There are, at all times, exactly ten of them. When one dies, at that instant his knowledge and powers are secreted into an infant being born. They each represent some aspect of nature’s behavior—the order or the seasons, or the cruelty of plague, the self-sacrifice of a mother for her child, the chaos of a stampeding herd, the absolute disregard for principles of any stripe. Each has his own focus, and though all compete for supremacy, all are also unable to ultimately defeat the others. Nearly the only thing that they are in unanimous agreement on is civilization.
Humans and, to a lesser extent, dwarves, are not seen as natural. Though it is possible to turn away from their unnatural ways, most don’t. Instead of working with nature, they attempt to remove nature and replace it with structured, manufactured things. Until the end of the Thranish War, the battle between men and druid raged for centuries; in the wake of the destruction that the Thranish War brought, the Druids and the civilized peoples made an agreement: The River Seiryus would form the eastern-most border of the Druid’s territory, with the line of the Dragonwrath Mountains the northern. Within their realm, and as far out to the sea as the naked eye could case from any point of their domain, the Druids were masters.