Zenthya Alana Silvie
Druid, Adventurer, Forest Guardian
Zenthya is a 113 year old elf, young for her kind. She has hair the color of burnt copper and eyes the color of the sun. Despite all of the hours she spends out in the sun, her skin retains its pearly white color. She is tall for an elf at 5 foot 9 inches, and she’s quite muscular from all of her time spent climbing and running through the forest. Her hair is long, reaching the top of her thighs easily. She keeps it tied back in a long braid that she has a tendency to twist into a bun. It helps her with speed and helps her run through the forest without hindrance. Some days she thinks about cutting it off, perhaps shaving her head. But he had always loved her hair.
Zenthya does not wear make-up of any sort, not that she needs it. At 113 she is still young and her skin is pristine. The only damage to her skin is a thin, jagged scar running across her left eye. She is self-conscious about it and tries to hide it with her hair. She has had the scar all of her life and is not sure where it may have come from. It crosses from her temple to the bottom of her nose. She also has a blue tinted tattoo on her right shoulder. It has a swirling design that spans her shoulder and about half of her back before it crosses over her torso. She has eyes that are slightly slanted at the edges and a nose that points up slightly. Her ears are pointed like most even ears, except hers curl backward instead of forward.
Class & Level: Druid, Circle of the Moon, Level 8
Race: Wood Elf
Strength: 12 (+ 1)
Dexterity: 15 (+ 2)
Constitution: 13 (+ 1)
Intelligence: 10 (+ 0)
Wisdom: 16 (+ 3)
Charisma: 15 (+ 2)
Armor Class: 14
Speed: 30 feet
Proficiency Bonus: +3
Max Hit Points: 58
Hit Dice: 8d8
Animal Handling (Wis): +4
Intimidation (Cha): +4
Medicine (Wis): +4
Nature (Int): +2
Sleight of Hand (Dex):
Stealth (Dex): +4
Survival (Wis): +2
ATTACKS AND SPELLCASTING
Attack: + 2
Spells: 3 Cantrips, All Druid Spells Available up to 4th level
– 4 first level spell slots, 3 second level spell slots, 3 third level spell slots, and 2 fourth level spell slot
Spell DC: 14 (8 + 3 + Wis Mod)
Spell Attack: + 6 (3 + Wis Mod)
Spider Staff ( Attunement )- +1hit, 1d6 bludgeoning, 1d6 poison damage
Staff of Defense ( Attunement )- 10 charges, +1 AC
Longbow- +2 hit, 1d8 piercing damage
Shortbow- +2 hit, 1d6 piercing damage, 80ft range
Health Pack- 2 Free saves from death (originally 5)
FEATURES AND TRAITS
Trackless Step- leave no trail in natural surroundings (woods) can choose to leave trail.
Fey Ancestry- immune to sleep, Advantage against being charmed
Darkvison: up to 60ft see as if it was low light
Woodland Strike- move through under growth without damage unless it is magical
Beast Shape- Lasts 4 hours each time can change 2 times a day per short rest
Primal Strike- when in beast shape attack is considered magical weapon
Magic Initiative Feat-pick a spell casting class and choose 2 cantrips from that class.
-Class chosen: Sorcerer class
-Cantrips chosen: Acid Splash, Ray of Frost
Common, Elven, Druidic, Goblin, Sylvan
Before Becoming an Adventurer
Zenthya grew up in a large temperate forest by the name of Feywood Forest. It spans around 114,000 square miles and is home to thousands of forest creatures. Zenthya herself lives in a tiny cabin near the center. The cabin is made of strong oak and is hundreds of years old. Zenthya lives alone, but before she lived alone she lived with an old woman by the name of Saria. As a child (she was 7 years old, an infant by elven standards), Zenthya was abandoned in the forest beneath a giant oak tree in full fall colors. She was found by Saria when the old woman (64 at the time) was scouting through the forest, keeping an eye on the creatures that lived there and the plants that were suffering from the fall chill. Saria found Zenthya sleeping beneath the oak tree, wrapped tightly in warm green and brown fabric. She rescued the child and began to raise her as her own. Saria had asked Zenthya If she knew where her parents were, but the most she could remember about them was a young woman with copper hair the color of her own and a man with hair black as midnight. She remembers the woman leaning over her and smiling before gently placing her fingers over Zenthya’s eyelids. The man was in the background, worried. Saria understands that Zenthya was left to her care, as are all of those who are left beneath the sacred oak tree. To this day Zenthya still does not know who they are or why she was left there.
