DreamLyrics™ Play-by-Post Forums Fantasy SKT: The Storm King's Thunder 3Y.A1 - Shadowtop Cathedral

Zindra

She didn't want to interrupt Davroar but one of the guardian's statements worried her. "You said they brought ruin? What did they do?"

Jaliera

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.

DM

The forest answers.

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):


In Sylvan, a breath like the wind (Zindra and Pavel understand):


In Druidic, whispered through the shifting of roots (Davroar hears):


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.

Davroar

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."

Pavel

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."

Zindra

"I come as a guest, a sister returning to her home. I am of the forest and I have and do give it my all."

Jaliera

"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."

DM

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."