Atop a cliff overlooking the Sellen River, Quovex gazed to the East, away from the sun’s rays in the aging day. The air was warm and the breeze mild. The half-elf sprang off the balmy rock beneath his feet and dove into the water. It was tradition for him, though the ritual had felt emptier as of late. As the river rushed around him, the cool water instantly chilling his body, the current failed to wash away the inert inner feeling the druid had. Never in any danger of being swept away, the expert swimmer surfaced and made his way to shore, pulling himself up to sit on a log. In the distance to the North was the group he’d just escorted, their boat just a speck now. To the South lay the Inner Sea, his next task. In his heart, the long-haired man hoped it would bring him peace. In his mind, he knew it would bring him danger.
As a youth, Quovex lived as many half-elves did – between two cultures. His elven father and human mother had distant connections. Kortian Serris came and went from Greengold as his service in the royal family’s guard allowed to visit his beloved Vera. A distinct position, Quovex’s father never bragged about it, yet his sense of duty was absolute and inflexible; to disagree with his responsibilities made one incorrect and intrusive. Vera was the only person who got to break that rule, and even then not all the time. As Quovex’s mother and a merchant, Vera probably shared more experiences with his son than his father, yet over less shared time; her travels to and from Absalom suppliers kept her away at weeks for a time. Occasionally, she would bring her son along. Occasionally, he would learn a trade or two. Occasionally, he would make a friend.
One such friend was another half-elf named Elena. Though the two met each other as old children, their friendship had matured over the years. Vera liked the girl, but she didn’t see the practicality in the arrangement as the pair could not be united for any long period of time; Elena’s family were important members of the district governments in the city-state, and she herself said she had no plans to leave. Kortian had forbidden Quovex from resettling outside the country “so long as he served the queen”; evidently, though his son’s mixed blood at earned him the cold shoulder from most of his people, a glass half-full was still enough for his father to covet out of some strange, vicarious amalgamation of patriotism and biology. Obedient as he was though, Quovex learned on his next journey to Absalom Elena had died of a sickness spread from the puddle district. Console him as she tried, Vera could not bridge the chasm of despair her son fell into. Over the course of a few years, Quovex grew into a quiet, distant, young adult.
Death was not something he’d much been accustomed to. While Kyonin and Razmiran had sour relations, the two countries had an unofficial truce at the treeline, so no significant fatalities occurred through war. The magic-savvy elves kept diseases at bay. As expert woodsmen, natural dangers scarred them little. Rare as it was, the young half-elf attempted to take solace in nature. On one of his walks during a trip with Vera, he met with a small circle of druids in the Verduran Forest. Their way of life appealed to Quovex – simple, no strings attached. He’d eschewed attachment since Elena’s passing in an effort to protect himself against future sadness, and forging a life from the land seemed a perfect way to continue onward in some self-sufficient manner to Quovex. Upon returning to Kyonin, however, his father didn’t see it that way:
”A tree-warden? You could do a lot better than that!”
His spirits slumped; Quovex hadn’t been expressly forbidden to pursue that path as there were plenty of druids in Kyonin, but the disappointment was like a dagger in his side. Even his mother seemed to withhold support.
”All I’m saying is I can’t make trips into the middle of the forest to see you. You know we take boats down the river for speed as it is, and I’m not helping horses trot over vines.”
The lack of scaffolding from his family was irritating to Quovex though.
”Not one offer from either of you for a job of your own though? Not a letter of recruitment from the guards? Not an apprenticeship in the merchants’ guild?!”
His parents knew that wasn’t all that was required, yet their son’s predicament shamed them enough to open his pursuit of druidism unabated. So it was he set off to meet his new mentors. His main elder, Prodem, introduced him to divine magic and the old ways. However, it was his peer – Farraklor – from whom he learned the most. Farraklor was a bastard byproduct from the conflict between Lastwall and the Hold of Belkzen. As strong as he was kind, the half-orc was first to help Quovex with labor and last to relinquish his spoken defense of his friend during a dispute.
Try as he might to maintain his ambivalence, Quovex found himself drawn to the initiate druid. Farraklor reminded him of the friendship Elena had made with him. After many months, it was clear to the half-elf the unspoken accord was something more though. Almost without realizing it, the two had become interdepended on each other, functioning as a pair. So it was they completed their training – not as two distinct units, but facets of a common soul.