Saria brought Zenthya up as any guardian would, and not knowing anything else about Zenthya other than her name and that she was a wood elf (Saria could tell she as an elf by her ears, although they were shaped in an odd manner compared to most. Zenthya’s wrappings designated her as a wood elf, since the colors favored by other elves were much more colorful in nature), Saria brought her up as a member of her own class, a Druid. She taught her about the forests and the animals, and about nature itself. She taught her about the ways to manipulate nature to her will and yet still treasure every aspect. She was taught how to heal and care for nature and nature’s creatures.
Above all else, Zenthya was taught how to love. Zenthya grew up forgetting that she was abandoned and remembering that she had a home with a woman that loved her. She was a curious and light-hearted child. She was kind to everyone she met and was more than happy to strike up a conversation (granted, not many passed through her forest). She was curious about everything and she loved to learn, so she learned all that she could from anything she could. She learned how to track down food by watching the wild cats. She learned how to climb trees by watching the raccoons. It wasn’t long before Zenthya grew a very well-rounded woman, but she was still not experienced in the world. She loved the forest and she loved Saria, but she wanted to go out and travel. She wanted to meet more people (Saria was pretty much her only source of companionship apart from the animals) and she wanted to learn more.
Saria argued with her, but Zenthya was headstrong and one day she stormed out. Saria could have tried to stop her, but she was old. She was also human, and it was more out of selfishness than anything else that had made her want Zenthya to stay. Zenthya was 24 years old, still a child by elven standards, but an adult by human ones and with Saria being 81 years old, she had no physical way to stop her. The least she could do was give her a blessing of hope and goodwill when she set out on her way. In her heart, Saria wanted to go with Zenthya so that she wouldn’t be on her own in a world where her kind were hardly tolerated by non-elves. Saria just didn’t want Zenthya to feel the pain of rejection so she cautioned Zenthya to at least hider her ears with her hair. Zenthya was angry at the suggestion, but something in her told her to listen to Saria.
Zenthya left, eager to find out about the world and all that it had to offer. The forest was extensive, but it wasn’t long before she found her way out and into the nearest town, Ironashe. It was a small town focused on woodwork and craftsmanship. Zenthya was apprehensive at finally being able to leave the forest. Sari had always kept her close and hardly ever brought her out of the forest if she could help it. Zenthya was excited to meet new people, but she was scared too. She had always been warned to be weary of strangers, told that they wouldn’t understand who she was. Zenthya had grown up as a free spirit with very few rules. Walking into a society where rules were everything and everyone had to act a certain way. She spent many weeks here learning the trades they had to offer, and was welcomed by the towns people. The moment Znethya walked into the town, she was greeted with hospitality. Zenthya had decided to keep her relationship with Saria a secret in hopes of starting out with a clean slate where no one knew her or the people she was associated with. Zenthya had been lucky when she entered the town, as there was a fall festival in full swing the day she arrived. This festival included a myriad of games, sweets, and dancing. It was overwhelming for her, but she quickly became accustomed to the rhythm and the crazy fast pace that was so different from the slow nature of the forest. Zenthya was spun around from person to person in a swirling dance that lifted her heart and spirit. She had felt guilt about leaving Saria, but this felt right.
Zenthya set off at the end of the night to look for lodging and ran into a woman by the name of Joann who offered her home to Zenthya in exchange for some all help around a tiny wood maker’s shop. Znethya agreed, excited to learn more about the world and more about how to make things. As a Druid, she knew how to take care of the forest and how to care for the animals that live in the woods, but she wasn’t ever taught how to take something and make it into something else. With Joann, she quickly learned more about how to work with her hands.
Znethya stayed in Ironashe for about thirty weeks, and while there – she made friends with dozens of people. She was soon known for her kindness and willingness to help out. She took out a semi-permanent job in the wood shop. She would work there every morning, learning how to create and how to interact with people. She had been taught by Saria that her hands could help cure people, but she never knew what else they could do.
On her afternoons off, Zenthya would split her time between the different shops in Ironashe, helping out and learning different trades. She grew accustomed to the fast paced life of the “city” and she grew to love it. At one point, she wasn’t sure how she could have been comfortable with the calm nature of the forest. That said, she still missed that life from time to time. She missed the animals and she missed Saria. She missed Saria’s kind nature and her eyes that would soften whenever she saw Zenthya or a wild animal. Saria had a big heart, and it caused Zenthya pain whenever she thought about the hurt she caused…but this was something she needed to do. She needed to do this for herself.
It was one morning when the snow was starting to come in that Znethya’s life changed. She was working at the wood shop when a young man stumbled through the door. He was shivering, cold. Icecicles were hanging from his hat and his nose was blotchy and red. The man had dark blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He was muscular, and looked as though he spent a great deal of time outside. Zenthya stopped her carving and immediately began to care for him, but he pushed her away, saying that he didn’t need the help – but it was his dire wolf who did. He mentioned how he had heard about her work with animals, and his wolf needed help. He was dying.
