It's back up! Sorry for the mixup last week folks :)
Please mind the Content Warnings for this fic! If you want to start at the very beginning, check here.
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The sky was tinged with the soft pink of dawn as Ada and her companions made their way down the winding path that led inland from the coastline. For the third time in as many days, she found herself marvelling at the beauty of this strange world she'd been thrust into.
Just three days ago, she had been a human woman living in 2023, worrying about her job, paying rent and her non-existent dating life. Now she was a tiefling with horns, a tail, a budding sense of magic, and a parasite burrowing into her brain while she made awkward conversation with the other people in her adventuring party.
She felt foggy. Heavyhearted. The kind of tired that sleep couldn’t touch.
Last night played on a loop in her head: the flicker of Gale’s eyes as he watched her accidentally mend his robe with a spell she hadn’t meant to cast.
The look he’d given her had been a calculating one. He had taken her in, had assessed her, and she didn’t have a clue what conclusion he had reached.
Ada hated how exposed and insecure it made her feel; how she couldn't undo it or remove this unpleasant memory from his mind.
She’d been up early, helping pack up the camp in silence, hoping usefulness would buy her some grace. She’d kept her eyes on the road or the landscape, anything to avoid too much interaction. If someone glanced her way, she gave a friendly smile that was just a little too fast, a little too wide.
And she knew it made her look tense. She could feel it in her jaw.
The jerkin she’d scavenged from the ruins didn’t ease her tension. It was old and worn, snug around her chest and throat like a leather exhale she couldn’t quite finish. It made her feel slightly more protected, but it also felt like wearing someone else’s costume.
The heat didn’t help either, nor did the weight of the pack pressing into her shoulders. Her white sneakers were now scuffed, smeared with ash and dirt, and deeply, tragically out of place.
Nothing says “unprepared” like wearing your gym sneakers on an interplanetary nightmare hike.
Lae'zel led the way, her stride rigid and uncompromising. Shadowheart followed, quiet but alert, her posture guarded as always. Astarion walked beside her, attempting small talk that clearly wasn’t landing.
A part of Ada was relieved she wasn’t the only one whose charm bounced right off the moody half-elf.
Ada followed them, with Gale just behind her.
The group fell into silence after that, and the hush felt like mercy.
Then—
“Do you hear that?” Shadowheart’s voice cut through the quiet, taut with tension. She closed the gap between herself and Lae'zel without looking at the other woman, one hand drifting toward the mace at her hip.
“Aye, I hear it,” Lae'zel replied, her voice flat and controlled, but her hand went up toward the hilt of the sword on her back all the same.
The group slowed as they crept closer, boots crunching softly on the gravel road.
The sound grew clearer with each step: raised voices—two men, maybe three—locked in what sounded like an argument. No weapons were clashing yet, but the shouting carried urgency beneath every word.
Gale’s voice was low, thoughtful. “Best tread carefully. Tension like that rarely ends with a handshake.”
“Ugh,” Astarion sighed, just beside Ada. “Shouting men in the wilderness. Gods forbid we encounter a problem that isn’t loud and badly dressed.”
Lae'zel didn’t respond. She was already scanning their surroundings, head tilted, her nose—what there was of it—twitching slightly like a wolf catching the scent of conflict.
Ada kept her gaze forward, her fingers twitching at her sides. She didn’t reach for her bow, but her eyes darted between the trees and the path, half-expecting something to lurch out of the underbrush.
The path opened into a broad, rocky clearing. A large boulder sat in the centre, like some ancient marker, worn smooth by time and weather. The dirt road split around it in a gentle curve, one branch curling toward the left and vanishing into the brush, the other sloping right toward a structure half-hidden behind the cliffside.
Ada’s steps slowed as she took it in. What she had assumed was part of the natural rock face revealed itself to be intentionally constructed.
Blocks of ancient stone formed a wall, some crumbling at the edges, others still standing with unnatural precision. Vines and ivy hung down from its surface like half-forgotten curtains, trying to reclaim it for the forest. Set into the wall was a pull-up gate, the wood thick and iron-bound, also wrapped in the stubborn cling of ivy.
The gate itself stood closed, unmoving.
Just in front of the gate, three figures in worn leather armour stood in a tense, bristling formation, their attention locked on the tiefling perched above.
He gripped the wooden winch with both hands, dark eyes hard beneath his heavy brow, tension coiled in every muscle. The shade of his skin was almost identical to Ada’s, though his hair was paler and his horns curved upwards rather than back.
“Open the bloody gate!” barked the man at the front.
