Nalai was forced to recruit some help before she could head south again so soon, unless she wanted to waste time making more extensive preparations.

She had worked hard over the winter, pulling double shifts whenever she could–and the pay-off was being able to return to Doc Forrest at once now that the need arose. But Nalai had entirely different goals in mind for the trip this time, rather than hunting some wolves to save the handful of individuals she'd decided that change was in the air, and the Cloven would be too slow to react, and fail to take advantage as per usual, unless individuals took things into their own hands.

This time around she went to connect, and look for ways to support Dormata in their defence of Doc Forrest; even if they were likely to turn out unwilling and perhaps–in some cases–downright hostile.

Still, without preparations you needed levels. Nalai had her man for the job in mind already, and it was someone who she’d had to avoid for years once upon a time, when her partner grew paranoid, despite the only threat being a deeply rooted and enduring friendship.

She did not pick him for their personal history though, but rather for his Class. He was a [Furrier]. And that was bound to prove useful, as no other service the Cloven provided was valued so highly outside their realms.

When she arrived at Falfar's house Nalai did not bother with announcing herself, but simply stepped through his door and continued the conversation as if they’d just been talking the last time this morning, and not going on two years ago. “Falfar, you oaf, we need to head out for a couple of weeks, are you available?”

If he was or not, that was not to answer whether he was going, but simply to pray tell of how large a hassle it was going to be.

“I am not, Leafmuncher. And why weeks? Where are we headed for such a time, I will lose a lot of income. I will not stand for it if you drag me along to carve up yetibolgs again. I am not going to the mountains, not for anything less than a herd of pegasii. You haven't found pegasii, have you?”

“We’re going to the Human lands,”

“I am not. And again, why for weeks?”

Nalai looked at him closer, trying to judge how far she could push him without having to pay for it. He was a moose-like Cloven, although he was born here in Wapiti, and even more notable, he was white as a ghost. He was born with leucism.

Just like Nalai he had always been a talented crafter, but to his own annoyance he’d been given several Skills to go do his work out in the field–which ensured several customers started hassling him to join their hunts, something he abhorred in his increasing age.

Nowadays he steadfastly refused, unless they could guarantee progress towards his next level as a result; with a heavy fine should they drag him out there and fail to deliver. With his steady but naturally slowing progress in both reputation and levels, such chances were rare indeed. Some said failing was just as expensive as if you’d commissioned something truly special from him, as a result nobody had dared it for years, so the amount may well have kept increasing with noone to stand witness.

Another thing Falfar refused was working any hide of a creature that was born with mutated white skin; excepting only creatures whose entire populations naturally remained that way. A favourite being snow foxenlings, who had some of the most beautiful hides known to Cloven, and which what the talented [Furrier] was wearing at the moment.

Nalai decided she would push him hard; too much was at stake to risk delay. “We go on a mission of peace, straight to the capital, we will build relations, and you will establish a store, you can return here afterward and finish whatever projects you need, before moving there for at least a year, and then we shall reassess our chances. I will provide housing and security aplenty, so no objections on that account please. Agreed Falfar?” She ended her pitch with a steady look.

The snow-white Cloven looked deeply into Nalai’s expecting browns.

Falfar was a true craftsman. One of the best. He was above level 50, and he did not value many things highly. He was often rude, considered impossible to befriend by his clientel. Whimsical, and he had some very deep-rooted issues with authority.

But if you were his friend already; then he’d do anything for you. Provided it was important. This was clearly important, Nalai knew what moving to such a low affinity region would do to a crafter, he’d be bleeding scrips from day one.

That she would ask such a thing was not just an outrageous request, it was an equally outrageous prediction of the future.

“I have no business of importance, they can find me in Dormata if they want their wares. Hire us a sampalga and let us go, I can gather the vitals in an hour and send for the rest,”

There was no need to ask if the [Druid] was packed.

The Human’s city stank of harmful concentrates and pigments, as per usual.

Nalai was accustomed to keeping a stoic face to preserve her druidic dignity. But she was not even bothering now, with nothing but Humans about. Only Falfar did not seem to mind; but he was used to working with tanners, the sole reason.

It had taken them a week, despite the sampalga, who was a huge and long but friendly, almost salamander-shaped type of weasel, that was so good for travelling over long distances that you could stack it with luggage without losing much speed.

Not that they had any strictly necessary need to, only Falfar had brought plenty of belongings to aid in his assigned task, but Nalai was also accustomed to travelling light. And now they were heading toward one of her family's ancient holdings after all.

The beast of burden had rushed them across the plains, not even bothering with a road since nothing in the terrain was large enough to prove an obstacle. The critter was a Cloven staple, used to resolve logistical issues all over the realms, but it had originally been a predator. One of the few the Cloven had found a use for.

