The party headed to find Turlang finishes their goodbyes and sets off on their quest.
The road leaving Noanar's hold curves gently toward the north, pulling away from their true destination. To the east, beyond a stretch of open ground, rises the northwest border of the High Forest. The canopy is dense and ancient, the tallest oaks and lifting their crowns high above the rest. Somewhere deep inside, beyond miles of shadow and green light, waits Shadowtop Cathedral.
Eastward as well, the Dessarin River catches the sun, winding along the forest’s edge as though inviting travelers to follow its course. From here, the river’s path and the unbroken treeline seem to run together for many miles, although its gentle winding limits how far anyone can see from the ground.
Jaliera’s owl, Whisper, arcs silently overhead, riding the thermals above the clearing before winging east toward the trees. A few moments later, images bloom in her mind—branch upon branch, layer upon layer of green, and more trees beyond that, stretching as far as the eye can see. And a bit more of the winding river, leading generally in the direction they want to head. But no paths or roads or clearings are evident even from above.
No trail marks a way forward. The forest stands quiet and still, but for a gentle waving of the leaves in the light breeze.
EE members: Intelligence (History or Nature) check (your choice)
All: Wisdom (Survival/tracking) check. In addition to posting whatever it is you're looking at, of course. Bern, roll at advantage as forest is your favored terrain.
He looks towards the forest line close to the river as tries to discern any opening from where animals would travel along.
"Suggest we find a path close to the river?"
Davroar is not suggesting to travel right along the rivers edge as that can be a little more hazardous, but it would allow them to access fresh water when they need it.
Davroar Nature Check Dugan rolled 1d20+3 and got 22
Davroar Survival Check Dugan rolled 1d20+4 and got 12
Pavel was seeing more trees than he'd ever thought possible. Especially with what Jaliera had said that Whisper told her. But he looks on and studies their area as they gaze on the forest.
"Now that is an odd impression," Pavel said pointing towards a small clearing. He rides forward slightly for a closer look.
"A footprint! By the size..." he pauses. "Giant."
He rides around to the other side of it. Glancing up at the forest and surrounding area when he does. Squinting at something he notices near the river's edge before glancing around for other footprints like the first.
Pavel dismounts and starts walking around the indentation to possible figure out which way the creature was going.
As he starts he looks over to Jaliera. "Oh send Whisper along our side of the river bank. I think I saw signs of a road over there."
He suddenly remembers being told that the High Forest under Turlang will allow those trustworthy enough to traverse through it. He stops briefly to look at the giant footprint then slowly moves towards the trees.
"Don't send Whisper too far in, Jaliera. Give me a moment to find a way. The forest will allow me, Bern and Zindra, but I remember being told the forest will prevent outsiders from entering."
Holding out his left hand in a supplicating manner, he waits a moment in contemplation then says in a low voice, "I wish to enter please. I will be responsible for my friends Jaliera and Pavel, and will guide them to be respectful toward this ancient land."
Pavel's closer observation, assisted by Bern (OOC: Ghosting as he's been offline a while), indicates that whoever (or whatever) made that giant footprint was not alone. There are also smaller human-sized footprints. They're easy to track toward the muddy riverbank, until they abruptly disappear into the forest, although there's no obvious path there.
Whisper glides low along the riverbank, the ground below alternating between patches of firm earth and sections eaten away by floods, particularly where the river turns corners. In places the stones under the waterline look too regular, as though an ancient path once clung to the river’s edge before time and weather swallowed most of it. Fallen trees stretch like barricades across narrow bends, and the banks are pocked with alcoves of bramble and stone. The chaos provides perfect hiding places for those who might prefer not to be seen. Beyond a short distance, the view becomes more of the same: river, mud, bits of road, bits of detritus... and trees without end.
Meanwhile, as Davroar raises his hand and speaks his quiet words, the trees ahead shift. At first, the movement is almost imperceptible, just a recognition that something looks different than it did a moment before. But those who look more closely can see the movement. A tangle of branches and twigs that seemed woven into an unbroken barrier stirs, creaking faintly as though stirred by wind that no one else feels. Slowly, the interlocked limbs part just enough to reveal a narrow, walkable gap leading into the forest’s shadowed depths. The air carries a hush of expectation—as if the woods are listening.
The revealed path is narrow, wide enough for one horse or perhaps two humans to walk side by side.
Zindra She reaches down beneath her cleavage to pull out a pendant that hangs from a lanyard of vines. The pendant is clearly recognizable as the symbol of the Emerald Enclave.
"Thanks Davroar. I'll take the rear. Pavel, Jaliera, you should walk between us. Bern, why don't you take the middle?"
OOC: is the trail wide enough to walk double-file or is single file necessary?
OOC: is the trail wide enough to walk double-file or is single file necessary?
OOC: Two medium humanoids could walk side by side; only one large beast (riding horse) could fit. For the purposes of any relevant rules and if we need to go to a combat grid, two grid squares wide, with appropriate difficult terrain rules for passing through an ally's space. Some of the trees and shrubs are just trees and shrubs. Some are awakened trees or awakend shrubs.
This will not be for the entire journey, as there will be many clearings and other more open spaces. Also not every tree is like this... think of normal trails already existing but being hidden by "extra" awakened foliage primarily at entrances/exits/forks. Not that it will be obvious which is which unless they move.
And again, there's nothing imminent. I just want to be able to surprise you (much) later.
And if you're imagining a labyrinth maze at some point, you know my evil DM mind. Not saying that will happen, but...
Seeing Zindra is now displaying her Emerald Enclave symbol, he will do the same by flipping the collar of his hide armour where he has it pinned underneath. He nods in agreement with Zindra's marching order and adds, "We can take turns leading. It will keep our eyes fresh I think."
Walking for a minute, Davroar takes a deep breath smelling the old growth trees. He is almost tempted to shape shift into one of his animal forms to get the full sensation, but will hold off for now.
A few minutes later, if the trail allows it he will pick up his pace a bit being mindful of the trail and scanning ahead as best as he can.
She nods and then relates what Whisper had seen, thinking it is probably safer to keep Whisper aloft for the moment, just ahead, as an extra pair of eyes. She leans forward and pats Meadow's neck reassuringly, before taking her place behind Davroar. Being on horseback gives her a view forward above Davroar's head. She watches for low hanging branches.
She is happy to be respectful of this place and the life within it.
As the party enters the forest, Whisper glides just ahead, wings silent weaving between branches. But here, beneath the canopy, there's not much to see. The trees grow close together, their crowns interlacing into a ceiling of dark leaves that blocks most of the sky, letting in patches of green-tinted light. The owl can follow the trail for a short stretch, but after that the forest becomes a maze of trunks and shadows, impossible to track from the air. If Whisper breaks above the canpoy, there is little more to see—green upon green, rolling without end.
Suffice it to say, Whisper won't be much help navigating this forest.
On the ground, the party moves steadily eastward. The narrow trail threads between ancient trees, sometimes opening into clearings where shafts of pale light fall, sometimes tightening to barely the width of a horse, those mounted sometimes needing to duck low to avoid low branches. Here and there the trail brushes against other paths, faint forks where side trails merge or peel away. Some are broader, some little more than deer tracks. The foliage thickens at the mouths of these paths, as if discouraging wandering, though not enough to bar them completely.
The way forward lies open before you, a steady path east into the heart of the forest. But the forest also offers choices, seeming to sometimes open up as those bearing the sigil of the Emerald Enclave approach. Narrow trails vanishing into shadow, game paths bending north, even a broader track curving southward before disappearing behind a wall of ivy. Whether these are diversions, dead ends, or true roads, it is impossible to tell from here. What is apparent is that the forest is allowing the party to continue traveling on its own in whatever direction it chooses, but not seeming to guide or suggest any particular direction.
After a few hours of walking, Davroar will stop to take a short break for some water. Both Bern and Zindra are more senior than him with the Emerald Enclave, so he asks both, "Bern, Zindra. I know we got a long ways to go. All these other paths we've passed, you figure we just keep heading on whatever one keeps us going east?"
Davroar is just a bit worried if they do take the wrong path they would then have to retrace their steps back until they reach a different path. It is not exactly an efficient use of time, and hopes one of them has more knowledge about where they need to go.
You have a favored terrain type. Your proficiency bonus is doubled for proficient skills when you make an INT or WIS check related to it. While traveling for an hour or more in your chosen terrain, difficult terrain doesn’t slow your group’s travel, your group can’t become lost except by magical means, you remain alert to danger even when you are engaged in another activity, you can move stealthily at a normal pace (while alone), you find twice as much food while foraging, and while tracking creatures, you learn the exact number, sizes, and how long ago they passed through the area.
The scout, experienced in these woods, speaks up. "We will arrive at Shadowtop Cathedral because that is the path we take. This is our domain and the forest welcomes us just as it defends itself from intruders."
The party makes steady progress, the trail bending and winding eastward beneath the sprawling forest canopy. Hours pass in the dim green-tinted light, the forest ceiling filtering the sun into narrow shafts that touch the mossy ground in fleeting pools. The air smells of earth and pine resin, and the silence is broken only by the creak of branches overhead and the occasional bird call that always seems to fall silent just before you come into earshot.
It's evident you're being watched. The only question is who the watchers are communicating with.
Not all is peaceful, though. Signs of disturbance appear along the way. At one point, you see that a massive tree has been snapped cleanly in half, the splintered wood raw and bright against its dark bark. The break lies ten feet above the ground, far too high for any human tool to reach. Nearby, the undergrowth has been flattened into a wide swath, brambles crushed underfoot. Near the edge of one such clearing, the mossy bark of several trees bears the mark of smeared white handprints... too deliberate to be natural, and arranged in a pattern that seems almost ritualistic.
Here the trail splits briefly, merging back into itself after a short loop. Those wearing the sigil of the Emerald Enclave might feel the forest’s subtle acceptance at these crossroads, though the choice of which branch to follow is left to the party.
At one point, a pinecone the size of a fist drops from the canopy above, bouncing squarely off Pavel’s shoulder before skittering away into the underbrush. And shortly after, a low branch seems to dip just enough to snag Jaliera's cloak after she ducks under it. The fabric tugs tight across her back before tearing loose with a faint rip. When she looks up, the branch sways slowly, creaking in the still air, as though it had bent on its own. Coincidence?