He looked like a pitiful sellsword: broad-shouldered, his dark green tunic marked by days on the road, scuffed greaves strapped tight over weathered boots. A two-handed club rested against his shoulder.
To his left stood a woman with a shortbow, her posture tense, arms crossed tightly, as if she were physically holding her opinion to her chest. She was lean and sharp-eyed, her leather armour dyed in earthy reds and browns that had faded to the tone of dried blood.
The third, a blond man with a round wooden shield, held back slightly from the others, scanning the treeline with wary tension. His shield was nearly as broad as his torso, polished wood rimmed in steel, strapped tight to a forearm that looked strong enough to stop a charging boar.
Together, they had the look of a party that had been through hell together and didn’t trust that they were out of it yet.
“Nobody gets in, Aradin”, the tiefling snapped back. “Zevlor’s orders.”
Ada’s eyes flicked to the top of the gate where he stood. A second figure appeared behind the tiefling at the winch: taller, more imposing, and clad in red and silver armour that caught the morning light in sharp glints.
This was Zevlor, Ada assumed.
His skin was a deeper, earthier red than hers, and his horns swept back in elegant arcs, curving low and wide from his temples. He moved with the weight of command—shoulders squared, expression carved into something close to permanent disappointment.
But there was also something tired in his face. He looked weathered, like a man who had spent too many nights keeping watch while others slept.
“What’s going on?” he called down, voice steady but already darkening.
“Goblins are on our tail!”, the man—Aradin, she gathered—shouted up. “Open the gate, Zevlor. Now!”
Zevlor’s gaze swept over the battered trio, then the wilds beyond. He looked furious and worried at the same time. “You led goblins here? Where is the druid?” his tone was incredulous.
“Please!” Aradin's voice cracked. “There’s no time!”
Zevlor hesitated. The moment stretched into an eternity, before he groaned, “By the Nine Hells. Open the gate!”
The tiefling at the whinch moved. But it was too late.
A whistle of air. A sickening thunk. The arrow was buried deep into the young tiefling’s side, just under the ribs. His cry was sharp and desperate. “No!”
The gate shuddered as the mechanism released. The three people threw themselves forward, trying to brace it with raw strength, but it was no use.
The weight won, and the gate began to fall.
From the tree line, war cries rang out.
“Shit,” Aradin hissed, then he moved, shouting, “Form a line!”
And then, chaos broke loose.
A figure dropped from the balustrade above, landing in a crouch with a practised kind of grace. His long coat flared with the motion, tailored in deep reds and gold-stitched accents that looked far too clean for a battlefield.
In one hand, he held a finely made rapier; in the other, he conjured a flickering bolt of green light, which shot forward with a snap of arcane energy.
“Damnable roach,” he said, his voice low but clear. “Provoke the Blade, and suffer its sting.”
Ada blinked, caught off guard not just by the sudden spell, but by the way he moved. There was flair to him. Not arrogance, but confident heroism worn like a mantle. He was handsome in a storybook sort of way, all sharp angles and posture, and he looked like someone who expected to be noticed.
His skin was rich bronze, catching the early light like brushed copper, and his eyes held a glint that danced somewhere between confidence and mischief.
Theatrical, she thought, But he definitely knows how to make an entrance.
If he was playing the hero, he was doing it well. He ran straight toward the fray, joining Aradin’s group without hesitation.
In the next moment, the first goblins burst forward. The raiders rushed into the open space before the gates. They were howling, screeching, their jagged armour clattering with every lurching step.
Some rode snarling beasts that looked like a cross between wolves and hyenas; others loosed arrows before they'd even finished their charge.
War paint and rusted blades gleamed in the early light, and all stillness was gone from Ada’s world. Only chaos remained.
Lae'zel was the first to react. Her sword came free with a metal hiss, eyes blazing with battle-honed clarity.
“Htak'a!” she barked, voice cutting through the din like a blade.
There were no orders beyond that. There was no plan and no further instructions. Everyone began moving around Ada while she was frozen.
Shadowheart pulled her mace with a fluid snap and began murmuring under her breath, low and rhythmic that sounded like a prayer, or maybe a spell.
Astarion let out a long-suffering sigh, but his eyes were bright, his daggers already gleaming in both hands.
Gale was radiant with arcane power. He moved with practised grace, hands weaving glowing runes into the air as purple-silver energy shimmered between his fingertips.
Ada’s heart thundered in her chest. She grabbed for her bow, fumbling the string as her trembling fingers failed to notch the arrow correctly. The shaft dropped to the ground. She stared at it, her breath hitching.