Prodem was brimming with pride as he finished the rites. ”Two spirits devoted to the land, one heart to guide their hands. Dawnwolf and Duskwolf, may Gozreh watch over you as you protect and nurture Golarion.”
After the ceremony, Quovex was happy, though nervous. Farraklor seemed to sense this and walked up beside him; he was taller, so it was easy for the half-orc to catch him.
”You’re not going to say anything? We’re part of the same tribe now. A pack, really,” puzzled-out the more rugged of the two.
”I’m Duskwolf? I guess orcs are still seen as dark to the rest of you!”
”Oh, stop it.” deflected Quovex. ”You know that doesn’t have anything to do with it. Prodem probably broken a wishbone over it or something.” Yet that explanation, possible as it were, sounded hollow to the half-elf the moment he said it.
”What do you think it is then? It’s like we’re married.”
Farraklor’s response made Quovex stop in his tracks.
”What?”
There was something about the way he’d remembered Elena when interacting with Farraklor that gave him pause after that comment, especially after the ceremony. The druids spoke about reincarnation. She can’t be part of Farraklor though. He was around before she died.
”Dawnwolf? Hey?”
Duskwolf grabbed his arm, and Dawnwolf looked at him. His heart skipped a beat.
”Well, I guess we are, Rak.” Old names died hard, especially when entwined with old memories. ”I feel … well, I feel like I’ve known you for longer than we’ve been here, and we’re going to be living together now. We’re going to have to make do on our own, down by the river. It’s just like having a different name for it.”
Duskwolf smirked. ”’It’?” He let out a deep laugh. ”You don’t need a wedding to have names for ‘it’,” winked the half-orc.
Normally, Quovex would have laughed and joked along, but it was almost as if he were watching himself outside his body. ”No, you don’t.” He stepped forward and gave Rak a big hug. He could feel the surprise by the other druid, but he reciprocated. Looking up at him, Quovex saw his friend’s expression was no longer jocular, but deeper, more sincere. The hug was followed by a kiss, and that night was followed by many more.
Dawnwolf and Duskwolf found their spot to settle and had many memories making their new home. The relationship-changer aside, post-initiation had a much more practical worry for Dawnwolf: He’d never been able to entice animals enough to keep one as a conduit to the wild. Duskwolf was a natural though, and their common name didn’t help matters; one was supposed to attract the animal which formed their name as their conduit. After a few weeks, Duskwolf had enticed a wolf with a jet black coat to join his side, yet Dawnwolf had no such luck. Animals responded positively towards him, yet only in acquaintance. The relationship wasn’t as deep as Duskwolf’s with Nightwolf – his ‘pup’.
As the three returned from a hunt to camp, Duskwolf butchered the deer, Nightwolf panted expectantly laying down by the fire, and Dawnwolf prepared the implements for the meal.
”What are you going to do to get your pup?” asked Duskwolf, efficient in his rending sinew from bone.
Dawnwolf shrugged. ”You know, I remember the other circle – back in the Verduran Forest. They said not all druids have a connection with animals. Others can have one just with nature.”
Laughing, Duskwolf passed his mate the meat. ”With what? A plant, a rock? I couldn’t ask for someone better than my pup!” Nightwolf looked at his pack leader, as if knowing he was being addressed. That’s one sharp canine…
”I don’t know. I guess it will happen when it happens.” Though Duskwolf had jested with him, Dawnwolf knew it was in good spirits; he would have been worried about his progress with finding a conduit, but he felt so at ease around his friend, the anxiety slipped away. ”Maybe I’ll take a trip to see them again and ask.”
”You? You mean we.” The half-orc scratched Nightwolf’s ears.
”Pup’s coming too.”
After cooking the meat, Dawnwolf served it and the family at their fill – Nightwolf probably most of all. ”Now where,” said Duskwolf, licking his fingers, ”Did you learn to cook like that?”
”My mother,” replied Dawnwolf flatly. ”I told you, remember?”
Duskwolf nodded after a moment. ”Yeah, I forget some people have those.” The sadness hung in the air for a moment before being dispelled by his next inflection. ”Wait a minute. She still does that trade route? She could bring us by their forest. That’s how you got there before!”
He’d tried to avoid this, but Dawnwolf saw little way around it now. ”Well, you might get her to take us, but I’m not sure she’s going to let such a big ‘pup’ on her ship. Besides, I really don’t need my father breathing down my neck again.”
Smiling, the provoking Duskwolf sealed the deal. ”No way I’m missing that entertainment. I haven’t seen a good tiff since the inns in Lastwall. We’re going!”