He is way out of his element and aware that the only reason he is able to travel the woods is because those around him. He remains silent and close to the others.
It seems most of the trees and shrubs are carrying on the tradition of allowing Emerald Enclave members, including guests, to follow along the paths, but every once in a while it seems one of the awakened foliage creatures objects in subtle ways. A vine suddenly reaching across the path to try to trip Pavel. A shake of a branch raining pine needles on Jaliera. Minor annoyances, but clear evidence that the guests are noticed. They're somewhat predictable, happening near points that the paths intersect with others, or open into small clearings.
After another hour at another intersection, the party's eastward travel is abruptly stopped; the forest will not let them proceed forward, bushes opening a path toward the south instead. And a short distance down that path, the trail widens into a small clearing.
Here the damage is unmistakable: saplings snapped and trampled into the earth, bark stripped from trunks in wide gouges, and a circle of undergrowth flattened as though something enormous had made camp here.
Scattered at the edge of the clearing lie a half-dozen weapons clearly meant for the hands of much larger creatures. Oversized greataxes, crude but serviceable greatswords, even a massive spear with a haft carved from a young tree trunk. Though massive and deadly in their own right, the weapons bear the look of something churned out in bulk: rough edges left unpolished, handles hastily wrapped, the kind of work that prizes speed and quantity over true craftsmanship.
And curiously, each bears painted sigils and clumsy runes scrawled in berry-dye and chalk. Shards of colored glass and hammered copper have been nailed or tied onto the hilts to glitter like enchantments in the sun. To an untrained eye, they might look magical.
But to anyone with real knowledge of spellcraft, which includes everyone in this party... the markings are nonsense.
The air in the clearing is heavy. Branches above creak as if in warning. Behind you, the trail you followed is now half-obscured, shrubs crowding across the path. The other exits from the clearing are just as blocked. For the moment, the forest seems to hold you here. Waiting to see what you will do with what it has shown you.
OOC: While the party has been navigating eastward through the forest, they were still relatively close to the river as Davroar suggested.
And maybe the forest was more friendly to newcomers before whatever happened? Or maybe there's only so much a tree, awakened or otherwise, can do vs. a giant (or a herd of them). (What do you call a group of giants?)
"The forest is telling us something. We need to study this place. It's wrong somehow. Those weapons are probably a clue." She stops and reaches with her senses to find potential corruption.
She's going to study this place several ways. First, She's going to dig into her "favorite enemies" and gets to roll an Int check with Advantage to connect giants or humanoids to the weapons and the site. She's also going to spend a spell slot to use Primeval Awareness.
He nods with Jaliera's suggestion as he says, "Yes, we should remove these items."
Davroar will look at each of the weapons to see how these can be gathered up and perhaps transported out with a summoned animal.
[ooc: How far in the forest are we when we find this clearing? Just wondering if Davroar can conjure a pair of giant eagles or vultures to carry these items out of the forest? ]
Zindra's favored enemy knowledge comes through, though this is hardly a pristine battlefield to read. She recognizes the scale of the footprints and the way the damage spreads outward in a rough semicircle. Hill giants often travel in loose, noisy groups rather than strict warbands, and they camp hard... leaving the kind of devastation you see here. The false runes on the weapons aren’t any recognizable giantish script, but the crude work might fool less discerning giant races, such as Hill Giants.
And yes, while giants have trampled most of the ground, there is evidence of humanoid footprints as well. Likely not just humanoid... full humans based on the boot prints, as opposed to Wood Elves common to this forest.
Davroar can see the weapons are massive, serviceable and dangerous in their own right, but clearly turned out in numbers rather than lovingly made. He doesn't see any maker’s marks or inscriptions in Dwarvish on a quick inspection, which one might expect on more finely crafted weapons. The haft of the spear does show tool cuts consistent with dwarven forges working green wood under pressure. That suggests someone with dwarven training, or at least dwarven tools, were involved in their making.
OOC: Certainly large birds could carry some of these weapons away. The question is if they could find their way back to the party for a second trip.
When Zindra casts Primeval Awareness, the pulse that returns is faint, but certain: no giants, no undead, no dragons. But there are living presences nearby.
Humanoids.
More than one, within a mile. Not hostile, not trying to mask themselves.
If the group pauses and listens, they might even sense the faintest hints that they are being watched. A whisper. The rustle of leaves as one moves quietly, confident enough that they don't have to hide.
OOC: Attachment gives general estimate of how far you've traveled; you're still parallel to the river.
[ooc: AquaDyne, Davroar can summon two large birds (CR 1) so could both fly out with all (or most) of the weapons? The spell lasts up to 1 hour. Looking at the progress on the map indicated I am thinking both could fly past the High Forest's Western edge? ]
OOC: You all have been walking for (about) 3 hours at normal walking speed (30). A Giant Eagle has a speed of 80. Sure, it can make it back to where you started in about an hour.
Zindra "We've seen hill giants around. One undead one just yesterday. Who are we kidding, they use trees as clubs. What's curious to me are the markings. What is the story with that doppleganger that's been imitating Bern and you? Didn't you guys run into it back in Phandelver at that mine?"
"I sense that there are goodly folk about. Let's seek them out."
(OOC - For those players who have forgotten...., I would think the pcs would not...., I believe the Dwarf we're following was making fake magic weapons and selling them.)
From the east-northeast direction, there's a rustling sound, like wind moving through the trees. Except it's more like trees moving, causing wind. Through the trees at the clearing boundary, you can see the trail further out is parting for someone... or some thing... approaching from that direction, but not yet to the clearing where the party is.
Her first instincts are to draw her bow but she fights that urge, unsure of how the forest might react. Instead she focuses on Whisper to see who or what approaches.
Whisper’s eyes search the area surrounding the clearing. While the same branches that block the party's movement on foot prevent her from flying very far out as she circles the perimeter, her vantage point gives her more information than those at ground level.
Jaliera, through Whisper's eyes, is able to make out three figures advancing openly—humanoids with painted faces and ash-smeared skin, carrying long spears and bows. Their approach is calm, unhurried.
But the owl also senses more. A flicker of motion in the underbrush to the south. The faint creak of a bowstring from the west. Shadows shifting with too much intent to be mere animals. The sense is clear: more are out there, unseen, circling. Perhaps a half dozen, give or take a few.
For now, none raise their weapons. The forest bends to let them pass, branches easing aside as though recognizing them. One of the approaching humanoids even appears to turn and speak with an awakened shrub... and Whisper's keen sense of hearing seems to detect the shrub speaking a reply. The words are too faint to make out, however.
He turns towards the three people approaching unseen. Davroar takes a few steps forward and blindly calls out while keeping his voice at a normal level, "Hello! My name is Davroar. Zindra, Bern, and I are from the Emerald Enclave." He pauses to see if anyone responds.
The noise of approaching humanoids caused Pavel to ready himself. But he visibly relaxes at the sight of the three and the reaction of the forest surrounding the trio.
When Davroar introduces the party he raise his eyebrow and gives a sidelong glance to Davroar.
The trees at the eastern edge of the clearing bend aside with deliberate intent, the forest itself making way.
From the green-tinted shadows step three figures. Tall, broad-shouldered, their bodies are honed with the lean strength of hunters. Each has black hair and blue eyes, their faces painted with ash and streaked with green dyes that echo the canopy above. Clay, bark, and charcoal smear their skin until they seem almost grown from the trees themselves. The leader bears a long spear tipped with stone, his companions carrying bows slung across their backs.
He steps forward first, eyes steady, settling on each of you in turn. The two behind him mirror his movement, standing slightly back and to either side.
"We are the spirits' chosen. Friends of the forest. Guardians of the Grandfather Tree," he begins, his words carrying the hard edges of the Illuskan tongue.
"You have done no wrong here," he continues. "Yet. The forest has parted for you, and so you are not enemies. But do not think the Enclave's sigils alone buy trust. Others have come bearing them, others who brought ruin."
He pauses, gaze sweeping across the ruined clearing before fixing for a heartbeat on Bern.
"Here, in this place, giants were welcomed. And one who bore your companion's face, with the Enclave's sigil upon him, walked at their side."
His spear thuds into the earth.
"The forest waits to hear your intentions. Speak it plain, so the trees themselves may judge its truth."
He lets out a low grunt of disgust as he looks in down in shame as once more Bern's doppelganger is giving them a bad reputation.
"Druid Reidoth has sent us. We wish to talk with Turlang about the giants."
Davroar keeps his statement simple as requested, but at the same time his curiosity gets him to ask, "The one with the giants you say that looks like my friend Bern here, is a false person. A doppelganger. When was he last seen here?"
OOC: Bern likely would have already told you about the timing -- a fortnight ago. His favored terrain is Forest, and "while tracking creatures, you learn the exact number, sizes, and how long ago they passed through the area."
She feels it best that the others speak for her and Pavel, though if asked she will willingly and truthfully declare her respect for the people and their forest.
The trees around the clearing rustle, even though the air is still, their voices emerging as groans, whispers, and creaks, layered and uneven, as though the whole wood itself speaks.
Then, the oak closest to the clearing shudders. Its trunk twists with a slow groan, and the thick bark along its midsection peels back just enough to form the shape of a crude mouth. It speaks in the common tongue, its voice rough and fibrous, like wood splintering under an axe, every word edged with the rasp of torn bark.
“You ask what ruin they brought? The giants trampled saplings, stripped bark, and fed fire with green wood still living. The earth drinks blood here. It is not forgotten.”
Then the bark-mouth creaks wider, as if gritting invisible teeth.
“And the one with the giants bore your companion’s face. Tell us then. How do we know which Bern stands before us?”
Before anyone in the party can answer, more voices come from the surrounding clearing. And other languages are uttered.
In Elvish, carried on the rustle of leaves (Zindra, Bern, and Jaliera can understand this):
“Do you come as guests, or as hunters?”
In Sylvan, a breath like the wind (Zindra and Pavel understand):
“What would you give to the forest, if it asked?”
In Druidic, whispered through the shifting of roots (Davroar hears):
“The sap runs thin where giants tread. Will you bleed for root and leaf, if called?”