What are you doing? Pick it up. You have to—
But she’d never done this before. She’d never had to fight for her life.
She didn’t count the panic-induced magic on the nautiloid. She felt she hadn’t truly cast that. That had been terror, instinct, something primal flailing out of her when she was cornered.
And whatever it was, she couldn’t call it now.
Her only knowledge of combat came from books or video games. Nothing in her life had prepared her for the sound of metal slicing through flesh, for the shriek of a dying creature, or the sheer weight of goblin feet pounding the earth toward her.
She crouched, breath coming fast and shallow, reaching again for the arrow.
One of the goblins broke from the pack. It barrelled toward her, blade raised, mouth wide in a scream.
Ada’s mind rang with fear; her mouth opened, but no sound came.
Somewhere deep inside her, something pulsed. The clash of metal, the screaming, the shouting—it all faded into a distant roar. Her vision blurred. Her pulse became the only sound she could hear.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Her hands spasmed, her fingers let go. The bow clattered to the dirt. Her skin began to crawl. She gasped, and her ribs shifted.
Agony lanced through her spine. Her arms bent wrong. Her vision warped, nose pushing out, eyes sharpening into something other. Feathers tore through her skin in violent tufts.
Her hands weren’t her hands anymore. They were claws.
This wasn’t a spell. This wasn’t a shove of magic. This was something feral and ancient.
Ada tried to cry out, but her voice was gone. In its place was a guttural, snarling growl that split the air.
Her body finished reshaping itself, and the world slammed back into focus.
She was massive. Covered in white feathers and bulging muscles.
Her claws dug furrows into the dirt. Her beak snapped open with a rage that felt personal and yet entirely foreign to her. Ada could barely think. Everything was too much.
Too loud. Too sharp. MAKE IT STOP.
Her thoughts fractured beneath the weight of her panic.
What am I— What is this? No no no no no no—
The goblin in front of her hesitated just for a second. That was enough.
She lunged.
She didn’t mean to, didn’t choose to, but her body moved. Massive muscles coiled and struck before her mind caught up. Claws met flesh. Something screamed.
Something in Ada recoiled. Not from the pathetic noise of her foe, but because ripping the goblin apart had felt easy.
She stumbled back, feathered arms flailing, chest heaving.
I’m a monster. I didn’t ask for this. How do I change back? How do I go back?
This was the second time her body had shifted without her consent. First, into the tiefling. Now into this.
The battle raged on around her, but Ada was trapped in her own skin and her own fear. She was stronger now, but she felt so powerless in her rage. She was flailing without direction, crashing into living beings and stone, blind to friend or foe.
“HOLD!”
Gale’s voice cut through the chaos—sharp and confident. The word coated her feathers like tree sap.
The effect wasn’t gradual; her body froze, locked in place. A cage around her bones.
Her claws froze mid-swipe. Her arms went still. Her beak was wide open, no sound escaping.
She was trapped. Suspended in the moment of her worst unravelling. She was still raving on the inside. Still burning. Still terrified. But she couldn’t move.
What’s happening? Why can’t I—
Her body no longer moved. Not even a twitch. And that made it worse.
They’ve caged me. They’re afraid. They think I’m a monster. They’re going to kill me.
Then, there was a voice. “Ada.”
Gale was right in front of her, within striking distance. His voice was grounded and firm.
“You’re safe.”
It startled her like a cold cloth against fevered skin. Her frantic heartbeat skipped.
She wanted to cry, but the body she was in didn’t know how. She wanted to run, but the spell wouldn’t let her. All she could do was listen. And his voice was gentle, not angry.
“You’re not a wild beast,” Gale said softly.
He stepped closer, slowly and deliberately, hands empty and open. His steady gaze met hers.
Ada was towering over him with her white feathers and sharp talons. He looked tiny compared to her.
“You are not violent,” he said gently. “But you wanted to help. Even when you were overwhelmed.”
His words touched her like a gentle hand on her shoulder. He did not see her as a monster or a danger. Before him, he saw someone who had tried and failed. Someone who had acted out of desperation, not destruction.
That recognition carved through the panic. She clung to it like driftwood in a storm.
He wasn’t recoiling. He wasn’t afraid of her. He understood that she hadn’t lost control because she wanted to hurt anyone. She’d lost control because she was trying to survive.
She felt a sob trying to rise in her throat, fighting through feathers and fury.
How do I stop this? They keep taking my body from me.
“Listen to me,” Gale said. “You are still yourself. You’re not lost. You are in control. Focus on my voice.”
She trembled inside the magic that held her, wide eyes locked on his.
