What Little Remains Of Terpsichore Ironheart

"One last try," Dad said, stepping back, a clay pot in his hands holding the last dregs of the ritual paint he'd mixed up. "It's a longshot, but... It's worth a try."

I nodded solemnly, although... I was rather more pessimistic about my chances than he was. We'd tried this before, and it had never worked. It wasn't a case of me saying, at the young age of 18, that if it hadn't happened yet then it never would- that was preposterous nonsense, given just how fucking long elves lived- but rather, a case of me saying that if the last five attempts over as many years didn't work... well, then this one probably wasn't gonna work either.

If it did work, if I really did manage to commune with The Living Earth and attune myself to the rhythms of nature, then I'd have a brand new ace up my sleeve: the primal magics of the druid. Even if I wasn't a very good druid, and I would absolutely suck at druidcraft with only a day or two in the woods with my dad to learn it in the few spare moments where I wasn't drilling my riding and shooting and swordplay, a greenhorn druid would still be capable of some tricks that neither a wizard nor occultist could properly match.

And if this didn't work... well, I was already more-or-less out of magicka for today, and in fact really appreciated having the chance to rest my sore and weary muscles. I might as well use this time to try communing with nature instead of just napping.

So, I just... sat there. Listening to the chirping of crickets, the soft beating of a songbird's wings... The sounds of nature.

Well. Something approximating nature. The forests around Redwater were well-traveled and well-maintained by the local Ranger's Guild, and this stretch of it where we'd made our camp was hardly wild. It wasn't our house made of bricks and steel, though, so... hey, maybe that was close enough.

I frowned. It wasn't that I didn't understand the Path of the Druid, what with being raised by Napoleon Ironheart and growing up with Antiope and Talia Jones. The Living Earth was a metaphor; you attuned yourself with the many distinct yet interconnected magical forces that flowed through the natural world, where men did not make their homes. Once you were in tune with those forces, once you were enmeshed in the natural world, you could act upon those forces, gently nudging them to produce great magical effects.

And yet, I couldn't do that. It was strange, was it not? I was perfectly capable of teaching myself the occult magic of story and song simply because I thought it a worthwhile path of inquiry, and yet here I was, with a fucking master of primal magic trying to teach me, and I couldn't do it.

It was almost as though I didn't understand the Path of the Druid, and was fundamentally wrong about it.

I was starting to understand, now- while it was the case that a Druid was not a Cleric, and The Living Earth was not a Divinity, there still remained some similarities. A Druid needed sincerity- a genuine, good-faith desire to understand the dynamics of nature, to live alongside nature, and to compromise with nature when conflict arose. Druidcraft wasn't a field of study, a vocational skill you could just learn with a few hours of study a week. It was a sacred calling, every bit as holy and life-defining as the divine.

And that left me in an awkward spot. Druidcraft was a useful tool, and I'd like to be able to wield it, but I can't, because I'm just fundamentally not that kind of person. I'm not a naturalist. I'm not an herbalist, a huntsman- hell, I don't even like camping. I'm a city slicker. Worse than that, I'm a machinist. I built a steel horse with a beating heart of iron, and can't imagine why the spirits of the natural world might take offense to that.

It was... This was all pointless. Why the hell was Napoleon bothering here, anyhow? Is he just in denial about how little of a shit I actually give about hugging trees and touching grass? Is he hoping that I'll spontaneously develop a desire to go fishing with him? Or have I somehow managed to arrive at a different misunderstanding about how druidcraft works?

"...I'm not learning anything here that I didn't already know," I said, sighing after a good few minutes of trying and failing to commune with nature. "I just... I don't think I have it in me."

"That's..." Dad sighed, shaking his head. "...I expected that, honestly. But... I had to try."

"I'm just... not any kind of nature-lover," I admitted. "I'm a city boy, I'm a machinist, I'm a wizard, and the dwarves all call me Shathur, which means something like 'tall dwarf' in their language. I keep approaching druidcraft like a skill to be studied, rather than a relationship to be built, and when I do think of it as a relationship to be built..." I shrugged. "...well. Hard to build a relationship with something you don't really like, isn't it? Incidentally, I think Talia might have a thing for Faith, and I'd rather Faith not stick around like that. You got any advice for that?"