So it was the trio made their way to Greengold. Dawnwolf had no way of knowing if his father would be there or not, but his mother’s ship in port made it clear she was present. The family approached her on the docks.
”Quovex? Is that you?” Though half-elves weren’t uncommon in the town, one with hair the color of wheat down his back standing on the same dock as his mother narrowed the possibilities down. She stepped forward and gave him a hug and kiss on the forehead. ”And who’s this?”
”Duskwolf,” responded the owner of the name before the son had a chance to respond, clasping the hand she had started to withdraw in a strong business shake. ”We finished our initiation together. Dawnwolf and I are wardens of the river on the North banks.” The large canine had stepped forward to sniff the woman’s legs, going back to an easy-going disposition shortly afterwards. ”He’s Nightwolf.”
”Dawnwolf? They have you change your name.”
Dawnwolf sighed. ”No, but you have a druid name once you’re a druid among them. We came here to ask a favor…” and with that, they’d secured passage as needed.
After a few days’ sail, they found the edge of the Verduran Forest and bid Vera farewell. ”I’ll get you on the return trip!” waved Dawnwolf’s mother. The crew had been receptive enough to Duskwolf after warming-up to him, and they seemed captivated by his tales of hardship from childhood West of Lake Encarthan. Yet their reception on the shore was different. No druids for found on the coast. In fact, it wasn’t until they’d ventured a few miles inland the trio found any. Truth be told, it was four who found them, shifting into human form after dropping from trees as woodland creatures.
”What brings you to our forest?” Territorial and bellicose, this was not the same welcoming tone Dawnwolf had experienced before. He attempted to transmute their attitude by speaking in druidic – which partially worked.
”I guess our ravens haven’t been out that way. Disaster’s struck; the archdruid has rejoined the earth before his time, and our relics are gone.” The woman shook her head. ”Something ill is afoot, I fear.”
Nevertheless, she took them to the circle’s camp, and they were treated with proper, albeit somber, hospitality. Nobody seemed to know the motive of the attack or the organization of the assailants, who’d slain five druids. Descriptions were given, but none of the collective had jobs in urban security for a large civilization; the trail was cold. Even their best bloodhounds and tracking birds couldn’t aid them. The only good news was as recently as the attack took place, there weren’t any subsequent assaults. Yet, anyway.
The next day, the trio asked one of the elders the question on Dawnwolf’s mind. ”What will my connection to nature look like?” She smiled back, only giving him a fortune-teller’s response. ”You’ll know it when you see it. It’s different for everyone. Mine is to the trees of the forest. His is to the ants underground. We’ve all had an event that stands-out to us though, reminds us of that connection. We could never forget it.”
Well, I certainly haven’t had that yet, thought a disappointed Dawnwolf.
Disappointed and saddened by the events there, the pack made their way back to the shore for Vera – she was set to arrive that evening. The winds were good, but a storm was brewing. I hope we get on the ship before then. Right on time, the masterful merchant sailed up to them at sunset. While she empathized with her son’s disappointment, she was happy to see him again, and they exchanged accounts of their travels.
During that evening, the storm grew worse and worse. The river was large, but their ship was still not meant for being set into the silt. However, it was something Vera ordered as the winds became too strong to make headway. Heavy rains and lightning began to fill the sky. It was relaxing to sleep to, but as the druids lay in their chamber, a crackling explosion woke them. The sky was pitch black on account of the moon being covered, but the familiar glow of flame grew. It took a few moments to dawn on him, but Dawnwolf realized the ship had been struck by lightning. What are the chances? Gozreh, protect us! There were no trees around to draw the sky’s ire from the middle of the river with a boat, yet it still seemed odd.
Oddities would have to wait though: The ship seemed to be torn right outside their quarters; they would have to jump right into the river below, and it was flowing as fast as a waterfall in the storm. Duskwolf put an arm around his companions. ”We’re in this together. JUMP!” The three made their best length-wise jump to get into the deep part of the river and not injure themselves. Only then did Dawnwolf realize his folly. Unlike Duskwolf, he was not blessed with darkvision. The dancing flames stayed with the carcass of the ship, but as he felt his mate’s arm slip away from him, he realized they were both being washed down the river – at a very good clip.
No! I can’t lose them!