The sounds fade, but the presence of the forest lingers heavy, expectant. The tribal hunters remain still, watching to see how the party will answer.
He takes an inadvertent step back in surprise when the oak tree face appears, but quickly recovers as he slowly bends down to pick up a broken sapling. Listening to the forest he replies with as much sincerity he can, "I swear to you this is the real Bern before us."
Davroar quickly pierces the fleshy part of his left palm that draws enough blood for those to see and replies in Druidic, "See, my blood runs true and will honor your wish as long as I breathe."
His eyes widen at the oak that started to speak. Startled his hands drop to his weapons but he relaxes when the tree speaks glancing from Davroar to Bern. Cursing under his breath "That damn doppleganger."
As the leaves rustle he looks around trying to find where the voice came from. But he does ponder what he was asked.
"I have no object that I can physically give. I can offer sweat and my magic to help clean the blight in this clearing. But little else. But I hunt one of those responsible for this destruction. The creature who wore the visage of my companion. So I guess I could offer my blades as well to put a stop to that menace."
"I would hope to be accepted as a guest here. I regret the damage you have suffered. The giants and those false ones that travel with them have caused much damage and loss of life elsewhere, so yes, I am a hunter wanting to bring those to account and halt any further damage and pain."
She feels a fierce purpose fill her. It is beyond time for those who trespassed here and elsewhere.
"And I too will endorse my companion as the true owner of his face and friend to all here."
The forest stirs again, its voices carried in whispers, rustling leaves, and the groan of bending branches.
And then, it grows quiet, the Oak at the eastern end speaking. Its tone is softer, less splintered anger and more the slow weight of judgment.
"You travel east. Know this: the trees ahead are older than any living memory. Their roots drink only truth, and they do not suffer those who hunt without balance."
A gentle whispering murmur echoes from the surrounding wood.
"Those of the Enclave walk as friends, but you bring others whose hearts speak of pursuit. Honest words are commended, but hunters may pass only if they bind themselves to the forest’s way: to take only as much as is needful, and to guard as well as to reap. Such is the rite. It is not a battle, but a proving; a binding of word and deed to the balance of the forest. It must be done before the old growth will let you through."
The branches along the eastern edge of the clearing shiver, then ease aside, beginning to open a trail in that direction, but not yet fully.
But before the party can move, the forest once again lifts its voice.
From the north, where you first entered, another voice rises, deeper and slower, as if pulled from stone and root alike.
"Bern, friend of the forest. We have seen your skill. Your path parts here from your companions. The forest needs your eyes, your steps. The shadow that wore your face left its tread along the forest’s edge. Track it and those it walks with. Speak with the trees you find, and they will carry your words to Turlang, who gave us voice. When your task is done, your path will rejoin your companions."
The boughs to the north part, just enough to suggest a path waiting to be taken. A path meant for one.
There is silence for a moment, until the tribal leader speaks.
He steps forward, his painted face solemn, his tone carrying measured respect.
"The forest has spoken. You walk no longer in the shelter of new growth, but at the threshold of the old. There, the trees remember when no kings yet walked the land, and they yield only to truth. The rite is not ours to refuse, nor yours to bargain. It is the forest’s will."
He glances at Jaliera and Pavel, the outsiders who had spoken of hunting.
"Your hearts run hot, and that we do not judge. But to walk the old growth, even hunters must swear the forest’s way: to take only what is needful, and to guard as fiercely as you strike. This vow you will give at the grove, and there the forest will bind it. The rite does not test your strength, but your accord with the forest. Only when word and will are bound to balance will the old growth yield passage."
He turns eastward, gesturing with his spear as the branches stir again, parting more widely now.
"The grove lies deeper, along your path and yet beside it. We will guide you there. The trees themselves will witness what is spoken."
He does not like splitting up. Bern tracking down the doppelganger on his own sounds quite dangerous, yet he knows Bern is very good in his element here within the forest.
Davroar shakes his hand with Bern, his good friend for over a year now. Hiding his frown he says to Bern, "Good hunting. A swift arrow into that thing will make me happy."
As Bern starts on his on own way, Davroar will turn his attention to these guardians of the forest for a moment. Davroar figures they will probably deal with removing the giant weapons, so he will not bother to summon a couple of animals to take the weapons out of the forest. Instead, he will lead the rest of their party towards the eastward path while silently wondering about this rite of proving the forest speaks of.
Pavel remains quiet at the prospect of Bern going off alone to confront and possibly fight the doppleganger.But visibly the others can tell he does not like the idea.
He remains quiet though. And thoughtful at the words spoken to him.
The painted warrior inclines his head toward Pavel, his expression solemn. "The words will be given at the grove. What matters is not the sound of them, but the heart that speaks them. If your intent is true, the old growth will know."
The "else" of that claim is not spoken.
"Those who bind themselves rightly earn passage and favor. Sometimes, more than passage alone."
He shifts his spear against his shoulder and adds, "We will guide you only as far as the grove. Beyond that, your path is yours, under the forest’s eyes alone."
Whether or not trees have eyes or if this is a metaphor isn't really described. But the oak who spoke earlier definitely has a mouth.
The oak’s bark-mouth creaks faintly, as if resuming thought. Its voice splinters softly. "You, child of the Enclave, spoke of removing the weapons. Why? They lie heavy, but their weight is not only in the hand. Speak your reason. What burden did you think to lift?"
He turns back to the oak tree to say with a hint of uncertainty in his voice, "Well, just, just thought with the damage here." He looks at the ground and at the discarded weapons and continues to say, "It seemed, like to me, to get rid of the ugly metal of these weapons to help the forest reclaim this clearing." Davroar admits to himself he has no clue as to how a sentient forest really thinks, and truthfully he was just thinking it would make things easier for the forest to eventually grow over the damage without the large metal content from the giant sized weapons.
The oak’s bark-mouth shifts again, its voice still gentler now, like wood groaning under its own ancient weight. There is no judgment, simply guidance. "Your heart leans toward healing, and that is well. But these trees have endured centuries, their roots splitting stone and their patience deeper than rivers. In time, even scars such as these will be swallowed."
The branches shiver overhead, scattering leaves that flutter to the ground, some of them landing atop the discarded weapons.
"But your oath is balance, and balance can not be mended here. The damage is done, and these weapons but a remnant. The remnants here are not the true danger, but the shadow that wore your companion’s face bore more of them to other giants. That is why his steps must follow theirs, and why the forest called him apart. It is not too late for him to bring balance elsewhere."
The painted hunters incline their heads slightly, the leader’s eyes steady. When the tree ceases speaking, he notes quietly, "We are called the Tree Ghost tribe. Our oath is not yours. Where the Enclave weighs balance, we strike swiftly in the forest's defense. If iron can serve, we will make use of it. If it cannot, we will see it destroyed."
She nods, almost to herself. She does not have the knowledge and understanding of some of her companions of this forest, its people and its ways but what the tree said and the hunter said does make sense. She would wish this desecration had not happened but if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride. That thought, a saying of her father's, brought back a vivid memory of her parents. She still missed them and knew in her heart what else she might wish for.
"It looks like the doppelganger was here and so were giants and they were harmful. What I think we've heard is that Jaliera and Pavel have to have their hands or weapons bound to proceed. Davroar, can you get clarification."
He looks to Zindra with a questionable look as his interpretation of what was said about being 'binded rightly' would not be so literal as to actually having to tie up Jaliera's and Pavel's hands or weapons. Shrugging his shoulders to Zindra, Davroar turns to the leader of the Tree Ghost tribe and simply asks, "You want us to tie up", he points to Jaliera and Pavel, "our friends hands, or take their weapons away? Is that really needed before we can move on?"
Pavel looks at Zindra of them like she is crazy. "Ummm... I think he said that Jaliera and I need to bind ourselves to the forest. Now bind ourselves to proceed to the clearing where we make our vows."
The leader of the Tree Ghost patrol lets out a short breath... not quite a laugh, but the faint sound of amusement. His painted face stays solemn, though his tone eases just slightly.
"The forest does not ask you to bind your companions’ hands. It asks them to bind their hearts. It is oaths, not ropes, that bind."
He looks at Zindra and Davroar in turn. "We do not approach the sacred grove, but children of the Enclave have shared stories. This is an ancient rite called Rootbinding. In old tongue, we say the guests' vows are lashed to the same oath their escorts already carry, much as roots entwine beneath the soil, unseen yet holding the forest upright."
His gaze then moves to Pavel and Jaliera.
"The words will be given when the grove is reached. But the trees are old, and they drink more than sound. Consider what lies behind your voices when you speak: whether it is honesty, wisdom, respect, or your way of walking in this wild. The forest listens not for your words, but for the truth of your intent. Do not try to be who you are not."
Trying to be someone she is not has never been an issue for her and she does have a respect for other cultures and for nature so she does not foresee a problem.. at least at this stage.
He nods his head both for feeling slightly embarrassed for the silly question and in thanks for clarifying what is to be expected of them. "Good. Thanks for speaking plainly. Then we should go while we still have daylight."
"Thanks," she says to Davroar. "That seems simple enough to do. And you get to walk freely and keep your weapons. It's a bargain!" she says to Pavel and Jaliera.
The Tree Ghost hunters give a final glance to the ruined clearing, then signal for the party to follow. Only the three who had been speaking with them head east; the remainder of the unseen members of the tribe remain, likely to salvage anything useable from the weapon stash.
The path narrows at first, but then widens into a clearer track. It is no longer the living maze the forest wove before, but more the kind of forest road that has been walked and respected for centuries. The surroundings are still tinted green as the sun reflects from the canopy, but here the branches bend above rather than bar the way. The trees change as you walk. The straight young trunks give way to older giants, bark thick and furrowed. The trunks thicken, some wider than a cottage, their branches arching so high they blot out the sky, their canopies soaring high and wide. There are fewer awakened shrubs and trees here, and the paths are obvious, worn smooth by generations. It is easier walking, but the silence carries weight.