“Imagine,” he continued, soft but sure, “that you’re wearing a heavy cloak. It’s wrapped around you. Weighing you down. But you’ve carried it long enough. You can let it go now. You don’t need it anymore.”
A cloak. An item of clothing. A costume. Not permanent.
A cloak. Ada tried to imagine it.
“Just breathe.”
She did as he told her. In and out.
“Put it down. You can do this.”
It took several agonising tries. Her grip on her mind was slippery, pulled toward the beast again. But she wanted to come back, and she wrestled her body to obey.
Finally, the feathers receded. Her limbs shrank. Her bones realigned.
With a gasping cry, she collapsed. Kneeling and shaking, covered in dirt and sweat. But she was back to her tiefling form.
Gale was already crouched beside her. He didn’t reach out to touch her. But he was close, and she was grateful for it.
“You’re alright,” he said gently. “It’s over now.”
She couldn’t speak. Her lips parted, but nothing came out.
There was blood on the ground and goblin corpses all around her. Ada was kneeling in it.
Screams and victory cries echoed in the distance. She heard Lae'zel’s voice sharp and triumphant.
Gale extended a steady, patient hand toward her. She hesitated, then reached out with shaking fingers, clasping his wrist. His grasp adjusted without pause, firm and sure as he helped her to her feet.
Their eyes met only for a second. He gave a slight nod, then released her arm, gesturing toward the grove’s gate.
A silent suggestion: Let’s move. Just in case more are coming.
Ada followed his lead without a word. She walked beside him, limbs heavy, throat dry, the ground shifting beneath her with every step.
The group had barely made it through the tunnel that lay behind the grove’s gate.
They had passed through two, maybe three meters of worn stone and shadow before Ada was slammed against the wall.
The air left her lungs with a ragged wheeze.
Lae'zel’s forearm pinned her in place, pressing across her collarbone, just shy of crushing. Her armour scraped against Ada’s jerkin, and her face was close—too close. Burning yellow eyes locked on hers.
“Explain yourself, istik. Now!”
The words came low and sharp, like a blade dragged across stone. Her grip tightened. It was not enough to break a bone, but just enough to promise she could.
Ada froze. Her boots merely scraped the dirt, heels just off the ground. Her hands went up, not to fight back, but instinctively, pathetically, trying to show she wasn’t a threat. Her mind was already spiralling.
Too close. Too fast. Too much. She’s touching me. She saw. They all saw. I lost control again. They are going to leave me here. She’s going to kill me. They will let her.
The stone behind her felt too solid. Her chest burned. Her limbs still trembled from the aftershock of the horrific transformation. Her body wasn’t her own. It was someone else’s again, held, restrained, shoved against cold stone and surrounded by people she barely knew.
She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. And Lae'zel wasn’t letting go.
“Lae'zel.”, Gale said, the slightest reprimand in his voice.
The githyanki didn’t look at him and didn’t loosen her hold.
“Lae'zel,” Gale said again, still calm but firmer this time. “This isn’t the place.”
A pause, the slightest flicker of recalibration behind the warrior’s eyes. Lae'zel’s grip didn’t falter, but her gaze flicked toward him, just once.
“You want answers,” he continued. “So do I. But not here. Not while people are watching. Not while the wounded are still being counted.”
Lae'zel’s lip curled slightly, but she didn’t speak. Her glare remained locked on Ada, who was still pinned beneath her arm like a caught animal.
“Look at her,” Gale added, softer now. “She’s barely standing. There’s no sense in breaking her further if what you want is the truth.”
Ada didn’t dare move. Her lungs spasmed in her chest. She couldn’t even look at Gale, but she was grateful for his intervention and his words. To her, they were a thread of steadiness in a world that wouldn’t stop spinning.
Lae'zel noticed people glancing over to them now. They were staring; some even started whispering.
The Gith released Ada with a sharp exhale, stepping back just enough to break contact. She was not conceding; this was just a pause in the storm.
“So be it.”, she snarled.
Gale gave a single, diplomatic nod. “We’ll speak at camp,” he said. “Privately.”
Lae'zel didn’t answer, but her silence carried meaning.
Gale turned to Ada. He didn’t offer his hand this time. He looked at her and something in that look caught on her heart.
His look wasn’t unkind or harsh, but it wasn’t soft like before. Not like when his voice had held her steady, when his eyes had grounded her in the middle of her frenzy.
Now, his gaze felt different. It was as if he were studying her, like she was a problem to solve.
Ada’s throat tightened. She couldn’t read him. Couldn’t tell if he was done with her and the complications she brought. Maybe he was holding back what he really thought. Perhaps they all were.