Panicking, the adept swimmer nonetheless kept his head above water enough to get a good amount of air. By his submerged legs, he felt a furry torso push by. Nightwolf! he was deep underwater and would have the most trouble out of them all. ”Here, pup! Come here!” Only able to spare one hand, Dawnwolf reached for the canine’s neck, only to feel it brush past, the wolf flailing. He reached again … and again … and again to no avail.
I won’t lose them.
Resolute in his concern, he swam with the current, trying to catch-up. Finally, he brushed by the dog’s body once more, but his legs moved much slower.
He’s drowning!
With all his muscle, the druid reached once more, but instead of touching the coat, something phenomenal happened. A blast shot forward, pushing Nightwolf with an audible exit out of the water. A moment later, a wet thud sounded – even above the raging squall. At this point, Dawnwolf had a choice: He could go towards Nightwolf or he could try to find Duskwolf. After a split second, he continued downriver. Swimming and swimming and swimming …
He awoke on the shore with some of the ship’s crew standing over him. His mother was among them, limping. Her pain faded upon seeing her son awake though. ”Quovex! I thought you’d gone to Pharasma!” She tried to hug him, but thought better of it The scrapes and bruises that covered Dawnwolf’s body would have made the contact painful, regardless of intentions.
He sat up too quickly, coughing. ”Where’s Duskwolf?!” The sun had just begun to illuminate the sky in the distance.
The crew looked away. The outcome was clear.
Dawnwolf refused to accept this result. ”We just haven’t found him yet. We have to keep looking!” He stood, stumbled, and ended up on the ground in more pain.
”It’s a miracle even you survived, Quovex. I’m sorry.”
Raging on the inside, Dawnwolf tried to stand again before falling. It was then his tears began to flow on the outside, making the second storm of the night.
How long he cried for, he didn’t know, but the sun came over the horizon, the rays jetting onto the tops of the trees. The crew which remained had begun to head the significant distance back to what was left of the ship. However, a few souls stayed with Vera to remark on what seemed to be the second miracle to them.
Nightwolf trotted up from the shore – slowly, as he was also injured – and lay next to Dawnwolf. He didn’t realize it at first, but a light whine eventually caused him to wipe his eyes and look.
A glimmer of hope shot up in his heart. ”Where is he, pup? Where’s Duskwolf?”
The canine’s eyes panned towards the river before returning to the druid, the glimmer now extinct.
”I … I …”
What had to be hours passed as the two lay there. Vera returned to the ship. Only when the sun was overhead did Dawnwolf calm himself enough to consider what he would do next.
I feel like dying. How could this happen? Why?!
It was then Nightwolf crawled to his feet and gave the druid a single lick on the mouth. Pup had never done that to him before – only Duskwolf – and walked away into the woods on the shore. Dawnwolf cried out, but to no effect. The canine looked back at the druid one last time from the treeline, then was gone.
Vera and some crew returned with a makeshift stretcher. They tried to load the inconsolable Dawnwolf into it. Irate in his current state of double loss, he wanted nothing to do with them.
”Leave me ALONE!”
As he shouted, a blast of air shot forth at the stretcher and flung it a few dozen feet down the shore. The crew looked back at him in awe and fear. His mother was shocked, but then she smiled.
”It’s your connection, Qouvex! The air! This storm! That’s how you’re connected!” Her smile quickly faded though as she realized the link she’d made. Dawnwolf’s connection to nature was the loss of his family. According to the elder from the circle, he’d never forget it. The youth believed every word.
He screamed.
Weeks later when they returned to Greengold, Kortian was waiting anxiously for Vera. He embraced her lovingly. After looking beyond her, he saw Dawnwolf. ”Qouvex! By Desna’s stars, you two have been through the Worldwound and back!” He gave his son a hug, but Dawnwolf had next to no emotion to return. ”I had no idea you were on that forsaken ship with your mother!” The father gave his son a physical check with his eyes. ”No serious injuries. What a blessing! You’ve gotten a bit tougher since I saw you last, that’s for sure! Come, you are dining with me tonight. Some of the court will be coming to express their regrets about the loss of the trading ship. Talkers the lot of them, but their hearts are genuinely hurting for you now.”
Dawnwolf could take no more of the shallow chat. ”Are they really? How could they possible know what we’ve been through?!”
”Qouvex, that’s not what he – “ began Vera, but Dawnwolf was already out of sight, having stormed to the edge of the dock to weep once more.