After a half-hour’s walk, the murmur of the Dessarin River to the south fades. Those with maps or a ranger’s sense of the land might realize the river bends south here, slipping deeper into the valley. Springs thread through the forest floor instead, their waters trickling clear and cold into mossy pools. Now and then, a deer lifts its head at your passing. A brace of hares vanish into the brush. Once, a fox trots openly across the trail, pausing long enough to glance at your escorts before slipping away. These creatures seem untroubled by the painted hunters, as if accustomed to their presence.
Finally, after nearly an hour, the forest’s atmosphere shifts. Everyone can feel it: the air is cooler, heavier, rich with the smell of earth. A hush lies over the place, deeper than the usual quiet of woods. The Tree Ghost leader slows, then halts, raising his spear.
OOC: Davroar: DC13 INT (Arcana) check; if you fail roll again with survival or perception Zindra: DC13 INT (Survival or Perception) check Jaliera and Pavel: DC13 WIS (Insight) check
She enjoys the walk through the forest. There is a kind of sanctified feeling to the forest now. A sort of wholeness where all the plants, trees and animals each have a right of place. She feels safe though she cannot explain why.
Then they seem to arrive somewhere. Even she can sense it is different here.
Walking through the forest following their three guides brings a wholesome feeling to his entire body. Davroar resists the urge to shape-change into an animal to fully experience the environment, and remains quiet until the point where he senses the change just as the Tree Ghost leader signals for them to stop. In a quiet voice he asks, "We at the edge of the sacred grove?"
Davroar Arcana Check Dugan rolled 1d20 and got 20 (natural)
The Tree Ghost patrol leader lowers his spear and glances once at each member of the party, his painted face solemn but not unfriendly. "The grove lies just ahead. Here we leave you. What waits beyond is not for us to tread. The trees will test you, and the forest will judge you. May Silvanus keep your steps steady, and Mielikki watch your path."
He and his companions bow their heads once, a gesture of respect, then turn back the way they came, vanishing into the green shadows with the same unhurried ease they arrived.
The path ahead looks distinctly different. The light dims slightly, the canopy thickening above until the forest feels enclosed, protective. The air is cooler here, heavy with the scent of loam and moss. Sound itself seems dampened... no birdcalls, no chitter of squirrels, only the faint creak of branches shifting high above.
As the party moves forward, everyone senses something heavy. And not the air's scent. Their footsteps feel heavier as if they're carrying more weight... and, after a brief moment, they begin to notice the source. Swords. Rapiers. Bows, crossbows, and quivers. Daggers. Something about the grove seems to be resisting at least some weapons.
Most of the party doesn't notice anything beyond that. Except Davroar.
For the druid, the sensation sharpens. The air hums with layered magics, old and enduring. He recognizes the weave of several powerful spells braided together immediately in front of them along the path, starting more simply (but powerful) and growing in layers further in. Right now, he can distinctly make out geas-like compulsion woven into the boundary, forbidding the use of weapons of war. Not physical binding, but conviction pressing into the mind. A thought whispers in his mind: "Lay down your iron, or carry it as a burden. To strike within is to strike against the grove."
Davroar also notices something ahead that the others miss. The mix of predators and prey that they had seen equally balanced during most of their travels is subtly off. Ahead, only a few predators can be seen: a fox pacing restlessly. A jackal laying in wait, looking toward the same direction the party is traveling. A hawk circling high in the trees. Small game such as hares, rabbits, squirrels, or the occasional deer are nowhere to be seen.
He easily understands the forests dislike for the few weapons made of metal he carries, so he stops and turns to his friends.
"Yes, best to leave any metal weapons here please. Anything sharp and metal, even anything as small as an arrow head we should leave behind."
Davroar removes his daggers and the few steel shot he has for his sling. He even leaves his larger pack containing a few cooking metal utility items. All of this he puts into a small neat pile on the ground. He will keep his staff as it is made from old wood and should not be an problem.
"We must be careful walking in. Everyone, please follow me and do not wander. There are very old magics within and probably deadly for any bad actions, intentional or not."
Davroar will wait for everyone to remove their weapons. The lack of small fauna is a bit of a mystery to him, so he won't mention this to the others unless it becomes an issue. Spotting the few predatory animals, he will just make a note of where they are for now and be mindful of them.
"Leave my weapons?" Pavel asks incredulously. He looks to the rest of the group. Seeing Jaliera and Davroar complying, he removes his swords, dagger, and the crossbow and its bolts.
Davroar’s caution shows in more than weapons, as even tools and cooking gear rest neatly in his pile. It is not wrong; nothing in this place rebukes him for it. But the sense he feels is clearer than to the others: the forest weighs war, not work. The staff of old wood in his hand is no threat. Even fish hooks would not have been either. Yet still, the gesture sits well; a show of respect the forest will not forget.
After laying down weapons, the group steps forward.
Others may notice the few prey animals on either side of the path, seeming nervous and pacing, as if wanting to go further in the direction they are traveling, but avoiding it for equally compelling reasons. And shortly ahead, prey animals can be seen. A small cluster of deer lift their heads. A hare sits upright on its haunches, unafraid, its nose twitching. They linger in the open where such creatures rarely would, as though confident nothing hunts them here.
Then, another reaction. This one closer. Jaliera feels it before she sees it: Whisper stiffens, talons clenching on her shoulder. The owl’s head jerks sharply left and right, feathers puffing, wings half-spread as though to take flight. A soft, distressed hiss escapes its beak. Whatever force has frightened fox and hawk seems to be affecting the familiar as well.
Whisper is not harmed, but the fear is real and mounting.
OOC: Gypsy, make a DC 19 WIS save roll with Whisper's stats (+1), or Whisper will become Frightened. Jaliera may use an action prior to the roll or immediately after a failed roll, otherwise on failure, Whisper will fly away 60 feet (approximately where the party left the weapons).
The sound of WHisper's distress cause him to look over to Jaliera and Whisper. Seeing the agitated owl fly off he says in muffled words, "I gather that they view the bird as a hunter."
He then looks around again at the gathering of prey animals who seem calm in their presence.
"I am thinking this part of the forest is a sanctuary from hunters."
Whisper seems content to stay with the party's weapons, observing the other small predators with a new understanding of why they have chosen not to move forward here.
As for the rest of the party, it takes only a few moments after Whisper's departure for them to realize the spell frightening predators is not the only enchantment they have encountered.
One by one, awakened trees ahead and beside the party speak.
To the northeast, a broad ash tree shivers, and a voice creaks from its branches in Common: “Welcome, guests of the Enclave. Step forward only with truth in your heart.”
To the south, an elm sways, leaves rustling in Elvish: “Here no shadow may hide. All words are weighed, all deeds remembered.”
To the southeast, a birch bends, whispering in Sylvan: “Speak what you will, but the forest drinks the intent beneath. Your test has begun.”
And from the north, an ancient cedar groans in Druidic: “The grove does not test strength. It tests balance. Those who walk untrue will find no path beyond.”
While each member of the party may know some of the languages spoken, none know all.
And yet, even for languages they don't know, they understand each tree's words perfectly in their minds.
OOC: You have entered an area enchanted by the Hallow spell. Fey are permitted but the other types listed aren't. The extra effect is Tongues. Any creature here will understand any spoken language it hears; and you can understand those which can speak. If you do not like these effects, you may optionally make a Charisma saving throw (DC 15) to resist the Tongues effect. You are not required to roll.
Zindra She is filled with awe and respect as the trees usher them deeper into the woods. She did not mind laying down her weapons as she knew they were easily replaces but with confidence they would not be moved.
As she moves forward and hears the voices of the trees, she nods or bows her head to each tree that speaks, acknowledging them and their warnings.
He stops briefly to check that Whisper is going to be ok as the poor frightened owl flies back to where they left their gear. Continuing onwards, he looks to each tree as it speaks, responding to each with a simple "Hello."
Being extra cautious even more on where to step and to keep his hands to himself as he slowly tries to calm his anxiousness as they get closer.
He approaches with the group and with the voices of the trees in his head. Easily finding meaning in words spoken in languages he never understood before. Accepting this as a gift he keeps his mind focused on his own mission and his own intent as he attempts to find the words to reaffirm that he has no intent on causing harm to the forest or the grove.
The forest seems to still, as though listening in turn to each of your gestures and words. Where heads bowed, the trees groan softly in kind, bark creaking like the long sigh of an elder at peace. Where quiet greetings are spoken, a breeze stirs in answer, warm despite the shade.
For Jaliera, the marvel is simple and pure... trees that think and speak, meeting her gaze as equals. For Zindra, each nod and bow is returned with the faintest sway of branches, a mark of recognition. Pavel’s intent rings clear in the hush of leaves above, and for a moment he feels that his vow is weighed... and accepted.
But it is only the beginning.
Davroar, moving as though each step might matter, notices more. In his care not to disturb root or stone, he sees where small creatures have already chosen their own paths forward and back. Paw prints circle the way, overlapping and confused, as if the animals themselves could not decide whether to approach or flee. He alone spots the pressed earth where a hare had lain and risen, and nearby, a faint line of disturbed soil where something had dragged itself with effort before coming to rest again.
Then, the path itself shifts. Trees that seemed to hem you in before suddenly lean aside, as if in unison, and what was hidden is revealed. Ahead lies a wide circle of ancient stones. At its heart rises a massive tree, its roots breaking through the stone floor, its crown bathed in a shaft of golden light that pierces the canopy where no gap existed before. The air about it hums with holiness, not oppressive but inviting, like the warmth of a hearth on a winter night.
Yet even as the circle beckons, the forest tugs your attention elsewhere.
The hare that had sat watching you thumps its foot sharply, then darts a few paces before pausing beside another rabbit lying low, one leg held stiff. Behind you, the fox that had been pacing now whines softly, slinking closer, eyes bright with hunger yet body trembling at the thought of crossing the unseen line. It looks skinnier than you had noticed before. To one side of the path, a young sapling droops, its leaves curled and edges browned, roots pressed shallow into dry earth.
The path to the circle is clear, its promise radiant, inviting.
But the forest’s denizens call at the same moment. Not all is perfect here.
She is enthralled with this place, this display before her. They are alerted by the hare to the plight of a rabbit. Jaliera nudges Davroar in its direction. She knows he can help.
She has her own mission. She kneels softly beside the young sapling and upcaps her water bottle, gently pouring all her water around the base of its thin trunk.
