Seven druids stood in a darkened council room. Their hoods were thrown over their faces as they gathered around a round table. The area was eerily quiet, as if no one wished to discuss what was inevitable.
“We have all foreseen what will come to pass,” a man said in a grave tone. He seemed to be the leader of the group. “The Worldweaver will fail. Droga will obtain the Crystals of Harmony, and the portal to Edinmyre will shut forever, condemning our race to ruin. This fate isn’t to come for many years, but it will still come all the same.”
“There is another way.”
A young woman came forward. She threw her hood back, revealing a mess of blonde curls. “Milonna came to me in a vision. She told me the druids can stop this.”
“We have all heard Milonna’s teachings. It is impossible,” another druid protested.
“Not impossible, merely a death sentence for alldryca,” the woman said. “The end of us, but not the fae.”
“Explain this to us.” The leader seemed intrigued, yet weary. He didn’t believe there was a way around the future.
“We must provide the Worldweaver a way to contain Droga, once he has been set loose,” she stated simply.
“Impossible. The only one who can imprison Droga is his brother Tomir, the king of the gods, and he refuses to do so a second time. The fae need to prove themselves worthy,” the leader protested.
“We can do it with the proper methods. We have the wolven stone, as given to us by the gods to protect,” the woman said. “We can harness some of its power.”
“And if we do, it will kill us all,” the leader responded. “A Crystal of Harmony cannot be used by a mortal fae, even by all of us.”
“It’s a sacrifice we must make, for the continuation of our kind,” the woman said. “We forge an item that will be strong enough to defeat Droga— a silver crown— and leave it behind for the Worldweaver to use in her darkest hour, to imprison the dark god in his tomb once again. It’s the only hope for the fae.”
Several faces looked to the leader, who only stood taller.“I want you all to consider the repercussions. If we make this crown, it is a certainty that we will die. It will take the power of all the druids in the village to forge this crown, and make it strong enough that it will prevent Droga from escaping his tomb again.”
“We can’t allow the fae to die out,” the woman argued. “We will use some of the power in the wolven stone to make this crown, merging it with our own magic. Then, before we die, we will give the wolven stone to King Godwin. He will keep it in the royal treasury, where it will remain until the foretold prince places the stone into the Worldweaver’s sword.”
“And what of the crown? Who will keep it safe?” the leader demanded.
“We give it to therusalkato guard. They will place it into the Worldweaver’s hands,” the woman said.
“This is a risky plan,” another druid objected. “We don’t know if it’s going to work.”
“But our visions speak the truth,” the woman demanded. “If we are to change the future, this is the only way.”
“How will the Worldweaver use this crown against Droga? Its powers will be ineffective against the Crystals of Harmony,” a druid asked.
“We craft if for one purpose only— to imprison Droga once again,” the young woman stated. “When the time is right and Droga is sufficiently vulnerable, the Worldweaver must place the crown upon his head, and speak an incantation.”
She cleared her throat, before she began to recite.
“Droga, Black Stag of Wrath,
On fae souls you have dined
The time for suffering is over now,
With my magic thus I bind.
Return to your stone prison,
This silver crown is your jailer
For I have come to offer it,
The blood of a Worldweaver.
God of agony and suffering,
