why's your heart gone rotten | Glowfic Constellation

They end up keeping her in their argument room for their entire damned convention. It is not quite the most miserable work of Voshrelka's very long life, but that is mostly because she is several hundred years old, and seventy of them were lived in Infernal Cheliax, not because she's having a particularly good time. Her days are spent trying to disentangle the knots of words and agendas and the true intentions behind the stupid arbitrary rules they're making up, and her evenings and early mornings are spent flying long, exhausting distances to see to the health of their crops, and then back again before it's time for the next floor session. She does not like people, she does not like politicking, she does not like nobility, she does not like cities, she does not like civilization. She does not like keeping her schedule so full, so predictable, so exhausting, both mentally and physically. Her contributions to debate on things she only vaguely understands are mostly acerbic, biting, impatient, and rude. Despite this, she's the most well liked druid in Westcrown. People begin recognizing her, and purposefully seek her out for her counsel over other available druids.

Admittedly she's made it very straightforward in her native form, with the leaves on her face, but still. Some people have even started treating common blackbirds well, for fear that one of them might be the resident reasonable-druid, which is somewhat gratifiying, even if she could very well be any other bird or beast and they would do well to remember it.

It's a month and a half into the convention when someone first tries to assassinate her. She's made it easy for them, really, following the old routes. Predictably, it's another druid. Some might term it as a betrayal, but Voshrelka isn't particularly surprised. She is, in many ways, empowering the beast that had partially devoured all they love, and so it's very reasonable for one of her own kind to try to kill her to make it stop. She kills them first, and then the great roc that was following its halfling master, with tricks learned over centuries and items won from a raided lich's lair and some very expensive arrows that she got on a certain wizard's recommendation. The roc's death wasn't technically necessary, but she's been playing dangerous enough with secrecy already. It is not wise to leave unnecessary loose ends, so she doesn't. The old elf drags the corpses into the woods to avoid any awkward questions from the peasantry. This is all the ceremony they get, before she's back to work. If she hates herself for what she's done, it's with the same bitter hatred that she hates the world, that it's come to this.

The arch-healer does, after relatively short deliberation, decide that some dead druids are worth dragging back to this miserable material plane, filled with broken people and ravaged wilds. Voshrelka spends a month juggling hunting down the remains of the dead she once knew, with knowledge and scrying and investigation and stubbornness, along with the argument room and the circuit of Plant Growths. She does not get very much rest, during that time. It is a hard pace, even for her, but she doesn't dare leave any of them dead for any longer than she absolutely must. If there is to be any kind of balance, between the wild and the civil, then the wild must get its shit together as soon as possible. She is all the Barrowood has fighting for it in this arena, and somehow she's begun fighting for the other woods of Cheliax with it, and so she will fight as she always have. To the bitter end, even as her body and spirit break under the strain.

Long cold remains of corpses are brought back to life, and though the Barrowood is hardly united after even such a feat, it does at least put some weight behind her words. There is a real momentum, to her archmage backed insanity, and many of the others become convinced that she hasn't entirely lost her mind.

It is decided that if the druids are to be properly part of Cheliax, they will need representation in the capital. A small, dirty, broken and unwanted parcel of land is legitimately bought, and an enclave is built. They grow a great tree, faster than any but druids could manage, and in it they build a small and modest house in the old style of the elves, building and tree intertwined together inextricably with wood shaping and forethought. The tree will hold the scaffolding of druidic spells, and the house will hold the druids or their animal companions, as necessary. A small bastion of green in a sea of brown and grey and bloody red. It is the only comfort she's likely to have for a very long while.

Because, of course, nearly everyone's agreed that she's the best candidate for envoy.

She does not know what the future holds, but she doubts it'll be a break.

The city is miserable and smelly, and humans are by and large loud, stupid, and awful. Voshrelka quietly longs for the day she can return to the Barrowood and hear only the rustling of leaves and the rustling and chittering of neighbors that can only intelligibly speak to her if she lets them with a spell. Still, it's not all bad. She can have a steady sleep schedule as she attempts to interface with the horrors of modern 'civilized' Cheliax, and she is never in danger of growing bored. Life as an ambassador has many problems, but it is at least more restful than one as an infiltrator or delegate. She pens a bestiary explaining (in small words) which animals are actually people, which ones are fey, and which ones are evil, and moreover bad for the overall ecosystem and stability of Cheliax, and should be slain on sight. She flies languid plant growth circuits around the Heartlands, pointedly only gracing places with nobility that can at least competently pretend not to want to rip her heart out and burn down everything she loves. 'Competently pretend' here means 'solidify borders with the forest' and 'actually contact druids about forest related problems before trying to kill it with fire.'

Sometimes being an ambassador means flying out to accompany the adventurers who solve forest related problems, making sure they're not going to be idiots about it. It's surprisingly popular, after her fellow lich-hunters realized how useful a druid can be in matters of 'make bad thing be dead.' Combined with one having an actual mailing address, and there's often no reason not to ask. She is undoubtedly one of the most competent guides they could find. Granted, they don't much like being interrupted in their typical adventuring habits to do such things as 'negotiate with a goblin tribe about border security and trade options,' but it is significantly safer than trying to invade their lairs, and faster, too. This part time adventuring doesn't get Voshrelka to fifth circle with any kind of speed, but it soon (for an elf) earns her another daily wildshape, and another casting of a fourth circle spell, so she feels this is on the right track for her long term goals.

It is a little over a year after settling in before some dumbasses with torches attempt to burn the druid embassy in Westcrown down. She doesn't bother learning why, she knows the excuses they babble are after the fact justification for feelings they'd wanted to voice all along. Really, the only surprise is that it took this long for someone to try it. She sends a bird with a message to the Queen about people being idiots (Westcrown was surprisingly willing to install a bell easily pulled by messenger birds or flying familiars, for some reason), centers a great Entangle on her house, and flies languid circuits above the crowd, dumping a powerful druid's dozen gallons of Create Water on their heads from well out of rock range. The nearby houses fare worse than her tree does, because a living tree is actually much less flammable than wooden houses held together with straw and tar and a smattering of nails. Voshrelka makes a point of putting those out, too, which keeps the whole affair from spiraling out of control.

The city watch shows up, shoos and arrests the dumbasses, and Voshrelka is free to return to her comparably steady sleep schedule. The next day, she politely (for her) acquires the land the burned houses sit on, paying for it with woodshaped paper and Goodberries and an additional set of stops on her Plant Growth circuit, and then rips all of them down to their foundations with a very showy and rather pointed series of Explosions of Rot. To those paying attention: ahem. Druid. Wooden buildings. Wood rotting to compostables cannot be solved with a bucket of water like one can with fire. Do not piss off druids, for your own damn good.

This done, she promptly turns the cleared and composted space into a glade and garden, with various nut and fruit trees and berry bushes. She is clear to her neighbors that anyone at all is allowed to take what they need to survive, and located in the slums of Westcrown, this is not a gift that the poor and downtrodden are likely to turn down for very long. Not for an elf, anyway.

The next time someone shows up with torches to burn her tree down, there's a counter mob of peasants throwing rocks back, screaming at them not to touch their favorite peach trees, do you know how hard it is to get fresh peaches in winter here?

Voshrelka allows herself a smile, at this. She thinks she's learning how to adjust to this new chapter in her life rather quickly. It is, at the very least, less miserable than life under Hell's regime.