"It may need more water. Can anyone else spare any?"
She speaks softly to the others. It would be unseemly to raise her voice here.
He senses the weighty countenance on his thoughts but continues on with only those thoughts. As it dissipates, he starts taking in his surroundings. The abundant growth surrounding the clearing. The pure majesty of it.
But it is the more telling aspects that concerns him mostly in the form of the weak tree.
"Do you think the damage to the forest caused this blight here?" he asks out loud.
"I feel the power but..." she turns to Pavel. "I feel it too? There's pain."
Then turning to Jaliera. "Water may or may not be the problem. We know that it just rained a short distance from here," he said reminder her of the mudslide. "It could be a disease, or even a curse. I wish that we had a better idea."
Finding the center of the grove takes his breath away for a moment. Stopping, he slowly lowers himself to his knees, and lightly running his fingers of his right hand through the loam at his feet. Looking around at the ground he points and says, "There are numerous small trails I can see. Some struggle. The strong survive. The weak not."
Turning his head to Jaliera he says, "Keep you water. Nature finds its own way. The sapling will die, but its nutrients may yet foster another. A stronger one in time."
Letting out a sigh as he stands back up Davroar says, "It's not a blight, Pavel. I think Zindra has said it better. We should ask the forest for what pains it."
Davroar has a good idea that it is the giants activities that has hurt the forest, but he obviously does not know the whole story here and is willing to help out in any way he can. Bowing his head slightly he steps forward, crossing the unseen line and opening his heart to listen.
The sapling responds first, as the dry soil at its base absorbs the water Jaliera poured. Its leaves, once curled and browning, begin to soften and spread. The little tree straightens almost visibly, a touch of green returning to its edges. It's not quite perfect, but visibly improved. And then, from the canopy above, a soft rain of leaves falls from a nearby tree, settling in a circle around Jaliera and the sapling, seeming to form a wreath around them. Whatever was done seems to have gained the forest’s approval.
The other forest denizens do not seem to appreciate the party's focus on the tree, however. The hare that had tried to attract the party's attention and apparently failed, hops forward again, this time stopping right at Pavel’s boots as if singling him out. It thumps its foot twice, looking up at him, nose twitching. Then it darts back toward the injured rabbit and pauses, glancing over its shoulder as if urging him to follow.
And the fox, watching from outside the invisible line that seemed to cause Whisper to be frightened, offers a small, plaintive whine, its own attempt to attract attention.
As Davroar opens himself to the weave of the place, the answer is
not pain but wholeness. The grove is strong. Vibrant, ancient, balanced. The hum of its magic is steady, like the slow heartbeat of the world.
But within that calm, he senses three smaller notes out of place. Not rot, not curse, not blight. Just imbalance, but intentionally so; carried in from elsewhere. The thirsty sapling, the injured rabbit, the hungry fox. None belong here.
A whisper stirs in his thoughts. "To ask of the forest, one must first give."
"I think that's your answer, Davroar." he said pointing at the tree Jaliera watered and the reaction.
Feeling the rustling near his feet he looks down spying the rabbit.
"Hello little guy." he says down at the rabbit then follows it. Kneeling down he looks over the hare to try to figure out if there was a way to help the creature as the sapling had been.
{OOC: I am so tempted to have Pavel pick the darn thing up and feed it to the fox... }
It doesn't take a healer's eye to note bite marks on the hare's injured leg, probably from some other animal. They are a bit too big to be from the nearby fox.
Seeing the wound, Pavel initially looks to Davroar but then remembers the two potions he was carrying. Opening up his bag of holding he rummages around pulling both of the potions and a small bowl. He then places the experimental potion back in his bag.
"They're going to kill me," he mutters to himself as he pours the Potion of Healing into the bowl and offers it to the wounded hare to drink.
The rabbit drinks of the offered potion, and the visible bite marks vanish, the leg able to move again. The companion thumps its foot repeatedly, moving in an excited circle nearby.
And then...
The golden light that crowns the central tree seems to ripple outward, spilling like liquid sun across the circle of stones. From the trunk of a tree nearby the party, the same kind but perhaps a few centuries younger than the ancient one at the center, the bark parts silently.
A figure steps forth as if woven from wood and light together. Her hair tumbles like living leaves, green threaded with autumn gold. Her eyes are deep pools of amber, steady and timeless. The bark closes behind her, leaving no mark of her passage.
She raises her hands, palms open, and her voice is soft, like wind through summer branches.
"You have given, as the forest asked," she speaks, looking approvingly at both Jaliera and Pavel. "Water freely poured. A potion of healing shared. Gifts not demanded, but offered. This is the way of balance. This is the way of those who may walk deeper."
The language is dryadic, but the entire party... and even the animals and awakened foliage... understand her perfectly.
Her gaze returns briefly to Jaliera, and there is the faintest curl of a smile. "Call your feathered friend. Here, where truth binds and shadows fall away, she will not know the fear of others like her. What serves your heart may stand beside you."
The dryad then turns her attention to Davroar and Zindra, hands coming together and then parting, one toward each of them offering a small cluster of berries glowing faintly, their scent bright and clean. OOC: Goodberries!
"Children of the Enclave, not all is complete. Take these fruits of the forest. Share them with those who have been brought here to test your companions. Feed them, and then bring them to stand as witnesses when word is bound to deed." To Davroar, she offers a knowing look, the corner of her mouth curling up. "Should you wish to assume a form to witness with them, it would be quite appropriate."
Finally, after the berries are taken, she turns her attention away from the party and walks to the sapling Jaliera had watered, kneeling to touch its thin trunk with fingers that glow faintly green. A shimmer passes through the young tree, leaves uncurling fully, color returning in a rush of living strength. OOC: Druidcraft!
She rises again, her gaze sweeping the party.
"The circle awaits. Step forward when you are ready."
Her words are soft and full of wonder. She was glad that the sapling is no longer struggling. But there is a bigger lesson here. Humans shouls learn to be this way for each other too.
Her heart swells and she calls mentally to Whisper to return, reassuring her familiar that there is no danger any more.
He feels a bit embarrassed for thinking wrong about the situation with the animals and the sapling. The embarrassment is short-lived though when the dryad appears and he shares the berries as instructed. He nods to the dryad and says a quiet thanks to her.
Taking the dryad's offer to shape change, Davorar thinks that he should not change into a carnivore, like a wolf or bear that he has used multiple times before. Instead he shape shifts into a large male reindeer with a mix of light-grey and white fur as it signifies his tribes ancient ancestry as a Nar. He will then follow behind the three of his friends.
OOC: The dryad may not have been very clear, but she wanted you to feed the fox and rabbits and bring them with you to the circle. Carrying cuddly furries optional.
Not a big deal to ignore this, just bringing closure to an imperfect grove.
Pavel was petting the rabbit that he'd just helped when the Dryad appeared out of the tree. Taking his cue from the rabbit he remains calm and continues to pet the bunny.
He pauses briefly to break open a pack of rations and feeds the bunny some of the dried fruit from the package of rations. Seeing that the fox is interested he tosses the remainder of the fruit to the fox.
Listening close (OOC: and reading DM OOC notes) Pavel picks up the rabbit and follows Zindra.
The path funnels the party toward an opening in the ring of ancient stones. The circle stands like a wall of giants frozen in time… massive uprights of weathered granite, their tops linked by broad lintel stones. They rise in an unbroken ring around the great tree at the center; except at the near end, where the path brings you. Here there are no verticals, only two of the lintels spanning low, flat, like short platforms waiting to be stood upon.
As Zindra and Davroar (in reindeer form) reach the lintels, they feel guided by the forest's matic to stop there, their places completing the circle as living posts where none of stone were set. The companion of the hare healed by pavel hops lightly after them, before pausing near the gap, watchful as Pavel carries the other creature inside.
The fox slinks forward at last, emboldened, circling once around Jaliera before sitting at Davroar’s side, the balance of predator and prey acknowledged.
Whisper alights on Jaliera’s shoulder, calm at last in the presence of the grove.
Beyond the boundary, the interior waits: the roots of the central tree rising through the stone floor, a shaft of golden light pouring down upon it from an unseen break in the canopy. The air hums faintly, alive with the magic of ages.
Then the bark of the great tree itself parts, and the dryad steps forth again, crossing from trunk to circle as easily as stepping through a doorway. Her presence here is stronger. Less a visitor, more a keeper of this place.
Her amber eyes sweep across the gathering. Emerald Enclave members and forest creatures along the ring, guests within.
"Now the ring is whole. Witnesses are gathered, and the forest is listening. When word is given, it will be bound," the dryad intones quietly, her voice carrying like wind through branches. She turns to Jaliera and Pavel, her amber eyes steady.
"I will speak the words of the oath, and you will repeat them. But understand: balance wears many faces. Some find it in truth spoken plain and the honor of the spoken word. Some find it in wisdom of what lies beneath, some in the respect shown to the wild, and some in the way they tread the land itself."
Her gaze softens slightly, almost encouraging.
"You need not feel balance to swear to keep it. You need not be a druid to honor it. What matters is that you bind it in your way. Speak with honesty if that is your strength. Speak with wisdom if you see beyond the surface. Speak with reverence if your heart leans toward respect. Speak with steadiness if you know the ways of the wild."
The dryad raises her hand, a curl of green light tracing her fingers like vines.
"But above all, be true to yourself. The forest drinks intent, not only sound. If you cloak your heart, the oath will wither. If you speak as you are, it will root deep."
The dryad pauses to ensure Jaliera and Pavel understand the instructions.
"I already respect nature and care for its creatures. I have a mare whom I value for the bond of friendship we hold. I work in partnership with my owl, in awe of her abilities. I do not pretend to be knowledgeable like Davroar who is a druid but I am learning from him. I will strive to follow his example and absorb all I have learned here."
She is not sure it is enough or what is expected of her, but she spoke from her heart.
Pavel listened to the dryan intently. He thinks he knows what she means. Either he is to repeat an oath she gives them or speak his own. Regardless of which he needed to mean the words whatever was said. He looks down at the bunny he was holding with its twitching nose and ears slightly back then glances at the fox and thought he understood the last part as well.
