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hellriderNo one gets in, is the rule. Or, it's supposed to be the rule, anyway, ever since the adventurers went off with the Archdruid. Guarding the gate faithfully is primarily for the protection of the tieflings in the Hollow, but it's also a benefit to the druids, whether they want to admit it or not.
No one gets in, because as long as they prove they can hold the place, there's a chance the druids will let them stay. And gods, but it's salt in an open wound to have to think that way. Contributing to the community is one thing, groveling for time in the hopes of saving their children's lives is another. First Avernus, now this. It's as if the world is determined to crush any pride they have left.
No one gets in. Except someone did. Pandirna was the one who caught him, she's nothing if not faithful about checking their supplies, and the moment she noticed medical supplies missing she turned over every crate in the storehouse. He was unconscious, though it looked as if he'd done his best to treat himself before passing out.
It seems highly likely that a drow came from the goblin camp; no one else is casually wandering the wilds these days save the servants of the Absolute. And it's unsettling to be infiltrated, but even at that rate it's impossibly cruel to just...bind the man and slap him awake for questioning. Zevlor's sense of pragmatism says that's what he should do, but maybe he's going soft in his old age.
Tavvin will instead awake laid out on a bedroll, with a few extra blankets stacked on him because the last thing they want is for him to go into shock. On one side of him there are bars, walls on another, and a very steep drop behind him. It's a run down but effective little prison.
On the other side of the bars, Zevlor is watching patiently. He cuts a reasonably impressive figure, in well-kept splint mail, jagged horns glinting in the torchlight. He's not holding weapons, though, and his posture is pensive rather than ominous.
"Well, hello. You're a complication we didn't see coming," he says. "How do you feel?"
No one gets in, because as long as they prove they can hold the place, there's a chance the druids will let them stay. And gods, but it's salt in an open wound to have to think that way. Contributing to the community is one thing, groveling for time in the hopes of saving their children's lives is another. First Avernus, now this. It's as if the world is determined to crush any pride they have left.
No one gets in. Except someone did. Pandirna was the one who caught him, she's nothing if not faithful about checking their supplies, and the moment she noticed medical supplies missing she turned over every crate in the storehouse. He was unconscious, though it looked as if he'd done his best to treat himself before passing out.
It seems highly likely that a drow came from the goblin camp; no one else is casually wandering the wilds these days save the servants of the Absolute. And it's unsettling to be infiltrated, but even at that rate it's impossibly cruel to just...bind the man and slap him awake for questioning. Zevlor's sense of pragmatism says that's what he should do, but maybe he's going soft in his old age.
Tavvin will instead awake laid out on a bedroll, with a few extra blankets stacked on him because the last thing they want is for him to go into shock. On one side of him there are bars, walls on another, and a very steep drop behind him. It's a run down but effective little prison.
On the other side of the bars, Zevlor is watching patiently. He cuts a reasonably impressive figure, in well-kept splint mail, jagged horns glinting in the torchlight. He's not holding weapons, though, and his posture is pensive rather than ominous.
"Well, hello. You're a complication we didn't see coming," he says. "How do you feel?"
