With all her might, she thrashed and convulsed, her coils cracking against the earth with a sound that echoed through the forest.
In her fury, she unleashed a barrage of leaves that flew through the air in every direction, a testament to her blind and impotent rage.
A hiss escaped her lips, a sharp, feral sound that betrayed her fury. The dam of her anger had finally broken, and her rage, finding nowhere else to go, surged forward in a furious rush.
This was not a form she could command.
This was a sentence.
Her anger initially blazed like a wildfire, but then it quickly faded, turning into a sputtering ember.
She stood frozen in place, her chest rising and falling in shallow, panicked breaths as the realization of the truth washed over her with a chilling clarity.
Rage meant nothing now.
Power meant nothing.
Authority, ambition, certainty.
All gone.
She was prey.
Slowly and cautiously, she started to slither forward, her instincts overriding any pride she may have felt.
The forest stretched before her, a vast, uncaring entity. If she could manage to simply disappear into it, perhaps she could find a way to survive.
Perhaps, in time, she could learn.
Adapt.
Then something closed around her body.
The grip was sudden and absolute.
A hand, enormous and twisted, clamped down on her midsection, its fingers resembling gnarled roots that were wrapped in mottled, almost fleshy flesh.
It squeezed just enough to make escape impossible, but not enough to kill.
Her venomous fangs snapped reflexively, but her grip on the hand remained completely unyielding.
Did not fear.
Did not care.
Kagha twisted her head back, heart pounding, terror blooming cold and sharp in her chest as she was hauled upward.
She found herself directly confronting the individual who was holding her captive.
Glassy green eyes stared back at her, wide and unblinking.
They reflected her own panicked form with cruel clarity, showing the full extent of her terror.
Their eyes were completely devoid of any warmth, showing no mercy whatsoever.
It's driven by a primal need for sustenance, an insatiable curiosity, and something far deeper and far more sinister than mere malice.
A broad smile stretched across the face of her captor, the corners of her lips pulling back just a bit too far.
"Well now," a gentle voice crooned, sounding as sweet as honey dripping onto something rotten. "Aren't you a rare and peculiar little creature?"
Kagha felt a shiver run down her spine, a chill deeper than the usual cold she felt from the environment.
It was as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water directly into her veins.
Auntie Ethel had her now.
And this particular time, the grove where they typically went to pass judgment on what was coming was no longer there.