Zenthya went outside without bothering to put on a jacket and helped the man bring the wolf into the shop. He was sopping wet and shivering, but that wasn’t his main issue. The wolf was indeed dying. He was bleeding from a large gash in his flank and another on his chest. The man had tried to wrap bandages around the wounds, but the wrappings were serving no true benefit.
Zenthya took her time and was able to save the wolf. She stitched up his wounds and then cauterized them. She was able to save his life, but it had exhausted her. She nearly fell asleep right there with the wolf, oblivious to the man that still waited beside them.
The man went by the name of Saenir. He was 27 years old and a half elf, but he was from the city. He didn’t have the same attributes as the druids or the wood elves. He was normally crass and quite rude, but when he saw Zenthya pass out next to his now stable pet, his heart began to warm a little. He took Znethya up to her room and tucked her into bed, but he waited in the shop for her to wake.
Zenthya woke and she began to learn more about the mysterious man. He wasn’t from Ironashe, but was from a city further out. Zenthya began to spend time with him more frequently as she cared for his dire wolf. They spend almost every afternoon together for a couple of weeks and it wasn’t long before she soon came to care for him in a way she hadn’t cared for anyone before. He made her laugh and he charmed her. He treated her like the princess he thought she was and made sure she never wanted for a thing while they were together.
The wood shop owner warned Znethya away from the man, saying that he couldn’t be trusted – but Zenthya didn’t listen. By the time the townspeople noticed her attraction to him, it was too late.
A few months passed with Saenir’s attention solely on Zenthya. Every day he would come to the shop and sweet-talk her, making her smile and blush at the smallest thing. He would cheer her up and keep her entertained. He would also occasionally place his hand upon hers or brush his fingertips against her arms. Zenthya was still young, and she didn’t realize what was going on. She just knew that she enjoyed spending time with him.
At some point, Saenir had to leave. He didn’t give any explanation other than he had outstayed his welcome and that he was needed back home. Znethya was heartbroken, but she understood. She only asked that he return to her at some point. He brushed her tears away, smiled, and left.
Zenthya hoped for Saenir to return, and she continued to ignore the warnings of the townspeople, but she didn’t let him become her sole focus. She returned to caring for the towns people and caring for the shops. She loved her job and she loved her world. Weeks passed and Zenthya eventually learned to enjoy her home and to enjoy her life without the sweet words of Saenir whispering in her ear.
Eventually though, he did come back – and he came bearing gifts. He brought her flowers and candies, things she had never even heard of before. He asked her to spend the day with him, and she agreed, heedless of Joann’s warning.
Saenir took Znethya out for a picnic and took her on a long walk through the hills of Ironashe. He even went so far as to take Zenthya back to the edge of her woods. Zenthya had been warned by Saria to keep her secrets hers, but she was so infatuated with Saenir that she told him more than she should have.
He convinced Znethya to have a picnic with him near the edge of the woods. They sat and talked for hours. The sun began to set and Zenthya knew that she needed to get back. Joann would be worried if she didn’t come home for dinner, but Saenir was able to convince Zenthya to stay with him for a night. They would sleep out underneath the stars. That way he could have one night with her before he had to leave.
Zenthya worried that Joann would be anxious when she didn’t come home, but again Saenir whispered sweet things into her ears and was able to calm her. The sun set and Zenthya was curled up next to Saenir for the night. He stroked her hair and told her to sleep. She dozed off to the slight lullaby-like humming coming from Seanir.
Some time in the middle of the night, Zenthya woke up and found that she couldn’t see. She started to freak out but then realized she couldn’t move her arms. It took her a couple of seconds to realize that she was both tied up and blindfolded. She struggled, but couldn’t get herself loose, so she started to scream. Someone gagged her and Zenthya struggled harder. Then she heard a whisper next to her ear and it sounded like Saenir. He told her to hush, and to lie still. Zenthya listened, but she was confused. She didn’t understand what Saenir was doing – whether it was a game or whether he meant her harm. Either way, she didn’t want to play.
Zenthya struggled some more, but Saenir tsk’d in her ear, stroking her face. He then placed his hand over her nose and mouth and waited for her to pass out.
Zenthya woke up hours later, sore all over, naked, and alone. Her arms were tied behind her back and she was still blindfolded. Zenthya tried to readjust herself, but spikes of pain shot down her arms. She gasped, trying to block out the pain. She was confused, and then she became angry, but she was too weak to do anything. She struggled for over an hour before she became too exhausted and passed out again.
