Storm Reapers

You know that feeling when you walk into a room and suddenly every conversation stops?  When I walked into the Storm Reapers' farmhouse looking for Master Druid Rootenpaw, it was like someone had thrown a sheet over a birdcage.

Everyone there looked at me as though they knew exactly who I was and had Opinions about it.  Which is strange, as up until today I had never set foot on that farm other than to pick up one or two jumjum deliveries for the tavern.  I've got a sneaking suspicion that whatever they're thinking, it's about my father, and not about me.  I've never even met the man, so I didn't let it bother me and just did what I'd set out to do, which was to sign myself up for training.

The thing about druid training is that it's not a thing you do at a farmhouse, or even at a library or a school.  They'll point you at some spell scrolls, sure, but after that it's all about going out into the wilds and putting those spells to practical use.  And that's exactly what appeals to me about the whole thing.

I'm nowhere near ready to travel east to Nektulos Forest - not when so many Storm Reapers are getting cut down by the dark elves there - nor am I ready to head west into the plains of Karana (despite the auspicious name) because there is a whole tribe of goblins between here and there, plus worse things in the Gorge, I hear.  But even heading out into beautiful Misty Thicket just outside town made me feel more alive than I've felt my whole life.

What's more, tonight I was able to collect enough spiderling silks and rat eyes and all manner of things that are useful enough to the merchants in town that I earned myself two days' worth of tavern tips in one evening of hunting.

I think tomorrow I might have to give Mr. Deeppockets and Mr. Deeppockets some bad news about my future at the Fool's Gold.