DRUIDLANDS:CAMPAIGN

It is a crisp fall night. The full moon and the stars are shining brightly against the dark sky. The fox stops for just a second as he hears a slight rustling in the leaves, turning his head sharply in that direction. The elf is dressed in natural tones, blending in with the forest, the rustling giving away his position. He stops, looking into the distance. In a clearing in the forest, there is a small thatched-roof house. A curl of smoke lazily drifts up from the chimney, a faint light coming through the window. The elf, now moving cautiously forward, doesn't make a sound. Grass blades under his feet don't even seem to bend as he moves across the open field. He makes his way up beside one of the windows, listening intently to the conversation going on inside the house...

"Dear, she should be home shortly...she's been gone all afternoon." says a female voice. Another female voice, a little older sounding, says, "I understand that, but you know how flaky she can be!" "Yes, I know she can be, but she's getting older and she'll soon have her own grove. And yes, with her having her own grove, there are a lot of responsibilities. With all the turmoil that is still in the world, we need as many druid groves as possible."

The elf standing outside eavesdropping, gives a slight grin. Ducking underneath the window, the elf makes his way to the backside of the house. Upon finding another window, he opens it and silently climbs in. He pulls out what appears to be a silvery heavy-duty piece of string, a piece of wood tied at each end. He then makes his way to the door leading into the kitchen area where the two ladies were talking.

The conversation has turned more to cooking and the trials and tribulations of a young female elf. The younger lady heads for the room where the elf is waiting. She enters the doorway, moving to the left. As she reaches at the top of the cupboard for a bag of flour, the action is quick and very silent.

The elf steps up behind her, wrapping the strangler around her neck. She is not even able to take the breath that could save her. She struggles but a second, then collapses in his arms.

"Dear, are you okay in there?" the older elven lady asks from the kitchen after a moment. There is the bark of a fox that reaches her ears from outside. She reaches for her staff, leaning in the corner. It is ornate, heavy-looking with the runes carved deeply into the shaft of the wood. She cautiously picks it up, moving to the doorway. The male elf backs up into the darkness, hearing her footsteps coming toward him.

Stopping just before the doorway, she steps to one side of it. She literally steps forward, melding into the wall. As she steps through the wall into the room where her fallen friend is, attacker and would-be victim are both surprised at once....

Young Ophilia, walking gayfully through the woods as only a druid can, sees the home she has been raised in all these years in the distance. She knows that soon she will be leaving this house, to make her own grove. But she plans to spend as much time with Sasha as possible, as she has been both her keeper and mentor since birth. While the Grand Druid, Keona, is visiting, she plans to absorb as much as possible from her as she can, since these opportunities don't happen often.

When she gets closer to the house, she sees that one of the windows has been broken. She runs forward, rushing into the house. Flinging open the door, she sees what would normally be a kitchen that has been turned into a battleground. The fire is still burning in the fireplace, but the pots and pans have fallen into the pit. The table is on it's side, broken chairs around it. Nervous, scared, and anxious, the young druid calls forth her abilities. She sees a knife laying on the floor and she grabs it, arming herself. She cautiously makes her way back to the cupboard and bedroom area. With it still dark beyond the doorway, she stops and weaves yet another spell. Releasing the spell, she throws her arm forward into the darkened room, causing it to brighten with magical light. The knife falls to the floor from her now numb fingers as she sees the Grand Druid just inside the doorway, dead, still holding her staff. Her feet automatically step forward toward her then stop, the sweep of her eyes taking in the one who raised her, laying on the floor, blue-faced from the lack of oxygen. A thin red line across her neck is made vivid bright against the pale skin.

She kneels beside the two bodies, and the woods are silent around the little house, the only sound heard is that of her crying. She reaches down, and picks up the only evidence left by the assailant. It is a small, black feather.