The Tarin were not born of necessity, but of pressure.
As arcane factions rose across the world, wizards gathered into structured orders—sharing knowledge, resources, and influence. Those who remained outside these institutions were slowly pushed to the margins. Independent practitioners, once respected, found themselves isolated and increasingly irrelevant.
Druids, by their nature, endured this longest. Bound to their groves, their traditions were local, personal, and scattered. But even they could not ignore what organization provided: stability, protection, and a voice in a changing world.
So the circles adapted.
The great druidic enclaves—most notably those of the Moonglade Forest and the Daelen Wood—did not rebuild themselves. They simply declared themselves a faction. A name, a symbol, and an open invitation: any who followed the old ways could stand among them.
Unlike the arcane schools, they did not recruit. They did not demand allegiance. Membership in the Tarin was, and remains, a choice.
Druids of the deep woods. Desert shamans. Wandering barbarians who listened to the earth instead of books. All were welcome—if they could prove the bond.
The First Turning
In the west, this decision changed everything.
When settlers first arrived on the edges of the Moonglade, cutting into the forest to found what would become Brolin, the response was immediate and brutal. The land does not yield gently, and the druids who guarded it nearly erased the intrusion entirely.
But this time, they were not isolated wardens of the wild.
They were Tarin.
Recognized as a faction among others, they were forced into diplomacy rather than annihilation. What followed was not peace—but agreement. The Moonglade granted land. In return, Brolin offered trade, supplies, and something the druids had never possessed: reliable passage across the sea, linking them to distant circles and distant knowledge.
A balance was struck. The Tarin would protect Brolin from the dangers of the wild. And in turn, they would ensure the wild did not consume it.
The Waning
Now, that balance begins to falter. Across both east and west, the call of the earth has grown quiet. Fewer hear it. Fewer answer. Those who do come forward lack the depth of connection the old circles once took for granted. The Tarin do not forbid entry. But the land itself seems to.
A Flicker of Hope
There are exceptions. Faelyn Cloudshaper is one such rarity. A halfling by birth, she should have been an unlikely candidate. Instead, she has proven to be one of the most gifted wild-shapers in generations. Her connection to the natural world is instinctive, effortless—felt not only in form, but in spirit. Beasts answer her. The forest listens. Even the ancient forces of the coast have taken notice. A bronze dragon, long a silent guardian of the western shores, has acknowledged her—an act not seen in living memory. At a time when fewer can hear the call of the earth, her emergence stands in quiet defiance of the trend. Whether she represents renewal, or merely exception, is not yet clear.
“Nature’s reclamation of civilization” rev. 4, 788 by Stillwell Inkblazer