The dryad nods approvingly at Jaliera's explanation, and acknowledges Pavel's statement similarly.
"The words of the oath are in an ancient tongue," she begins. "Hear their meaning, and repeat in your own language and words."
She pauses, eyes closing and head lowering in respect, her language shifting from dryadic to ancient syllables spoken for over a millenia. The meaning of these words is simple. Each of the five phrases is spoken, giving the two guests a chance to repeat them in their own way before moving on to the next.
"I step into this circle with truth in my heart."
"I vow to honor the balance of the wild."
"I will take only what I need, and give in return."
"I will walk with respect, in shadow and in light."
"As the roots are bound together, so am I bound to this oath."
OOC: Repeat each line aloud; you may rephrase as long as the meaning is the same.
Jaliera and Pavel: Make a DC13 saving roll, with advantage, based on how you want the forest to view your words: CHA (Persuasion) for heartfelt honesty, WIS (Insight) for deep understanding, INT (Nature) for knowledge of the wild, or WIS (Survival) for respect shown in conduct.
Edit: if you want to make your second roll with a different stat like Miales did, for roleplay purposes, go for it!
He thought he understood what the Dryad meant That there was a balance in nature so he started to speak the words.
"I step in this circle with truth in my heart."
He believed in this and then started the second line.
"I honor the balance..."
He stopped abruptly and looked over to the dryad as he was about to say he did have questions of. He started to voice those concerns but held back with a slight gurgle coming from his mouth instead of the question. Looking around quickly he decided to try again but this time with a conviction that he would respect the ways of the forest.
"I step into this circle with truth in my heart."
"I vow to honor the balance of the wild."
"I will take only what I understand that I need, and give in all I can in return."
"I will walk with respect , in shadow and in light."
"As the roots are bound together, so too am I bound to this oath."
OOC: I missed the part whyere it was with Advantage... but I did roll two 1d20.
She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes to 'see' the words, better to repeat them. She is happy to give respect because she feels it. In a clear voice she states:
"I step into this circle with truth in my heart."
"I vow to honor the balance of the wild."
"I will take only what I need, and give in return."
"I will walk with respect, in shadow and in light."
"As the roots are bound together, so am I bound to this oath."
The silence after the last spoken word lingers, long enough that the sound of leaves shifting high above feels like the only reply. Then something stirs beneath each member of the party’s skin.
From wrist to forearm, thin green lines unfurl on both Jaliera and Pavel, first faint as veins, then deepening in color until they resemble living vines. They curl in slow spirals, budding leaves where they cross the back of a hand or the curve of a knuckle. The markings are neither tattoo nor scar, but something in between—neither cold nor painful, but warm, as though the pulse of the grove itself beats faintly within them.
The same marks coil more subtly across Zindra’s arm, like ivy tracing a wall, though her stance already seems surer for it. Even on Davroar, though he stands in the form of a great stag, faint traceries of bark-brown and green ripple across his antlers before fading into the fur beneath. It is the forest’s sign that all have been acknowledged, guests and witnesses both.
The dryad’s voice returns, quieter now, yet carrying to every ear as though the trees themselves speak with her.
“The oath is accepted. Root and stone alike have heard, and what you have spoken is now bound.”
She lets the words rest, then turns her gaze over each of you, lingering a moment longer on Jaliera and Pavel.
“Before the circle closes, ask if you would know more. The forest remembers, and it does not hide its answers from those who come in truth.”
With the oath ritual concluded, he returns to his human form but will wait for the dryad to answer Jaliera before asking to speak directly to Turlang, if that is possible. Reidoth had asked him and Bern to talk with the treant. Davroar is just not sure yet what questions to ask if he is allowed.
As Davroar shifts back into his human form, the tracery that had rippled across his antlers fades and reforms along his arms, settling into the same green-veined ivy pattern Zindra bears. The symmetry of the markings makes them seem less individual, more collective; signs of belonging rather than ownership.
The dryad inclines her head to Jaliera, her gaze steady, her voice carrying the weight of the trees behind it.
“The forest asks nothing more than what you have already given. You are not of the Enclave, yet balance lies in more than one circle. Though your path binds you elsewhere, even distant allegiances may serve what grows here. Beyond these woods, the northern borders strain against unrest, and those who stand with you may help hold them.”
She continues, “The forest remembers intentions spoken, and has already carried yours ahead. Turlang knows you seek him, and while he generally does not speak with those outside our circle, perhaps he may find in you a messenger between circles others would see divided.”
She lets her words hang, as if to settle in the minds of all, before turning briefly to Pavel and Zindra.
“The marks you bear are more than signs. Should harm find you within these trees, the forest may answer. Roots do not forget those who bind themselves in truth.”
The air grows still again, the dryad waiting for further questions, or for the circle to be left behind.
"May we talk with Turlang now? If there is anything that Turlang can say to help us know what's going on in the north, the better we can help the others out there."
The dryad tilts her head toward Davroar, her expression remaining calm.
"Turlang does not move quickly", she explains. "But he is aware of your desire to speak and will meet you at Shadowtop Cathedral, but you will likely arrive before him. Until then, should you desire a specific message be brought directly to him, I travel much more quickly through this forest."
"As I have said, Turlang does not often speak to those beyond our circles, yet these are unusual times and the balance tilts. To the north, unrest gnaws at the borders. Orcs gather there, but not for their own sake. They bear the mark of greater hands, giants whose will is not their own, storm-born seekers of power buried in ancient ruins. The orcs strike, but it is not their eyes that truly watch the road."
She bows her head, seeming saddened at the situation. "Such is why your voices carry weight. The Enclave stands guard in this wood, but beyond its edges, we may require words and ties beyond our own keeping. Any help you or your allies can provide will go far in securing Turlang's assistance."
He shakes his head and replies to the dryad, "No. I don't need to send a message." He looks to Zindra to see if she wants to send word ahead of them, otherwise he will just ask, "Thought Turlang would be here. Can you show the trail to Shadowtop Cathedral?"
He thought of his reason for being there. Then of Bern in pursuit of the doppleganger who was part of why he was here. "Do you have knowledge of our companion?? Bern and his pursuit of the doppleganger?"
"The forest remembers your path," the Dryad offers with a short nod. "It will not let you lose the way. From here to Shadowtop Cathedral, the trees will part for you. Should you seek another road, name it, and the woods will guide your steps there as well. The Enclave has no need of maps within its heart."
She turns toward Pavel. "As for your companion... the forest still hears his footsteps. He pursues his shadow, and in that chase has found trails different than he expected. He is not upon the northern border where the orcs stir, but retracing his steps toward Olostin’s Hold. The reasons are unclear. But what he uncovers may yet serve what you seek here."
She remains, patient. When one has guarded a grove for decades, one is not in a hurry to send company on its way.
Even though it has not been a full day since they parted ways with Bern, it is good to hear that Bern is still tracking down the doppleganger.
Davroar can not think of anything else to do here, so he asks the dryad, "Going to Shadowtop Cathedral, is it within the sacred grove area? we still need to leave our metal weapons where we left them?"
That was a good question Pavel thought. Then his thoughts turned to his magic. He doubted that even that would be welcome here considering the potential of collateral damage.
"I'd better swap to spells that are friendlier to the forest if so."
While he would like to retrieve his few metal weapons and his backpack of supplies, he will wait for the dryad to answer his question to confirm that they are ok to take their weapons up to Shadowtop Cathedral.
The dryad smiles toward Davroar. "You may take your weapons with you once you leave this circle. The sanctity lies here, not upon the road beyond. The wild is not forbidden to war, only this grove."
Her attention shifts to the small creatures who still linger: the recently-mended rabbit, its companion, the fox whose hunger has been sated.
"These creatures were not born to this grove. They were brought, that you might see the work of balance with your hands as well as your words. When you depart, I will return them to their homes, unharmed and no longer wanting, yet they will take up their daily struggles again just as the four of you will." A glance at Whisper. "Five." Returning her attention to Davroar, she concludes, "You may find more danger if you venture beyond the old growth, and your weapons may serve you there. Not all who enter the edges of the forest are welcome."
She turns her gaze toward Pavel next, noting his concern regarding fire. "Your magic is a weapon and is no different than your bows and blades. You may find it useful as a tool. But should you wish to align more with the forest, choose magic that does not harm, yet changes the shape of what might be. A mind calmed instead of broken. A creature slowed rather than struck. Time stretched like breathing, so that choice may find space to act. These are the magics the forest favors, when strength alone is not enough."
There is no rebuke in her voice. Only a gentle suggestion how to relay Pavel's concern into more than he may know.
To Zindra, she inclines her head.
"The forest is not fragile. It endures storms, winters, and ages. What threatens it now is not one blade nor one spark, but a shifting of scale. Giants tread where they did not move before. The oath you bear is not to stand apart from that struggle, but to stand within it. To understand what turns the balance and help tilt the scales back."
As the party seems to have concluded their questions, the dryad concludes.
"If ever you have need of me again, speak my name to the trees, and they will relay your message. I am Rowen, keeper of this grove, voice of its balance."
Pavel thought long and hard about the advice given to him. He thought of the fight with the undead giant and compared it to his fight with the fire giant. Both left him battered but less so with the undead giant.
"I hear your advice, and I am intrigued. Perhaps I can find a better balance going forward."
Thankful for the guidance and information, she knows their mission is incomplete. This was just a step in the right directions. Meeting Turlang at Shadowtop Cathedral was next. She was eager to move forward and took note of the possibility of hostilities they were warned to be wary of as they began their trek.
She bowed to the dryad and looked for path that the forest was guiding them on and when the others were ready, she proceeded.
"Thanks Rowen." Davroar gives her a slight bow in parting and seeing that everyone is ready to go, he turns back the way that they came to find his gear where he left it.
Once he has everything, he says, "If everyone's ready, let's get to Shadowtop Cathedral." Davroar will lead the way again, trusting the forest to open the path to it. Hopefully they will get there with what remaining daylight they have.
The feel of ancient magic surrounding the area is palpable, and as they move away from it and retrieve their weapons, its loss can be sensed.
The trees and shrubs clearly bend and part and reorient the group on a path toward Shadowtop Cathedral, with the balance of the day still ahead of them. Alas, it is unlikely they'll arrive before dark.