The delegates arrived bearing tokens of regret, paltry symbols of empathy that did nothing to sooth Dawnwolf’s pain. It was only through extreme hunger from the trek to Greengold – and desire to get away from the water which had claimed his mate – Dawnwolf was convinced to sit at the tables. Not interested in more than a few bits of food for his addled self, the youth heard a few words resonate for some reason with him from the delegates. Descriptions of a shady group of people. Where have I heard that depiction before? All at once, the flash of memory came forward:
They were the ones who killed the archdruid and stole the relics!
He now listened on the edge of his seat to this conversation, words not meant for his commoner ears. Assassins? The Red Mantis?! It sounded outlandish, but his disbelief turned into very real sickness in short order.
One of the nobles took a sip of wine before speaking with his retinue. ”Yes, that orb of storms they took from the Verduran Forest? It’ll cause quite a shakeup until we get to the bottom of this. Who knows how they plan to use it.”
I do.
Jumping up from the table and knocking his chair to the ground, Dawnwolf felt the vomit coming before he got quite out of sight. He lost the meager contents of dinner as they were as he revulsion took over him. They killed him! And for what?! What did he ever do?! He dropped to his knees again, powerless against the world. But he didn’t pity himself. He blamed himself. The elder told me the relics were stolen. It was my fault! I should have asked her what they were. I could have told mother to head South! I could have had us leave the ship! I …
He sobbed for what seemed like an eternity before a firm hand grasped his shoulder. ”Son.”
Oh gods, can’t he let me be?!
”Dawnwolf!” The name rolled sternly, yet awkwardly off Kortian’s tongue.
His son finally turned to face him. ”I’m not … I can’t talk right now.”
A look of pain yet urgency was in his father’s eyes. ”You don’t need to. I need you to listen.” Kortian paused to ensure he had his son’s attention. ”Your mother filled me in. That storm was no coincidence. You were targeted by that damned cult!”
Dawnwolf nodded.
”That’s not it though. They may be hellions, but they’re not dumb. They always have a plan, an end. They wanted something from that ship. Your mother had the manifest. I don’t think mundane jewelry, spices, and silks are cause for revealing their presence and keeping the relic out in the open, do you?” Kortian quickly saw rhetorical questions in his son’s state weren’t the best idea.
”Did you get anything while you were with the druids there? Any gifts? Any trinkets?”
Puzzled, the youth shook his head.
His father looked more and more worried. ”I don’t know how to tell you this, son, but they weren’t there for the crew or Vera. It was you, … Duskwolf, or the dog.” Difficult for a traditionalist like Kortian, Dawnwolf had to give him credit for attempting the nomenclature.
Kortian came around and knelt in front of his son, lifting his chin. ”They wanted something one of the three of you had. What was it?” Stern but caring as only a military father could be, Dawnwolf nonetheless jerked his chin away, shrugging. If he’d looked back at his father, he would have seen the blood leave his face just then.
”You told your mother five druids had been slain. Did you see their bodies?” After his son shook his head, his father responded. ”Then you were lied to. Mistakenly by your friends. This cult took them. They wanted them for something.”
Dawnwolf felt his father’s gaze on him as the gears turned and he looked up. ”They wanted you two.”
He was no wizard, but the connection here was feasible enough for the emotion to flow through it and make Dawnwolf into more of a wreck than he was. Anger. Loss. Blame. Regret. Kortian saw the paralysis of emotional overload take over and waited just long enough for it to pass.
”Dawnwolf!” Jerked to his feet and steadied by his father, Dawnwolf found his own two legs again after a moment. ”On behalf of the Queen, the guard requests your service in bringing justice to these assassins, kidnappers, and cultists. Their actions have deemed Pharasma fit to judge them now. A royal edict grants you, among others, the authority to deliver them. What say you?” His talk was official. Becoming aware of his surroundings, the druid realized much of the crowd at the feast had encircled them, listening.
His throat was dry, the emotion and ponderous nature of the matter creating torpidity. Finally, he squeaked-out a response. ”I wasn’t fit to serve before. What’s different now?”
A streak of pain appeared on his father’s face, but he buried it under a wry smile. ”It’s not my position to question the crown, but I imagine someone blessed by Gozreh’s wind is welcome in many courts.”
Seeing the politics behind it, the fork in the road still lay before him. No, I can’t fall into the same pit I was in before. I’m going to do something! Duskwolf – I’m coming for you!
With a nod containing more conviction than he’d had since the storm, the winds of change blew in a new direction for the druid…
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