When Zenthya woke back up an hour or so later, she was no longer alone. Nor was she cold. Her arms had been released and she was lying against something warm. Turning over, she found herself face to face with a large amur leopard. The leopard slowly opened its eyes and stared at Zenthya, making her flinch. It wasn’t the fact that it was a leopard in front of her that made Znethya flinch – it was its eyes. They were a pure, milky white. It should have been impossible for the leopard to see her, but the directness of the leopard’s gaze left no doubt.
Although Zenthya had plenty of experience with the forest animals, leopards were partially off limits. They didn’t want to be touched and they didn’t want to be found, very elusive in nature. To be inches away from one, to have its fur touching her skin, it scared Zenthya. She was already broken inside, she didn’t have the energy to fight back a big cat.
The big cat ignored Znethya’s flinch and continued to stare. Slowly, it closed its eyes and rose to its feet. Zenthya could he its feet padding along the ground as it circled her. She slowly raised her arm to cover her naked chest and began to curl herself into a ball. The leopard stopped near the back of her neck. Zenthya stiffened up as the leopard sniffed her neck. Zenthya could hear the sound of the leopard’s mouth opening, could hear the slight “squelching” sound as its jaws opened. Zenthya curled into a tighter ball, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t find the strength to.
Zenthya felt the slight indentations of the leopard’s teeth at the base of her neck and flinched again. She could feel the pressure as the leopard closed its maw. Znethya felt pressure, and then she felt pain. She tied to move away, but the leopard tightened its jaws before releasing her. It then touched her shoulder with its nose, causing a searing pain to shoot down Zenthya’s arm and across her back. Zenthya couldn’t help but scream. It felt like fire across her body. The pain was so great that she passed out.
Later she woke up, and she was numb all over. She couldn’t feel her arms or legs, but she could see and hear. And she heard a tiny mewling sound next to her body. It was a leopard cub, smaller than the palm of your hand. Zenthya knew something so small shouldn’t be able to survive, but there it was – alive and lying next to her naked body.
Zenthya struggled to move and eventually, she could. She carefully picked up the baby, headless of her naked and sore body. Her shoulder and back twinged with pain, but she ignored it. The cub stopped mewling as soon as it felt her hands. The cub was tiny, and a bit off colored for an amur. Its coat was golden honey with spots as black as night. That was normal enough, but the cub also had white blotches in the center of the spots, giving her an unusual coat pattern. Zenthya immediately fell in love, but she still wanted to find the mother.
Zenthya found her discarded clothes and dressed. Keeping the cub close to her chest, she searched for the mother leopard she had seen earlier. Part of her wondered if she was correct in remembering that the old feline was blind, but she wasn’t sure.
Zenthya searched for a day and a night, Saenir’s betrayal at the back of her mind for the moment. It wasn’t long before her body grew strong again, but she was still damaged, if not a little broken.
By the second day, when Senthya was unable to find the mother, she decided that she would keep the cub. She had begun to feed it goats milk from a neighbor near the forest, and the cub seemed to be doing fine. It was growing quickly, she could tell in the two days she had watched it, though its tiny eyes were still closed.
Zenthya decided to keep the young cub that seemed to grow attach to her, but she could not stay in Ironashe any longer. Joann must have been worried sick about her, but Zenthya couldn’t look her in the face, not after Saenir. So in the dead of night on the second day, Zenthya went back to the town, grabbed her things, and left without a word to Joann or the other towns people.
She took leather from a neighboring shop (leaving money for it of course) and created a type of sling for the tiny cub, layering the bottom of it with smooth sheep’s wool (also paid for). With the cub in the sling and the sling slung across her chest, Zenthya set off.
From there she went on to visit various towns and cities and became well versed in all sorts of trades. She met hundreds, if not thousands of different people and began to learn more about not only the people, but the places. She never stayed in one place for too long, for fear of running into Saenir (she never did find out where he was from) and for fear of making the same mistakes as before. She couldn’t get close to anyone again.
Zenthya had grown up to have a loving heart, but Saenir had crushed that in her. She now jumped whenever a man touched her arm or called to her to get her attention. Since Ironashe, she never used her real name again as she remembered that names gave people power, and she would not let anyone have power over her again.
Zenthya forced herself to become stronger and to learn more. Instead of looking at the world with the simple innocence of before, she looked through a fogged up piece of glass. Nothing was the same. She wasn’t the same. She could no longer trust those around her, and she would never be able to be as open as she was before. In each city, Zenthya would find somewhere to stay that gave her a sense of privacy. She attempted to be the person she was in Ironashe, but she was missing vital social skills. You could tell that her sparkle had been dulled. Still though, she learned.
