Bytis Castrum is an old place.  The rocky hill has a commanding view of the forest around it, and its steep slopes make it easily defensible.  Humans have lived here a long time.  Some say that Elves or other creatures had this place first.  But few people have lived here in a long time.  Well off the roads and rivers that defined Roman civilization, the natural fortress was mostly ignored, except by a few people who preferred to be ignored themselves- Gaulish Celts who rejected the ways of the Romans, and their foreign but overwhelming gods.  Bytis Castrum became the place where the Druids kept their traditions, venturing out to more Romanized towns, like nearby Sarabrucca, to remind the people of the old ways every now and then.

The land around the hill is rich land for hunting and gathering, and the only farming is limited to plots around the base of the hill- strategically chosen to improve the sight lines of the people on the hill, making them harder to surprise.  But few people remain here.  Now there are only fifty six, and that includes four recent additions- Germanic runaways slaves, escaped from Hun controlled towns, seeking refuge in the deep forest of the Vosges, and finding Bytis Castrum by lucky accident.  They are happy to be servants, because the most generous Orcish master is comparable to the worst human master.  Five other Germanic “immigrants”, having worked off their agreed years of servitude, also live here.

About half of the population is related to Tugdual directly.  The rest, probably indirectly.  With small, rural populations, marriages between second cousins are not unheard of.

The town’s leader is the Druid Dunard.  An uncle of Tugdual, and Tugdual’s original teacher, Dunard is probably less powerful than Tugdual, but has the wisdom of years, so he is highly respected here.  He has used his powers to cause moss to grow over the homes here, to hide them from view.  Those structures that cannot be easily hidden now look battered and abandoned, so from a distance, Bytis Castrum looks like a deserted ruin.
Upon Tugdual’s arrival, though, it is clearly not deserted.  The citizens of Bytis Castrum rush out to greet him.

 Tugdual had travelled on eagle airways, the fastest possible means of transportation he knew of. He lands about a league from his home town, and finishes his journey by foot, quietly walking the swamps, meadows and woods of the lower Vosges. He wanted to get a feel of the environment, the current climate, the health of the denizens of his domain before reaching Bytis Castrum.

 It is late afternoon when the druid approaches the peculiar hill, on the slopes of which he was born, raised, had matured and founded a family... One day a citadel would rise there, defending other people from an other threat, but Tugdual had no way of knowing that. To him this was just the forsaken place he loved, forgotten (or to him, sheltered) from civilization.

 The few dozen souls who lived there generally liked Tugdual very much. He shared his knowledge and the stories of his travels, his ale and his cheese, and was always ready to help in times of need.

 One could consider Tugdual a very successful man in his endeavour. In a half century on this earth, he had achieved a close connexion to the natural world than most could ever dream of, he wielded powers divine and pagan that could make him valuable to kings and lords... yet he did not come back home with pride but rather shame...

 As he walked up hill towards the small moss covered dwellings, the druid saw a familiar silhouette disappear inside her home.
 Marlis, once his spouse and the mother of his three children. There was only so much unfaithfulness she could take... Tugdual's fidelity to the spirits of Nature and his hedonistic ways when it came to expressing his love of Nature had finally cost him his marriage.
 Estef, his elder son who was bound to become a natural leader, had enrolled in a mercenary band who had lost their way in the area some years ago, he had left the region and led a ruthless and brutal life somewhere... Tugdual had failed him.
 Samu, his second son, was living a peaceful life in the village. He had talent and with a little guidance would have become a capable initiate... Tugdual felt responsible for his wasting a fantastic potential.
 Sofia is the younger of his children, now in her early twenties and a mother of three. She too could have used some presence of her father...

 It is with these bitter thoughts that the druid walks into the hamlet and greets his old friends. After sharing polite chitchat with those who come and see him, and carefully avoiding his family -which always either ends up with tears of joy or colossal drama-, Tugdual walks to the hut of his old uncle Dunard.

 The spicy smell of mustard and thyme welcome him into the den.
  "Göde morje..." he begins in the druidic tongue, as he find his old master busy brewing a philtre of some sort.

  "I bring news from the west. News of war, though it seems the outer world never wants anything to do with our old hill. That is for the best."

 Tugdual and Dunard execute the druidic secret handshake before he continues :
  "How have you been, my uncle ?"

Bytis Castrum is a world apart, almost lost to time.  Not worth anyone’s bother, the Huns never came near.  Neither did the Romans, in the past two centuries.  Now and then, they go to Sarrabrucca.  The story is different there.  Sarrabrucca is held by brutal Hun warlord.  While many of the Huns, as Tugdual has seen, are interested in enriching themselves and therefore see slaves for their economic potential, the Huns in Sarrabrucca know that they are guarding one of the key roads connecting the Rhinelands to Gaul.  Sarrabrucca’s own productivity is irrelevant- the Emperor himself will see to it that his key garrisons are sustained.

”Bad things happen there,”  Tugdual’s uncle explains.  “That’s how we got the last few runaways.  They fled from there.  The town’s got only a few hundred people left, and twice that many Orcs.  I’ve been there, now and then.  I feel very sorry for them, but there is nothing we can do.”

Nothing, of course, that would not bring their hidden forest redoubt to the attention of the Huns.  Here in the deep forest, the Huns have simply not bothered to look for anyone.  They have their road, and that’s all that is important.  They do not waste time looking for remote settlements in the forest.

”We have what we need here, though,” the Druid says.  “Everything but Humankind.  It does weigh heavily, especially on the young, thinking we are all there are here.  It is ironic.  We worked so hard to hide, and now it is a lonely life, hidden.  But then, we are free, we are housed and clothed and well fed.  The forest provides.  It is not good to complain.”