The solution was how the beast had but one dietary option that was vegetarian, an odd one that the Cloven had been considering excluding from their realms before this issue with the sampalga was brought up, and for obvious reasons: It was a tree that grew a large nut which tasted distinctly of blood, from the platelet tree.

The sampalga loved it, and the Cloven were able to grow the substance more and more effectively over time, eventually causing the creatures to abandon meats altogether as the breeding program narrowed in focus. In the current era they barely remained roaming the wilds, but even the few cases who remained untamed were far likelier to raid a platelet tree for these nuts than engage in any hunting–they’d only indulge in more savoury fare at about the frequency of a chicken.

The mounts had bright red fur and white circles on their bellies, and the Cloven had found them trustworthy companions for the road, with time. A true success story in the eyes of many Cloven.

Nowadays even some Cloven appreciated the taste of the strange nuts, although it remained mostly as a tourist trap at diplomatic functions; placed on a table along with plenty of other, more innocuous nuts and legumes, ready to spring its surprise-taste on unsuspecting consumers. It was not a hint or tinge of blood, not after decades of cultivation. It reeked of blood, once you had it in your mouth.

It was considered good fun, and of course the Cloven kept up the act that it was perfectly normal fare. They were far too often underestimated as not being bloodthirsty, or vicious enough until they reminded their adversaries, so an opportunity to provoke an understanding that hidden danger lurked, that could not go remiss… Of course it did sometimes backfire when the particular guest grew instantly enamoured with the nut, and insisted on ordering a cart full to take home by the end of the evening.

But even that could be used to lord it over their rival's representatives. Of course the Cloven, snickering behind their furry palms all the while–it was essentially still animal feed, after all.

When they arrived past the long streets at the Dormata main square it was a welcome sight to finally see more than the occasional five old, and tired trees in a park; her family’s proud house stood perfectly intact, as Nalai knew it would. As it had for thousands of years.

Their sampalga ran right at the wall Nalai indicated–showing no hesitation–the thickly grown trumpet vine walls separated at their approach to reveal the hidden door leading to the stables which were connected directly to the city’s main plaza.

Finally home.

The two Cloven spent their first days restoring the estate–yes, days and not hours–since it was not a small building at all. And though it was formed like a giant chestnut on the outside, which might put you in mind of finding a great big hall; inside you rather found yourself stalking through endless circular hallways and rooms with rounded walls that had merely been hollowed out rather than put in place.

In total it had about 45 rooms, and many of them had little flowers sprouting in the corners straight from the dead bark. But when Nalai and Falfar entered they had ignored most of the side rooms and simply headed straight for the hall at the heart, to awaken the house spirit and speak to it.

The house spirit was of a species of ancient creatures which Cloven ancestors had once held to a long-standing pact with, they called them Mielikki; but when Humans first learned of them, they had dubbed them Dryads, although these ones had no way of walking about freely.

Nalai preferred the Human term.

They were spirits who bonded with especially great trees, and while they did have Humanoid faces that could press out from the bark wherever, and were even able to extend an arm out to defend themselves; in actuality they were bonded to the tree and could only travel about it freely; but never leave it.

Nalai walked with Falfar along the corridors, right up the main hall past the high seat, and then proceeded to press her staff to the Heart of the Cloven fortress, which was hidden behind further enchanted vinery. Immediately a pair of eyes opened up, and a mouth amidst the bark widened to yawn. “It is you, I lack surprise,”

Nalai tried her best, since it was in front of Falfar. “Greetings honoured one, may I have the yearly report?”

Not all Dryads bonded to living trees, in fact they had a Spirituality of their own. One of the holiest positions in Dryad society was being bonded to a truly glorious, but dead tree, like the one they were in right now. Such structures held enough dormant energy to sustain one of their kind; but they never grew dependent on it in the same way to sustain life; as such they could never die as the living trees did, usually after hundreds or thousands of years.

Instead these honored ones lived forever.

“Pfft. Impudent. I report per decade. So long as no yellow alarm has raised, suffice to say.”

Obstinate, that’s what they were. But they also had a short fuse, and so Nalai was determined to at least not lose her temper first. “Nevertheless, what have you seen?”

It might have disturbed the Humans living in the downtown area of Dormata to learn that a tree spirit was always watching and learning of their lives–but they need not worry. Dryads mostly found them all incredibly dull.

They had lived for thousands of years, right in this spot after all, and if you asked it outright… Humans used to be a lot more fun.

“Nothing special, not for fifteen years now. Not since they roused to fight the Mantis in that tiny little war of theirs. Many did not return then.” The mouth in the mark twisted in a creepy smile.