As an elf, time passed too quickly for Zenthya. The little cub grew in leaps and bounds. Before the next month was up, the cub (whom she now had named Cyra, after the moon and stars in her coat) was able to run beside her and travel easily without help. It wasn’t long before she could hunt on her own and frequently brought back her kills for Zenthya so that she would not starve when she was in between towns. Zenthya was distant from most people, but she was as close as she could be to Cyra. Cyra was her heart, her soul. During the night, when Zenthya would sometimes toss and turn with nightmares, Cyra would curl up next to her and touch the tattoo on Zenthya’s arm, immediately calming her. Zenthya never did understand what the tattoo meant. It was blue in color and spanned across her shoulder and back. She vaguely remembered it turning up after the blind leopard had touched her, but what it meant – she couldn’t say.
Months passed, and Zenthya noticed her belly growing. She was terrified, not knowing what was happening to her. She began to starve herself, hoping to rid herself of the weight. It was a hindrance more than anything, slowing her down and making her weaker. She grew angry, slamming her hands into her stomach again and again. Nothing worked.
Ten months from the night Saenir had left her, Zenthya had a baby girl. She was perfect in every way, but her face…it was Saenir’s. Her hair was dark golden and eyes were a piercing blue. Even her nose…it was his. The only thing she had of Zenthya’s was the ears, though they weren’t as dramatic. Zenthya held the baby and cried over her, holding it tight to her chest. She was broken in the worst way, and she was too young to be a mother. It wasn’t her choice. It hadn’t been her choice.
Cyra came over quietly, smelling the baby. The child coo’d, giggling at the whiskers brushing against her rosy cheeks. “Hyril” She whispered, brushing her fingers across the child’s cheeks. It meant fiery spirit in elfish, and she could tell that this child would have just that. She was beautiful, and she was strong.
Zenthya’s vision was blurred, but she could see the child. She was quiet, her head of golden locks glistening on her head as her eyes fluttered shut and she shifted to get comfortable. Zenthya grabbed a stone from the grand, her mind suddenly gone blank. She didn’t see the child any longer, just his face. His eyes. His hair.
She raised the stone up above her head, and then swung it down. Before she could make contact though, Cyra growled, jumping at Znethya and opening her maw to encircle Zenthya’s throat, her teeth barely touching the skin, but she got her point across. The leopard glared at Zenthya, a growl forming in her throat.
The baby was safe though, held tight against Zenthya’s chest as she fell. And the leopard was careful to miss the babe. She started to squeeze Zenthya’s neck, but stopped just before she drew blood. The leopard cub, at nearly a year, was already close to being full sized, and her weight crushed into Zenthya, but eventually she did let go – once she was sure that Zenthya understood she should not move.
She backed up off of Zenthya, but took the baby in her mouth. It was wrapped tight within a blanket Zenthya had kept in her pack – it was the one that had been left with her as a child, when she had been abandoned within the woods. Cyra kept her teeth away from the baby’s skin and slowly backed away from Zenthya – carrying her away. Zenthya watched the leopard turn away and broke down once more, curling in on herself while she lay beneath the cover of trees, awaiting whatever fate she deserved.
Cyra eventually returned without the baby, and Zenthya never asked. She just nodded her head and together, they left.
Zenthya continued to travel for years, with Cyra by her side. She saw the seasons pass and she noticed things changing, but it hadn’t occurred to her just how much things were changing. Since she had grown up with Saria, she was not ever truly aware of her differences and why the people around her seemed to age while she stayed youthful. Cyra also never seemed to age past that of a young two year old leopard, or so it seemed.
Zenthya lost track of the days during her travels and before she had known what happened, fifteen years had passed. She was now 39 years old, but she didn’t notice the differences most humans would at her age. She slowly started to realize that the people around her were aging. She watched wrinkles appear on their faces and the back of their hands. She herself stayed young, and so did Crya. Neither had cause to change…and when the people around Zenthya began to change, she left – too weary of change to endure it much more than a year or more.
It wasn’t until she came across another old Druid woman by the name of Linca that she was reminded of her home and Saria. She immediately felt guilty about the lapse in her memory, but she was curious too. It was rare to see druids out of their forests, but this one had come to her. She didn’t say much, as was custom of the druid, but she handed Zenthya a letter written in Druidic. It was from Saria. The handwriting was shaky and light, but Zenthya understood. She wasn’t sure how the letter had found her in the first place, but it was from Saria’s heart, detailing everything she loved and adored about Zenthya and asking her to come home, if only for a short while.
It took Zenthya a year and a half to make it back home, and when she got there she found the cabin empty except for a box on Saria’s bed. In that box was a braided bracelet, woven through with horse mane and an eagle feather, and what looked to be human hair white as snow. Zenthya knew immediately that Saria was dead and that she had been too late. She was heartbroken, and vowed to stay and tend to Saria’s forest as she had done. It was the least she could do, and she felt that it would bring her closer to Saria.