Ada looked away.
She gathered herself with slow, halting breaths. Her legs felt numb, her mouth dry, but she stepped forward anyway.
Gale didn’t stop her; he just followed. Ada walked in silence, the noise of the grove ahead rising to meet them.
The cries of the wounded, hurried footsteps. There were early signs of a return to something like order, now that the battle was over.
But inside Ada, nothing was settled. The fear of her companions’ abandonment stuck in her chest like a splinter. She knew she would carry it with her the rest of the day.
It was a bruise she couldn’t stop pressing.
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Thank you for reading! Updates will happen every friday until I have caught up with my current progress. If you want to read it all now, check out AO3! If you have enjoyed it, leave a comment or a like. Let me know if you want to be tagged so you don't miss any updates.
And the actual level 6 moon druid animals have been drawn.
it is at this point that i realise "giant" animals in dnd are prehistoric most likely. dinosaurs are in the bestiary- why wouldn't other really old animals be in there but called something simpler than megaloceros or ursus spelaeus
My half-orc druid I'm currently playing on a hardcore D&D campaign and been performing well, deserved a new complete reference. Is a wildfire druid and wildshapes into animals flavored as australian.
If interested in art like this for your TTRPG characters please reach to my DM.
Listen, "wildshape rules are fucking stupid" is not a fresh or hot take. Level 3: You can transform twice a day. Level 19: You can still transform twice a day! But now you can stay transformed for longer.
(Because as we all know, "eight-hour strategy commitments" are the core of how most people play D&D.)
And then of course: Level 20: INFINITE WILDSHAPES! You go from "2 per day" to "UNLIMITED! YOU GET A SQUIRREL AND YOU GET A SQUIRREL AND YOU GET A SQUIRREL, EVERYBODY GETS A SQUIRREL" and that's insane.
Tl;dr: The core appeal to me of playing druid at all is the shapeshifting. I would, genuinely, prefer it if the druid class was a half-caster that focused heavily on the shapeshifting mechanic--and before you all pile onto me in the notes, I know there's barbarian subclasses that bring in some shifter flavor, but that's not really what I'm talking about. I want to play a druidic shapeshifter.
So here's how I house-rule Wildshapes at my table (if, of course, the player is interested--I'm not out here forcing OTHER people to play THEIR characters the way I prefer, come on now) and then, just for fun, a couple of wildshape variants I've thought up but never had the chance to really play with, that DMs might offer as optional druidic feats.
If anyone with more experience and skill than me at putting together subclasses ever wants to yoink these, please do. Please. Someone fix this.
Core Wildshape
The no-frills replacement to RAW wildshape, just a 1:1 replacement.
You have a number of Wildshape charges equal to half your Druid level, rounded up.
Each Wildshape charge allows you to take one animal form, with restrictions as listed on the Beast Shapes table, for up to one hour.
There are no "partial charges," so transforming for five minutes uses the full charge just as if you'd transformed for a full hour.
Charges can be chained together seamlessly; if you choose to remain transformed past the first hour, you simply expend another Wildshape charge. You can also move directly from one Wildshape form to another by expending a new Wildshape charge. (This isn't Animorphs; you don't have to "re-transform" between charges.)
Wildshape Variants
Variant: Feral
(Prerequisite: Druid level 8)
Your communion with nature has made you as comfortable in the form of animals as in your own skin--if not more so.
You have a number of Wildshape charges equal to your Druid level. Beginning at level 12, your Wildshape forms can have a CR equal to 1/3 your Druid level, rounded down.
Variant: Druidic Avatar
You have achieved deep congruence with one of your animal forms, such that it has become tightly associated with you. Choose one wildshape form of size Small, Medium, or Large as your avatar.
While in this form, you can cast spells as normal, replacing verbal components with appropriate animal noises, as long as any necessary material components are physically present (being absorbed into your wildshape form when you transformed counts).
You can choose to alter your avatar when you take a long rest. Once you have done this, you cannot alter it again until one month has passed.
Variant: Deepwoods Shifter
Your travels in the wildest and most remote woodlands have given you a deep understanding of many forms of life beyond simple beasts--forms of life that are, to you, no less natural.
You have a short list of Deepwoods forms. Choose one non-humanoid creature, of no higher than CR 1, of a type other than Beast, to begin this list. Every time you are given the option of an ability score improvement (applied retroactively), you may choose another non-Beast, non-humanoid creature form with a CR of 1/3 your Druid level, rounded down, to add to your list.
These choices can be altered whenever a new form is added to the list.