"...Well, you could tell Talia that you don't like Faith and don't want her around," Dad said, a bit nonplussed by the sudden tangent. "Just because we're elves doesn't mean you have to accept everyone into your bed that Talia brings before you."

"Fair enough," I said, before pushing myself up off the forest floor. "Right. Well... I have another idea. Don't suppose we have any candles, do we?"

---

The Living Gods of the Hikaano Pantheon were hardly the only divinities around. The High Elves have followed our own gods since time immemorial, and even after the War Of The Roses, with their worship outlawed, the faith was still carried on, just... in private.

"I give my thanks to The Father," I recited, kneeling before a trio of lit candles, all set into a carefully-carved wooden block with copper filigree. "He has taught us of the world as it is; of the constant passage of Time, of the inevitability and necessity of Death, and of the loving kindness of Fatherhood. May we meet in truth when my time comes; I hope to make you proud.

"I give my thanks to The Mother," I continued. "She has taught us of the world as it should be; of Freedom for all peoples from oppression and control, of Justice to set right that which has been made wrong, and of War to enforce Justice when all else has failed. May you protect me from those who would collar and bind me, may you give me the moral clarity to avoid collaring and binding others, and may you give me strength to protect others from oppression."

A gentle breeze picked up, ruffling the candle flames, but not quite putting them out. In a forest, though, there wasn't really a way for a breeze to be felt at this level. That was divine intervention, just as surely as the rumble of thunder overhead had been when I blasphemed Hano. The breeze went away, but I was certain they were still listening.

"Mother, I beg of you," I whispered, moving past the standard prayers. "I am on a quest to make things right, to return to my family the funerary effigy of my father's hearth-mother, and to thwart whatever evil is being plotted by the King of Thieves. Please, Mother, I need your help- lend me your strength, so that I may see justice be done."

The breeze picked up again, but this time... I could hear the faintest impression of words within the breeze, if I truly focused.

"I hear you, child," a gruff voice whispered in my ear. "You've come to me, hat in hand, asking for help. I'm not unsympathetic; that statue does rightfully belong to your family, and the King of Thieves really is cookin' up somethin' rotten. But, kiddo... you're wrong."

"...About what?" I all but demanded, before catching myself and trying to reel it back in.

"You don't need my help," The Mother whispered to me. "You're stronger than you think. You can do this on your own, I promise. You don't need to go cutting deals with some celestial busybody to bring Justice into this world."

"I- but-" I blinked, struggling to process that. "Look, I want to work with you! I want to become a force for Justice in the world, to right wrongs and make life better for everyone I come across! All I need from you is a little help, and I can do so much more!"

"You're doing enough."

And with that, The Mother dismissed me, the breeze finally blowing out the candles.

I sat there, still and silent, for long moments, turning over what had just happened. A lifetime of prayer, every night before bed, and this was when I finally got my answer from The Mother. Where she said she didn't want me as one of her Clerics.

"The gods," I said, at long last, and a bit more loudly than was strictly necessary, "can fuck themselves."

"Tried to pray to The Mother for strength, I take it?" my actual mother said, stepping into the clearing. "And then she told you that you already had plenty?"

"Has she done that to you as well?"

"She has. And it was the most infuriating thing I'd ever heard, for all that it's supposed to be encouraging." Mom sighed, coming to a stop beside me, and squatting down to my level. "But kiddo? You're a fucking wizard. You can throw fireballs and lightning bolts just by thinking about it hard enough. The gods wanna tell you that you don't need 'em? Fine, fuck 'em. You'll prove 'em right, and lay low everyone who stands in your way. Not because you've got the blessing of some fragmentary personality wrapped around an abstract idea and a fuckload of power, but because you have power all of your own."

"Sure, but... Is it going to be enough to overcome the King of Thieves?" I asked.

"You look me in the eyes and tell me that you, someone who can snap bowstrings and burst blood vessels with your will alone, have anything to fear from a glorified pickpocket who has to go running to daddy every time he wants some magic done."

I grunted wordlessly. "I... I mean, I get it, I'm just..." I sighed. "...We'll see if you're right, once the dust settles. I sure hope you are right."

"Hope is nice to have," Mom said, before standing up. "Preparation is nicer. That's what I'm here for."