Years passed and Zenthya continued to care for Saria’s home with Cyra by her side. She cared for the forest and all of the creatures in it, never taking more than her fair share. Cyra hunted day in and day out, but she mostly did it for fun. She never killed unless she was hungry, and for that Zenthya was grateful.
Before Zenthya had found out about Saria’s passing, there had been a tradition performed by the old druid every night at dusk. Saria would go to the old oak tree and wait. She would wait for an hour, and no more, for anything or anyone that might need her help. Saria was guardian of the forest, and as guardian, it was her job to care for the creatures in it as well as any that may need her help.
Zenthya had never had to go through the tradition herself, but she knew that with no one else to do it – it fell to her. And it was her responsibility, so night after night she went to the tree and she cared for those that came to her. They soon came to know her face, and although she never trusted any human that crossed her path, she was obligated by the oath of the forest to care for them, and so she did.
Twenty three years passed with Zenthya following the same routine day after day. Occasionally there would be little changes, but nothing so big as to make things different. Occasionally she would get a wounded animal, and from time to time she would get a person who needed her help. Word of the forest and its caregiver had been passed around for hundreds of years, long before Zenthya had ever made an appearance. For those that sought answers, she gave them wise advice. For those that were injured for some reason or another, she healed them. She took care of her forest, and the forest was grateful to her.
One day Zenthya made her way to the old oak, but something was different – off. She lowly whispered to Cyra, knowing that the cat would hear her and knowing that she would come regardless of what she was doing. Cyra was loyal, and special, just as Zenthya was and something told her to stop and pay attention. Zenthya knew better than to ignore her instincts.
She stopped just outside of the clearing that surrounded the old oak and listened carefully for any noise. She heard a crinkle of a leaf off to her right and she spun around, taking her staff and thrusting it into someone’s gut.
The man made an “oof” sound before crumbling to his knees. Zenthya raised her staff high above her head, ready to take another blow. Men could not be trusted…and as he was not under the old oak, it was her decision whether or not to let him live.
“What do you have to say for yourself, human.” Zenthya ground out the words. They felt like sawdust on her tongue, she spent so little time speaking.
The man looked at the ground, refusing to meet her gaze. His clothes were worn through in spots and he was caked in dirt and mud, and his shoulders shivered.
“Human, answer me.” Zenthya readied herself for a blow. The man was not her responsibility, and as far as she was concerned, he was endangering her forest and those within it.
Suddenly, the man looked up and lunged at Zenthya, distracting her. He threw his body weight into her and knocked her off balance. She fell backward with him landing on top. Normally, Zenthya would have protected herself, but his weight on her body – it felt all too familiar, and she froze. Her eyes glassed over and she couldn’t move. She felt her mind slip back into that dark place from before, all those years ago. With the man straddling her hips, Zenthya didn’t know what to do. She had fought and prepared herself for years to protect herself, and here she was – frozen in place.
The man tried to rise to his feet to get away, but he failed, collapsing back to his knees as soon as he rose.
It was at that point that Cyra made her appearance, barreling out of the trees and slamming into the man. Her teeth crunched down on his arm as she drug him sideways. He screamed, but Zenthya was still frozen in place. She didn’t feel his weight leave her and didn’t hear him scream. Her body began to shake.
Crya yanked her head to the side and the man screamed again before falling silent, unconscious. Crya dropped him and went over to Zenthya, lying beside her. The large cat that she was, she snuggled up beside Zenthya and touched her nose to Zenthya’s tattoo. Warmth flooded her body. Zenthya’s eyes slid shut and she drifted off to sleep with the man a few yards away.
She woke up an hour or so later and immediately jumped up. Crya watched her, but made no move to assist. The man, now bloodied as well as muddy, still lay unconscious. His arm was ripped, but it looked as though the blood had stopped.
Zenthya carefully walked over to the man and flipped him onto his back. The bite wounds from Cyra had been painful, but they would not have killed him. Of course, he didn’t know that.
Now that the man was on his back, she could see that he was actually quite young. He couldn’t be more than 20 years old. He was muscled, but weak. She pushed open the muddied vest he was wearing and reached into his pockets. They were empty, but when she checked the side opposite from where Crya had bit him, her hand came away bloodied. She was confused, but slowly began to pull up the man’s vest and shirt, weary of him waking. Touching him made her skin crawl.
On his side, Zenthya found deep jagged gashes, right below his rib cage. They had scabbed somewhat, but they also leaked a green fluid. It smelled as though it were infected, and that could explain the man’s wild behavior. He might have just been trying to get to her tree, for assistance.
Zenthya sighed, irritated with the man and with herself. Now she was obligated to help him, whether or not he deserved it. He was unconscious, and the more Zenthya looked at him, the more she could tell how pale he was. And his skin was feverish to the touch.
