"It was a long journey, far to the northwest of here, through vast forests. I was very lost and I am not too sure I could find my way back, although their plight does speak to me. It is a very beautiful area still, the lovely green gem of a valley tucked between the two high mountain peaks."
The elf sighs and continues. "But even though it is still alive, it is not thriving. Green and lush, it still seems cursed. The village of Trestle, tucked in among the trees, is a small, poor village of mostly elves and half-elves, who make a meagre living hunting the forest creatures and farming small cleared areas on the valley floor. These people love their forest and the animals and birds living there, but they are secretive and furtive and do not trust strangers or each other, for good reason."
The elf shakes his head sadly. "But Zmoog and Ahlee, who run the tavern there, serve up a good meal and plentiful drinks, and even the most secretive can be convinced to talk with enough wine in them." The elf grins.
"Not too very long ago," he continued, "so that the oldest of the villagers can still remember the details, the valley was very rich and beautiful, full of the sounds and beauty of nature in her bounty. The ancient ones tell of a coven of druids who met and worshipped there, and their leader and queen, a druidess of great power and beauty, could often been seen walking in the forest or over mountain trails, birds following and calling to her, flowers in her hair, a small cat at her feet. Some people actually remember speaking to her, and many of the villagers remember an old lady, once considered a healer and wise woman in her own right, who had the druidess in her home on a regular basis."
The elf sighs. "But when asked where this old lady now resides, the villagers look fearful and change the subject. Her name is Malorin, and I tried very hard to find her, but never could. The townspeople say she knows all about the druidess and her coven, who kept the valley rich and alive. They say the druidess was infamous for her antipathy towards those who hunted, not for food, which was a necessary and acceptable part of the cycle of life, but for sport. She especially hated those who hunted her birds, who raped eagles' and hawks' nests for their eggs and chicks, and then kept the raptors caged and broken. Her valley was famous for the many raptors who chose that ripe and lush realm for their homes. In fact, in the old elvish tongue, Thorons Gwath means Eagles Shadow."
The elf takes a very long drink from his glass, his eyes darkening. "Inevitably, a confrontation arose between the dark drow who occupied the far flanks of the mountain and the druid coven, as the drow loved to raid the nests in the valley for the eggs and young raptors. The druids built a high wall to block the entrance to their valley, and set many curses of nature on any drow that entered, but eventually, after many conflicts of increasing bloodthirstyness, in which the drow losses were many but the druids lost only few, due to their knowledge of their lands and the power of nature which cannot be bested, the drow came up with a wicked plan, which they quickly put into place."
"Drawing upon the help of their many evil sorcerers, the drow ensnared and ensorcelled the druidess queen, then locked her hidden away deep in the caves of their mountain. The villagers were harassed and many, many of the young elves were killed or kidnapped and sold as slaves. The drow gangs still repeatedly ravage the valley until no one dares raise a hand or voice in protest. The other druids in the coven scattered or were killed, and the drow hunted down and killed any person who seemed connected to the druid religon or who exhibited any sign of magic or healing."
The elf shakes his head miserably. "The villagers live in fear of the drow raids, and no one has seen a druid in a long time, nor has anyone seen the wise woman of the village or her husband. But people still talk, albeit in whispers, of seeing the ghostlike shadow of the owl that used to accompany the druidess on her walks. Only the little children dare hope that someday the druidess will be found and rescued."
The elf drains the last dregs of beer from his mug and looks around him at his rapt audience. "Please, if any of you know of a hero, tell her, tell him, of this sad story of the druid queen in need of rescue. Someone must be strong enough, brave enough, to venture forth to her aid."
Cosmic Egg courtesy of Pete DeVito
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