 Tugdual does not want to alarm his uncle with news from the front, but he roughly explains what is going on, the battle in Tullum and the army moving North.

  "Elves and dwarves fighting together... it is a beautiful thing to see. Things are moving fast, I'm afraid I will not stay long. I wanted to make sure the Huns had not found our secret place by ill chance."

 They drink ale and share a frugal lunch, while the once apprentice explains the situation and what is to be expected in the coming weeks or months.

  "About Sarrabrucca... are you sure nothing could be done ?
   Could their fate... be the rebirth of our community ?"

 Seeing heroes taking arms against destiny and becoming the masters of their fate has clearly gotten ideas in the head of the old druid... or is it the regret that he has not accomplished such great deeds when his time was ?

 He had come by his domain mainly to make sure his community was out of harm's way... But maybe there was more he could do for them. Would the great alliance miss him ? Probably not... If they did he ghouls always head back within a day or two. Either way he should, for his faithful aurochs had been left behind...

The old druid shakes his head over Sarrabrucca.

"We are too few.  Our survival has been thanks to secrecy.  They do not know we are here.  If we were to intervene, they would find out about us.  My magic, and a twenty of us who can fight.  Not enough."

He looks back at the town.

"But helping you, with your battle far away, maybe there is something we can support.  What can we do, here, for you?"

 Tugdual is maybe a little disappointed, but does not show it. He wished there was something he could have done for his people... but his were hidden, and those who were not were out of reach.

  "I do not know that there is something you can help me with.

  I am going back to the front, where I will help the elves gather with their brothers, and guide the Saxon lord if I can.

  Keep an eye open for Hunnish movement, here and there. Reach me through a bird messenger if a large troop gathers... I cannot be sure that there is something the allied troops will be able to do, but it is always best to know.

  Having sentinels patrolling the wild would be good."

 At this though, the druid became silent. He wondered where his elder son was.  Had he joined a battle ? Could he be on the wrong side ? He thought know... but there were men fighting alongside the hunnish forces.

 "I will spend some time with my folks, and should leave the day after tomorrow"

For most people, quiet and boring equates to a good life.  When there's no excitement, people prosper.

Here, things have been quiet, Tugdual learns.  It's not just luck- with so much happening elsewhere, people seeking adventure and opportunity have many places to go, and no need for a rural hunting village like Bytis Castrum.

The arrival of Germanic runaway slaves is the biggest news of the year.  Well, there is Tugdual's return, but is that really news?  Everyone expected he'd come back eventually.

His family, save one, is present and doing well.  The hunting has been good- quite good, in fact, as the Huns have driven game animals away from their territory, and deep into the forest near Bytis Castrum.   On the other hand, in the old days, after a good hunting season, it was possible to go into town and sell the excess furs and meat.  Being a popular waystation on one of the few roads linking Gaul to the Rhineland, Sarrabrucca was a good market.

The Hun occupation of Sarrabrucca makes that difficult, these days.

But the people here, through Tugdual's uncle, certainly can keep watch over the road, and report on Hun movements for Tugdual.

 Tugdual thanks his uncle and mentor. He can't stress enough how important the most mundane piece of information may be, and how many lives in may save, in settlement far away or hamlets close by.

 There's feast that night. The druid shares some dwarven cheese he has managed to save so far, and the people of Bytis Castrum spice their boar meat with mustard from Divio. Unbeknownst to them, it would later become a very popular meal in the region.

 The druid shares stories with his fellows. He tries not to worry them, but still mention the heroic details, how the Morvande Forest was cleared from Celtic Ghosts, how a saxon Lord and an elf from the North killed the dragon of Vitelium, how Tullum fell in one night, and how the strong gathering of humans, elves and dwarves are moving to strike the Huns again.

 He tries to spend some time with his family, mainly with his three grandchildren who enjoy his stories and know not of what a lousy parent he may be... Through great care and diplomacy, he manages to avoid drama and scenes, and even gets to share some friendly words with the woman who once considered him hers.

 By morning, after probably too short a night, Tugdual says his goodbyes, only to his old uncle and only to him does he reveal his exact whereabouts and final destination. He would know how to get a message to him, through a bird or butterfly messenger.

 The druid does not wish yet to join back the dwarven company, or Heolstor's entourage, or the army as a whole, but he feels like he is not in his place any more in Bytis Castrum. He will come back, he will take care of the people and the creatures who dwell there, and some day he might even retire there, but for now his calling is elsewhere.

 The next day and night he will spend with his friends and consorts, the nymphs and fauns of Vosego Sylva, those who introduced him to a higher level of connexion with nature his old master could ever have dreamed of. He enjoys the insouciant way of these folks for one day and one night.

 Carefree and strong as an oak again, he takes flight on the third day to join the gathered forces on their way to the Ardennes.

Tugdual prepares to return.

His uncle gives him some parting thoughts.

”It is a strange season for a campaign,” he says.  “The Romans preferred the spring.  So much, that they named a month for it, the beginning of the military season.  But it will be cold.  The Huns will not be the only enemy.  Those that are not prepared can die of cold, especially in the higher lands.  I wonder… do the Huns expect this?  Do they plan to use the cold?  The Elves.. .like us… make use of the forest for protection, but so much of the forest is asleep in the winter.  Be careful… and with the powers you have, be prepared to survive as well as to fight.  And help the others survive as well.  Winter can be a dangerous foe.”

The elder druid makes sure Tugdual is well stocked.  When Druids have plenty of time available, they often prepare stocks of potions and herbal infusions, that can be used later.
He gives some to Tugdual.