With Crya’s help, she was able to drag the man back to her home and into the guest bedroom where her patients usually stayed. There, she cared for him – washing his wounds and cleaning them as best she could. The man stayed unconscious for days though, fighting the fever. Though she cared for him, she did not underestimate him and was sure to tie his ankles to the bed posts, should he ever get any ideas, or wake when she was asleep.
The man woke up on the fifth day in Zenthya’s home, and as soon as he did, he launched himself at Zenthya again. This time though, he fell off of the side of the bed, his ankles twisting painfully as they tried to hold him still. He grunted and collapsed off the side, his breathing coming out in ragged breaths.
“Careful” she warned, thrusting her staff under his chin and pushing him back onto the bed. “You need to rest.”
He demanded that she let him go, and she said she would so long as he healed first, as it was her obligation to make sure that he could walk out of the forest on his own. The man was confused, but soon found out that Zenthya was the guardian of the forest, and that he had been looking for her all along. Of course, he thought she would be older. He had heard of the last guardian’s passing over 20 years ago. Zenthya would give him no information.
Zenthya healed the man, slowly. She quickly found how that his name was Rennyn and he was 21 years old. He had been ostracized from his home, a town by the name of Shaymoore, and forced to run. He was caught trying to steal some eggs from a farmer for food and gouged with a pitch fork (or so he said. Zenthya didn’t quite believe him).
He had run into the forest, hoping for safety and was reminded of the old oak tree and how if anyone needed help, that’s where they should go., to its guardian who was sworn to help them.
Zenthya nursed Rennyn back to health, and allowed him to stay with her in the cabin since he had nowhere to go, but she still didn’t trust him. She let Crya into the house and told Rennyn that if he wanted to stay alive, he would remain in plain sight at all times.
Zenthya took Saria’s old room and made sure to keep Rennyn in the guest room while her room was used for any patients that might come along.
It took Zenthya over a year to trust Rennyn enough to let him finally have a little freedom. He scared her, in a deep-seated fear kind of way, but she could tell that he was a sweet guy and that he meant her no harm. He was cautious of Zenthya’s rituals and habits, as well as her animal friends, but he grew to love them and eventually, he grew to love her.
For Zenthya, it took much longer for her to realize what her feelings were for Rennyn, but over the course of 7 years, they grew closer. Eventually, Zenthya allowed herself to trust again and they fell in love, although she never told him about Saenir. Never.
Rennyn asked Zenthya to marry him on a fall night under the moon and stars, and she agreed. They had a small wedding the next year, something that was tradition for the Druid. Two years passed and Zenthya was pregnant with a son. She gave birth under the sacred oak tree to a beautiful baby boy and gave him the name of Ithium (meaning strong). He was perfect. He had a nest of black curls upon his head and he inherited her ears just the slightest bit. The curved back gently at the tips, but not enough to be truly noticeable. For that she was grateful. And when he opened his eyes, they were the most beautiful enchanting green. She refused to think about the daughter she had lost all those years ago, but she did see little bits of her in his eyes. It made her sad, causing her to begin to cry. Rennyn just hugged her, unaware of the plight she was feeling. And his comfort helped ease her pain.
She had never told him of what had happened to her. She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the look on his face, couldn’t bear the thought of him thinking she was…less. This baby, their family. It was what she needed. They would grow, and as he grew – so would her heart. She could already feel the babe’s hands curling around her heart, latching in. She smiled, holding him close to her face, breathing in his scent. This…him…his father. They were hers.
Ithium grew into a strong young man, and by the time he was 16, he was just as good with nature as she was. She was proud of him and loved both him and his father dearly. When Ithium was fifteen, he ended up rescuing a tiny Eagle chick that had fallen from a nest. Although he knew better than to take the chick, as Zenthya told him over and over once he had brought it back, he was allowed to keep the chick so long as he realized he was in charge of its wellbeing and that caring for a life was sacred. Ithium named the chick Tonks and Tonks grew to be a solid companion – loyal and fierce.
Unfortunately, not all good things can last. It was on Ithium’s 16th birthday that everything changed. Rennyn had taken Ithium out to check out another part of the forest, one that was normally left alone by them, but an old friend of Rennyn’s had showed up and mentioned going to explore it and Ithium had begged to go.
