The Grove of the Deep is bound to the ocean’s oldest currents, guardians of the silence beneath crashing waves and the balance hidden in crushing dark. These druids do not tend forests or fields, but instead serve the deep sea’s wild rhythms—caring for leviathans, mending broken reefs, and ensuring that neither coastal dominion nor abyssal monstrosity grows unchecked. Their charge is to preserve equilibrium in the ever-shifting power of the sea.
Druids of the Grove of the Deep maintain the invisible tension that binds ocean and shore, predator and prey, abyss and tide. When leviathans sleep too long or hunt too freely, it is these druids who rouse or soothe them. They ensure that krakens do not overfeed, that whaling fleets do not strip breeding grounds, and that unnatural forces do not twist the sea to their will. Their presence can mark a calm current—or summon the wrath of a rising trench.
In Zin, the druids of Coralheart Rise protect the lair of Ehazhar, the last remaining Tidefather Leviathan. When his dreams stir great waves or wake oceanic dead, the druids gather in salt-ritual to stabilize his breath. They act not as masters, but as midwives to his power, redirecting his influence so the world above does not drown.
These druids revere and protect the great beings of the sea—not as gods, but as integral parts of its living system. Whether nurturing coral-wrapped behemoths, warding nesting trench wyrms, or healing wounded sea titans, their craft is shaped by care and caution. Each leviathan’s presence alters the ecology around it, and these druids study those shifts with reverence. They record migrations, map mating routes, and sense when the weight of a creature’s presence threatens balance.
Where other druids commune with animals, the Grove of the Deep hears the ancient stillness below. They negotiate with abyssal entities, speak the bioluminescent codes of deep-sea minds, and navigate pacts with creatures born in pressure and blackness. Their groves are trenches, reef-laced caverns, or flooded ruins, shaped as sanctuaries and signal-grounds for sea life. Their rituals calm breeding swarms, repel invasive predators, and dissolve arcane waste that poisons the currents.
Sea and sky are woven. These druids read tides like scrolls and shape stormpaths with gesture and chant. When warships mass or famine looms, they may summon fogs, alter coastlines, or drag fleets off course to reset the balance. Not all storms are wrath—some are healing, breaking chains or hiding wounded islands. Others carry warnings in their lightning.
The sea bears scars—burned shallows, bleeding reefs, sunken ruins leeching rust. Grove of the Deep druids act as medics to the ocean, sowing coral grafts, invoking tidal cleansing, or turning drowned cities into reef sanctuaries. They absorb toxins into sacrificial tide-wards or draw infected currents into self-contained maelstroms to be purified over time.
These druids carry the sea’s memory. They walk lands wearing salt-skin and speak in seabird cries or whale tones. Some bear signs of abyssal adaptation—gills, darkvision, or deep-sea resilience—and are mistaken for monsters. They map forgotten trenchways, mark safe paths through seaquake zones, and guard secrets best left submerged. It is said they remember storms that predate time and sing names not spoken since the first waves broke on land.
When Grove of the Deep druids die, their bodies are offered to the sea. Some return as reefstone statues shaped by barnacle and tide. Others dissolve into spawning beds or are carried to abyssal grottos where leviathans mourn them. It is believed that, over centuries, the sea remembers these druids and reshapes them into guardians—new creatures born from coral, salt, and memory.