OOC: It's 46 miles from Noanar's Hold to Shadowtop Cathedral. 24 miles per day is your normal pace; even with "Fast" movement, 30 miles per day is your limit. TLDR: It's a two-day journey.
IC-wise, you're dealing with Turlang's slower movement as he's on his way to meet you there. So all y'all should figure out where (in relation to geography, such as the Dessarin River) and how (no Tiny Hut, alas!) you're going to spend the night.
Pavel follows them out and collects the gear he left behind.
OOC: Got nothing like that. Closest is Rope trick but only good for an hour. Other than that would have to set up spell traps (and even then doubt the duration would last for the entire time.
OOC: Got nothing like that. Closest is Rope trick but only good for an hour. Other than that would have to set up spell traps (and even then doubt the duration would last for the entire time.
OOC: You are in a forest with Awakened Trees and Shrubs that might agree to help you out if you ask them nicely.
The weight of their mission once again sits across his shoulders as he exists the sacred grove as he wishes he could stay. Remembering the one map he looked at a long time ago showed that Shadowtop Cathedral was still a good distance in from the forests edge. Taking a guess he says, "Reach it late tomorrow, but more likely another full day, Jaliera."
He is trusting the ways of the ancient forest to lead them to Shadowtop Cathedral.
"Perhaps you can have Whisper take a look above the trees to see how far we still have to go. Should see a raised section of the forest ahead."
Through Whisper's eyes, Jaliera sees an endless sea of green, making individual landmarks nearly impossible to distinguish. The High Forest is simply too vast and too dense. Whatever Shadowtop Cathedral is, it lies somewhere beyond Whisper's sight line. The world simply curves away before revealing it.
The forest seems to be cooperating with them, guiding them occasionally around denser parts of the forest but keeping them traveling along unobstructed paths.
...
As darkness falls, the trees guide the party to a small clearing, appearing a comfortable spot to camp. A small spring provides water, and there's evidence of previous parties creating a small fire there to keep warm. Around the boundary, there are ample trees and shrubs to provide shelter from the elements.
The forest around them has ample small creatures available to hunt, should the party prefer them to consuming saved rations. Both predators and prey roam the area and there is nothing that would imply taking enough to eat would be frowned upon. Here in the older growth, it does seem a world apart from the human realm, but it is still a world in which nature runs its course.
Quiet murmurs from a few trees indicate they will keep watch and the party should rest for their journey.
It seems they'll have a restful night.... and ample warning if anything were to disturb them.
...
But nothing does disturb, and the dawn arrives. As the party stirs, a shrub comments that they can reach Shadowtop Cathedral by the afternoon....
She is really starting to feel at home here. She loves her two animal companions Meadow and Whisper and finds being in the vicinity of others within the peaceful forest is more than comfortable.
He could not resist natures call, so he hunted for his food as a wolf last night, returning late to their small camp. Waking up back in his human form, Davroar will just eat from his dried rations this morning, saying "Good morning" to everyone.
He nods in agreement with Zindra, and adds, "Yes, this Turlang sounds intimidating."
Even a restful night sleep left him slightly dazed by all the Unnatural Nature The trees were down right gossipy in his eyes. But he remained vigilant and largely quiet.
After finishing his breakfast he notices Pavel being more quiet than usual. "Everything good, Pavel?" Davraor looks around to see if there is anything amiss. For him the talking bushes have become rather normal to him since entering High Forest.
"Just a little unnerving Davroar. Afraid to say anything because it might come out wrong. Don't want to mess things up for everyone." Pavel said quietly in case they are being overheard.
"I WOOD not worry too much. The trees are somewhat stuck in their ways." Davroar gives a smile to Pavel hoping his attempt at humour might cheer him up.
The forest guides you east once more, the sunlight filtering down through the towering canopy. The terrain grows subtly steeper as the land begins to rise toward the heart of the ancient wood. The air is cooler here, rich with damp earth and pine resin, and the paths feel older, more deliberate.
By early afternoon, their maps and suggestions from their forest guides imply they are likely within an hour of their destination. But here, the forest changes again.
The birdsong quiets somewhat. The undergrowth pulls back into wider, quieter stretches of moss and loam. Even the awakened shrubs fall silent, as though listening for something deeper.
And then—something breaks the rhythm.
Not along your path. Across it.
A broad section of moss several yards to the north is disturbed, torn up in a long, uneven gouge as if something heavy was dragged sideways through the undergrowth. Ferns are crushed flat. A thin smear of dark, dried blood streaks across the exposed roots of a fallen log—leading away from your eastward route, not along it.
Those experienced in tracking would immediately recognize the tracks as very recent. On the scale of minutes, rather than hours.
"Looks like something big got dragged across the trail. Somehow I don't think it is of the forest's doing. Not with those gouges to the earth." Pavel says kneeling to get a better look.
Through Whisper’s eyes, Jaliera watches as the owl follows the fresh scar in the undergrowth easily now, the crushed ferns and broken stalks forming a crooked line through the moss. The trail ends in a narrow glade tucked between massive old trunks.
At the center of the clearing, a lone figure lies on their side near the base of a broad, ancient tree.
Half-elf. Druidic garb, torn and darkened with blood.
Their chest still rises and falls, but shallowly.
Dark shapes move around the fallen body.
Three figures drag themselves from the roots and shadows: towering, bark-skinned forms wreathed in twisted vines and thorns.
Wood woads.
Their hollow, amber eyes burn with cold purpose as they close in a slow, deliberate circle.
One of the woads raises an arm. Vines peel back just enough to reveal a jagged wooden blade, held aloft as if preparing to strike. The movement is slow and deliberate, not born of haste, nor of fury. Methodical.
The druid’s fingers twitch weakly against the soil.
Whisper’s round-trip flight from you took little more than a minute. Whatever is unfolding here is close enough that you could reach it in moments.
She is already off at a run at the same time urging Whisper to distract the creature with the blade. As she runs, she pulls her bow forward and grabs an arrow.
For clarity, the glade is a few hundred feet away and Jaliera can only see/hear "live" actions within 100 feet, so what Jaliera saw was a snapshot of what was going on perhaps a half minute ago. And right now only Jaliera knows this. Also, note that all three wood woads hold a wooden club (which can look like a blade); only one was raising it at the time Whisper saw it but things may have changed since then.
1. Jaliera is sending Whisper ahead to "distract". I need more specific instructions on what Whisper will do, where she will approach from, how close she will fly to the Woads, etc. Also whether Jaliera will be maintaining real-time contact within 100 feet (thus losing her own sight and hearing) approaching the grove or letting Whisper just follow orders.
2. As Zindra has suggested approaching stealthily I need Dexterity (Stealth) rolls from everyone. This is a group check, so 2+ of the 4 of you need to succeed and you already have one (you need to beat 14 passive perception). I'm not counting Whisper in the stealth.
3. We've somewhat hand-waved horses and I don't even know who has one or if they're mounted. Please clarify that and whether you're trying to be stealthy mounted or on foot.
4. Let me know how you're approaching the clearing. Single file? Spread out? Shapeshifted? Weapons at the ready or not? Any buff spells or cantrips? I don't know if we'll need to jump into initiative order, but in case that happens, this is your free chance to do any prep work that would normally take actions.
He tries to reach out to stop Jaliera from running, as he asks, "Why? Jaliera, what did you see?"
Like Zindra, he does not want to rush into something without some idea of what is going on. He could easily shape-shift into an animal that would beat everyone there, but for now he wants to keep his options open.
She has Meadow but was leading her and walking with the others. She is not staying in touch with Whisper. Generally a distraction order is to stay out of reach but to swoop, attack from the rear, do what she can. Jaliera is still running. She will check in with Whisper just before she gets there. Forewarned is forearmed. Plan is to pause in treeline and fire bow.
OOC: We have 2 horse: Zindra, Bern and Davorar lost theirs but Bern's taken off. That left Pavel and Jaliera with horses and since Davroar's going to definitely hitch on with Jaliera, I guess that leaves Zindra to ride with Pavel. We would likely hitch our horses to a tree before sneaking up.
Zindra As she gets closer to the scene, Zindra casts Hunter's Mark and targets one of the wood woads. If it moves to strike the half-elf, she'll let loose with two arrows at it, hoping to put it down before it does any additional harm.
After Jaliera's urgent alert, the party hurries stealthily along the trail of blood, every step placed with care. Whatever instincts guide the trees today, they favor the party, or at least don't hinder them. Branches part where needed, leaves hush beneath boots. The party reaches the edge of the narrow glade unseen.
What Whisper showed Jaliera was only the beginning.
In the clearing, the half-elf in druidic garb still lies crumpled on the ground. But with direct observation rather than a related telepathic image, his condition is much more apparent. Blood has soaked through the druidic wrappings at his side and pooled darkly in the ground beside him. His breathing is shallow and irregular now, each rise of the chest more uncertain than the last.
Three wood woads stand around him in a near-perfect triangle, root-shaped feet stepping deliberately, almost synchronized with each other. All bear a shield seemingly growing from their left arm, and wield a large club in their right.
Whisper is diving and swooping in an attempt to distract, but the tree-like creatures care no more for an avian creature than the forest trees do when they fly by or alight on a branch. It would take a deliberate attack to get their attention. Even trees tolerate woodpeckers. Ultimately, the owl is completely ignored.
And one of the wood woads has just stepped forwared within range to strike a fatal blow. It raises its wooden club. Not in anger, not in haste. But with the cold, patient certainty of execution.
The afternoon sun catches on a pendant hanging at the half-elf’s throat: a token familiar to Zindra and Davroar immediately. The sigil of the Emerald Enclave.
Mere seconds remain between life and death for the half-elf Emerald Enclave member.
OOC: Before Pavel's Web or Zindra's Hunter's Mark can be cast, we need to enter initiative order.
Roll for initiative.
Jaliera: if you wish for Whisper to participate in this encounter, also roll for her initiative, otherwise I'll assume she flies clear of whatever happens.
The party has succeeded in approaching stealthily so they have surprise: one full round of initiative where only the party can take actions.