Zenthya had met Rennyn’s friends a few times, but had never truly trusted the man. He was burly and strong, and claimed to have known Rennyn in the old days before he had been rescued. Something was off about him, but after years of him coming around, she gave up trying to find out what it was. She trusted Rennyn and that was enough. His name was Thawon (Means corrupt, rotten by the way). He was a few years older than Rennyn, and silver speckled his red beard. He was a heavy set man and played a simpleton, always being kind and courteous around Rennyn, but Zenthya couldn’t bring herself to trust him. She saw a twinkle in his eye that made her suspicious, one that hinted at his mischievous nature. But she chose to overlook it, for her husband. He had so few friends that would visit him out in the forest. She didn’t want to take that away from him.
Zenthya was reluctant to let Ithium go along with his father. Rennyn and Thawon sometimes came back brusied and bloodied form their little escapades of hunting through the forest, and she had a fierce protective instinct when it came to her son. She had so few family…
Zenthya eventually relented, but only if Ithium would take Tonks along with him. He happily agreed, running forward to hug her. She distinctly remembers the way he looked, the way his emerald eyes sparked and his still wild nest of curls bounced as he ran to Thawon. The older man affectionately ruffled the boys hair and laughed when Tonks glided over to land on his head.
Rennyn swept Zenthya up into a loving embraced and kissed her heartily, assuring her that they would all be back safe in a few days. He crossed his heart and then crossed hers, sealing his promise with a kiss to her shoulder where the tattoo showed. It was their tradition, their way of staying safe. She touched her tattoo and then brushed her fingers across his brow, a blessing.
It wasn’t until the next day that Zenthya received news about the other part of the forest, and it wasn’t from her husband and son. She had gone to the giant oak tree and found Tonks, bloody and almost dead. The poor bird had tried to make it to the cabin, but had failed. She immediately took care of the bird and got her stable before setting out to search for her boys. She found them late into the night with Cyra by her side.
At first, all she could see were shadows, but she could feel it. She could feel the pain and despair that covered this place. Zenthya fell to her knees, and could feel her heart literally tearing in two. She didn’t need to look any closer. She knew that the silhouettes she saw in the darkness, the only light coming from the moon, was of her husband and son. Both were tied to a tree, the ropes digging into their pasty white skin. She didn’t have to look any closer to know they were dead. She could feel it. She moaned, and then screamed. Her pain flowed over into Crya and the old cat roared, a desolate, angry sound.
What felt like hours later, but what couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, Zenthya drug herself to her feet with angry haste. She ran to her boys and tugged at the ropes, but her fingers just kept slipping. Her eyes began to blur, but in her anguish, she was able to get her fingers underneath the rope. She pulled and pulled, but it was no use. Not until Cyra came and yanked them apart with her teeth. The rope came loose, but the boys had been dead for so long. They were stiff. She touched her son first and almost died all over again. His skin was cold as ice and his eyes – they were wide open, staring at nothing. What had been beautiful green eyes sparkling with life only the day before were now dull imitations. She shook as she tried to lay him onto the ground. Both he and Rennyn had been stabbed through the chest and then had their necks slit. They led out, tied to the tree.
Rennyn’s old friend was nowhere to be found. Zenthya screamed again, furious. She was unsure as to whether he had caused this or had been kidnapped, but she was also very broken inside.
Zenthya curled up that night and lay between her two boys, her heart hurting. Crya watched her mistress with sad eyes, wishing that she could do something, but knowing she could not.
The next morning, Zenthya buried her son and husband. She buried them near the cabin, underneath a smaller oak tree. Their deaths would give the tree life. And that is what life in the forest is about – rebirth.
Zenthya left Cyra in charge of the cabin and searched for Thawon for a month afterwards, but came up with nothing. He was gone, disappeared. She came back to the cabin, defeated and broken. Her life was in tatters and once again, she was without family. Once again, she was alone.
It was that day that broke Zenthya and from then on out, she was forever changed. Twenty five years later…and Zenthya still will not trust a soul and she refuses socialize for fear of losing someone again. Rennyn had brought her back to herself after her terrible encounter with Saenir. He had made her believe in life again and had made her see the value of not just existing, but living.
All that was stolen from her.
Zenthya keeps locks of their hair twisted into a bracelet on her wrist with that of Saria’s. This bracelet gives her strength and she vows to keep the forest safe, and if there ever comes a chance for her to find out the truth, she will take it and get revenge, but for now – with Crya by her side, she will guard the forest with everything she has.
It was a year later that Zenthya heard of a man who was similar to Thawon. He was alive and he existed in a town on another continent, but he was alive. She took the opportunity presented to her then, to join a band of individuals on a job that would lead them closer to the town where whispers had mentioned the man who could be Thawon.
If nothing else, Zenthya would find out what really happened that day. She would find out, even if it killed her.
She left Tonks to guard the cabin and then she and Cyra were on their way.
Zen eventually made her way to Neverwinter in need of more coin to continue her search, she met her 2 new companions Cade Beckenshire and Klara Grayson and her new adventure began.