It wasn’t that the spirit had anything in particular against Humans: It had liked the company of quite a few in its time. It would be equally glad to see Cloven blood spilled on its grounds, so long as it was not blood belonging to the Dormata family, to which it held a deep-rooted sense of loyalty.

It was mostly just bored, and sharing perspective through consumption with a little bit of soul magic, this was among the best passtimes that ever existed. It was why the Sects acted like such addicts around their bordello companions... The Dryad still found the best kind of intoxication to be from blood that had intense amounts of adrenaline coursing through it. Never was it happier than when honest battle was being conducted in its halls; even just sparring was a treat for it, so long as the intensity was enough that some blood was spilled; but when its halls stood abandoned for too long, it settled for extending its roots to hibernate and dream of bloodshed far away.

And this was what Nalai had to negotiate with just to have access to the full functioning of her own home. “Go on now, spill. Do you know any of the local leaders, someone who might be interested in coming to visit for a discussion?”

If anybody in charge had shown themselves to be interested in her fortress, then she would certainly have been watching and cast enough espionage Spells to have been made aware of their every notable deed.

The transformation back to mobile state was instantenous. The Dryad had only really ‘woken up’ earlier because it loved theatre, and it was tradition at this point.

“Interest, here? Hah. Not unless you want the names of these new artists who are making a return after so many centuries," She chuckled. "Although they only tried making paintings on us a couple dozen times, before giving up when I repeatedly put the pigments on the inside as soon as they'd gone. Now I keep their works where only I can enjoy them,” It gave a disconcerting giggle at that.

Okay, that I need to check on later. What were they painting? political messages about the Cloven, or why else target us here?

“Appreciated, but no need for the names in that case, but we require a restoration of things in here, adjustments to be more suitable for visitors; you’ve been putting people off for too long.”

It grumbled over the unncesseary, clearly temporary change. But there was not much else to do, and so that’s what they ended up keeping busy with those first few days in Dormata. All the flowers and other strange plant life that grew in the dead bark, in their select spots where the Dryad allowed it, it had a sort of sheltered ecosystem going on. This all needed to be switched out very deliberately and meticulously.

For decades the building had stood abandoned, and so the spirit had done as it wished, growing plants that would spread annoying pollens, sting people and overall just deliver bad vibes to anybody who got close, in the very heavily trafficked square; all in the hopes of enticing an attack, or at least a strike to which it could respond with a sudden thorn and get some tasty droplets from.

Now Nalai wanted beauty and fragrances, and even softness to touch. Even if it would take time for people to find the building approachable again.

All the flowers were switched out and moved, by the power of [Druid] and spirit both, to be brought up to the roof, or other even more hidden spots.

All in all not a single plant was killed; but over the course of two days the whole building's every little detail was switched out like… Well, like floral magic.

Falfar was looking impressed at the display of so spontaneously materialising so many such rare flowers, often ones that should not even grow in these lands, but Nalai explained how the Dryad kept dormant seeds, sometimes millenia old, all stored in its vast body.

Then–with their reception room done being primed–it was time to take on the capital of the Humans.

It was time for Nalai’Dormata to take on Dormata.

The first couple of days went to crusty, off soil.

The grounds for friendship were barren and dry. Basically mudcracks. True to expectation they would need to water it aplenty before anything would grow.

With the advantage of hindsight it was probably a good thing the mission she’d proposed to here had been shot down; they were not ready to receive many high level Cloven. Hel, they barely tolerated two. It was clear their absence in the war against the Hives was still remembered.

At least they had come prepared to trade and establish a personal reputation; and nobody was about to turn down Cloven goods, so Nalai remained hopeful that things would turn around, with enough time and work.

And Falfar was keeping his mood up as usual, mostly by staying slightly sloshed at all times. Never met a moose who wasn’t borderline alcoholic, even by other Cloven’s standards, hah.

The influential families had apparently been moving to estates outside the city lately, and when meeting with their representatives they had made it clear how Cloven were not welcome to visit there, or even approach their private lands.

Nor had the leaders of any craft [Guild]s–or larger militia unit, or adventuring [Guild]–even deigned to respond when the Cloven pair made contact through their subordinates.

But all it would take was time, and effort. Relations had been frosty before; but they always bounced back between Humans and Cloven eventually, else they would have wiped each other out long ago, what with being such close neighbours.

So long as the [Merchant]s gladly accepted their goods, hope remained strong. Especially while relations remained open enough that the exchange rate from their rarer wooden scrips to these silver coins stayed at such a favourable rate.

Which was probably what inspired Falfar’s next proposal to dig into that section of society a little deeper. “How about we go to this week's auctions?”