For clarity, I've labeled the three Wood Woads as WW1 (about to strike), WW2, and WW3. They will share initiative order and act in numerical order.
He casts his cantrip Shillelagh to make his staff magical as he makes his way through the forest as quickly as he can. Taking a slightly different approach so that they are not all in a bunch, he breaks cover north of the group of creatures. Quickly noticing the severity of the wounds of the druid, he will upcast his healing hoping he will prevent the death of the druid.
Davroar Initiative Dugan rolled 1d20 and got 6
Davroar Healing Word on injured druid Dugan rolled 3d4+4 and got 12
{OOC: It was my understanding the Woads were attacking Turlang. Evidently it is this Half elf. So a different planned approach since the half elf is also severely wounded.}
Coming up near Zindra, Pavel quickly assesses the situation and rushes out into the field to act as a distraction for the others. As he runs he casts Mirror Image suddenly Pavel is running with 3 other images of himself towards the Wood Woads.
As he nears the Wood Woads he casts Misty Step suddenly appearing next to WW1 and the half elf, along with his illusions. <Bonus Action> "You seem to have found a spot of trouble." He quips at the Half Elf.
Last edited by AquaDyne; Mon 08/12/202501:05 UTC. Reason: link to spell rather than quote
When the party first arrived at the glade, their attention was mostly on the creatures: the prone and unresponsive half-elf and three wood woads. What they didn't pay much attention to was an old tree stump next to those creatures, the remainder of the tree having fallen some years ago into the brush at the eastern edge of the clearing.
But as Pavel and his three duplicates appear next to the half-elf and attacking woad, something happens with the stump. A soft green light pulses briefly from what are apparenty runes carved into its bark, faint lines tracing from those runes down into the ground. At the same moment, Pavel feels that pulse on the vines inlaid on his arms from the previous day's ritual, a momentary warmth and similar faint green glow.
Roots beneath the soil shift. Not violently, just enough to be felt under Pavel's feet. Pebbles tremble for a few seconds. Dried leaves flutter outward, away from the stump.
The half-elf lies motionless still, unaware of the four Pavels now standing above him or the ground rumbling below him.
The situation was fluid. Her eyes were on the woad. It was targeting another member of the Emerald Enclave. It's intentions seemed hostile. The other half-elf was helpless. She needed to do what she could to help.
Zindra Longbow (ToHit,Dam,Hunters Mark dam) Neptune rolled 1d20+8,1d8+3,1d6 and got 10, 11, 5
Zindra's arrow flies across the clearing, but misses the Wood Woads, impaling itself in a tree at the far end.
Too surprised to react to the sudden appearance of others, the Wood Woads do notice that they are being interrupted. Two of the woads speak quickly, loudly, and with an air of authority. In the Sylvan language, one says
"Do not interfere!"
and another, also in Sylvan,
"This one is not yours."
OOC: A few notes for clarity. 1. The Wood Woads are surprised until the end of their (first) turn and cant move or take actions or reactions until then. That means they can react beginning with Davroar/Gypsy's turn. 2. Davroar's turn occurs after the Wood Woads, who are after Zindra. I'll assume Davroar's stated turn stands for now but if what the Woads say changes your mind, let me know.
Davroar’s healing magic sinks into the half-elf’s chest. His breathing steadies, color rushes back into his face, and his fingers twitch. At the same moment, the runes carved into the old stump give off a low, steady green glow. Not a quick flash as they did with Pavel's misty step, but more of a wave. The ground does not tremble as it did before, but the vines on Davroar's arms pulse in time with the runes on the stump. Clearly there is something magical happening here, and the stump is reacting to the magic differently.
The half-elf's eyes open, seeing Pavel and his three reflections. He looks confused, murmuring in Common, "Too... many..."
And then Jaliera's arrow strikes the woad. While the stump didn't react to Zindra's arrow, the result is different for Jaliera. Her shot strikes true, splintering bark and vine from the raised woad’s shoulder. And at that moment, the glow in the stump tightens in sharp lines, the roots beneath the soil pulling taut. Stones scrape softly against one another. The air grows dense for a heartbeat... like the clearing itself is drawing a breath. Everyone can hear the sounds, but Pavel is close enough to feel the shifting ground himself.
The half-elf's expression changes from confused to concerned, looking at the woad. "Wait... don’t..." he begins, taking a short breath. "Let them...."
Did he mean "Don't let them." or "Don't. Let them." ... ?
ooc: Zindra speaks Sylvan. Do you allow a free action for her to translate?
OOC: Yes. You'll note the woads and half-elf spoke (very briefly) out of turn as well. I kinda considered it a "reaction" of sorts and extended the "brief utterances and gestures as you take your turn" to be a bit more flexible.
"Hey that arrow hurt this stump when you hit the Woad!" Pavel yells out. "I think they're connected in some way. And the markings I got in the ceremony glowed because of the the stump."
He steps away from the Half elf and lowers his weapons. Then steps toward the stump and places a hand on it.
She is confused. Are they supposed to let the creatures attack the half-elf? She hears Zindra's words and Pavels, which increase her confusion. She does not want to hurt the forest.
Pavel’s hand meets the rough surface of the stump.
Nothing happens. No glow, no hum, no tremors. Only cool, dead bark beneath his palm; exactly what an old tree stump should feel like.
But then the half-elf, prone on the ground behind him, decides to act. He could try to tell the story of how he got here, but a picture paints a thousand words. He'll at least try to show Pavel (and the others) a glimpse of what's happening.
He draws a shaky breath, lifts one trembling hand, and manages to whisper a word, casting Produce Flame. A faint ball of fire blossoms in his palm, but bright enough to cast sharp illumination across the stump beside Pavel and his duplicates.
The runes on the stump light up again with green light, as if answering the cantrip’s glow. Lines race down the roots, outward from the stump like veins, tracing through the soil in a wide circle. What was invisible before now sharpens into clear geometry: an old ritual ring, its boundaries etched in the earth by age and magic.
The half-elf mutters in a raspy voice, “Not... what it looks like...”
The runes and root-lines remain glowing while the magical flame burns within their boundary.
The wood woad narest Pavel lowers its weapon. At the same time, the arrow wound that Jaliera inflicted seems to rapidly heal itself, the arrow falling out from the wood and bark regrowing, with only a small crack still leaking sap. (OOC: Wood woads regenerate 10hp at the start of their turn.)
Before turning to address Zindra, however, it attempts to restore the sanctity of the circle. Gesturing toward a spot outside of the glowing runes, it mutters a spell. From the glowing runes carved into the stump, one of the thick roots ripples like a whip being cracked, a vine springing from the soil at its end.
The vine lashes out... not toward the half-elf, but toward Pavel.
It does not strike him. It grabs him.
A loop of living vine coils around his arms and torso, firm but not crushing, and with a smooth pull, drags him backward, out of the glowing ritual boundary toward the northeastern edge of the circle.
(OOC: The wood woad has cast Grasping Vine. Pavel, roll a DC14 Dex Save, or you can choose to fail the save and allow yourself to be moved. Since this is not an attack spell, it only targets the "real" Pavel.)
Once Pavel is removed from the ritual space, the woad who cast the spell turns its attention toward Zindra and speaks in slow, heavy, raspy Sylvan:
"His tribe was attacked. Only he survived. He came to us. To become one of us. His choice."
She has no idea what is going on but is on her guard as Pavel is grabbed. He doesn't seem to be too worried by it though so she remaind watchful. She is in two minds. The woads do suggest that they are part of the forest. Maybe the half-elf is going through some sort of renewal ceremony. But she is suspicious by nature and thinks it could be something much worse.
OOC: As you've all suspended taking actions, I'm pausing initiative order here in the middle of the woads' turn, assuming we're going to talk this out.
DM
The half-elf lets the small flame cupped in his palm gutter. With a soft hiss, it dies. As the light fades, the runes carved into the stump dim as well, their glow retreating back into the bark like embers settling beneath ash. The glowing lines along the roots withdraw, sinking once more into the soil until the circle is no longer traced in light.
The magical vines holding Pavel release him, snaking back into the ground.
For a moment, the clearing is very quiet, but the druid seems to sense the party is waiting for his own explanation here.
With visible effort, the half-elf rolls onto one elbow, then pushes himself upright. He is pale, blood still drying along his torn leathers, but his eyes are clear now... and steady.
"I did not come here as a prisoner," he says hoarsely, in Common. "Nor was I taken."
He looks from face to face, pausing longer on both Zindra and Davroar as he continues. "I was," he begins, then corrects himself. "I am .. Emerald Enclave. Like you. My circle watched the old woods northwest of here. A burial place, older than the road, older than the names men give these woods."
He looks downward, breaking eye contact as he relates recent events.
"Orcs came first. Too many. Better armed than they should have been. They drove us back. And behind them, Storm Giants. The giants did not strike us themselves, but they commanded the Orcs. They wanted something buried there. Something ancient. Not gold. Not bones. Power that remembers older oaths than ours."
He looks back up at the party, his expression serious, and sad. "We held as long as we could. My tribe ... my family. I am the last. No kin. No circle. Nothing left to guard but memory."
His expression slowly turns to one of hope. Of courage. "The woads offered me a choice. Not death, but a new beginning. New roots. Not an ending. A way to continue to protect these woods. Their circle is druidic, like me..." he looks at Davroar "... like you. They maintain an ancient rite that not all wood woads keep. A rite older than even the Enclave."
He lifts his hand and speaks a single word... "Family...", this time in Druidic, gesturing toward one of the wood woads.
The woad answers, its voice low and resonant, spoken in Sylvan: "He will be our child."
Then slowly, deliberately, it speaks a short phrase. First in Sylvan, then again in Druidic, and finally in Elvish, each repetition carrying the same weight:
"Our seed. His heart."
The half-elf concludes the repetition, in Common. "Their seed. My heart."
There's a long pause as the heaviness of the moment settles. The half-elf dares to crack the slightest of smiles, tinged with complex emotions. "I'm told taking my heart hurts less if they knock me out first."
She finds she has a lump in her throat at the half-elf's story. She knows what it is like to watch your family die, to feel that alone. A single tear rolls down her face.
But she too has found a new family, a way not to be alone, a way to give her life meaning, a way to go on day to day.
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