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."

Jaliera

"Good luck Bern. We will see you soon."

She is ready to follow Davroar as they head out.

Davroar

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

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.

"Are there formal words to this vow?"

DM

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?"

Davroar

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.

DM

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."

Jaliera

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.

Zindra

"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."

She was satisfied giving Davroar the lead.

Davroar

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

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."

DM

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."

Jaliera

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.

Davroar

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."

Zindra

"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.

DM

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

Jaliera

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.

Jaliera Wisdom check
Gypsy rolled 1d20 and got 7

With her +2, that's 9