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

Davroar

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)

Pavel

Pavel quietly follows the group. Oblivious...


Pavel Insight check (+3)
Miales rolled 1d20 and got 7

So a 10...

DM

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.

Jaliera

She stops.

"I don't think the forest here like our weapons. Shall we leave them here?"

He remarks are directed to Davroar. She sees this as his domain.

Davroar

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.

Pavel

"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.

Jaliera

She smiles reassuringly at Pavel.

"Hopefully we can reclaim them later."

DM

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).

Whisper Wisdom check
Gypsy rolled 1d20 and got 6

So a 7, still a failure.

Jaliera watches through her eyes, content when she stays with the weapons.

"Seems even Whisper is considered a threat. She is with our weapons."

Pavel

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."

DM

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.

Jaliera

She marvels at the trees' speech, her respect for these sentient creatures growing.

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.

Davroar

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.

Pavel

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.

DM

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.

Jaliera

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.

Pavel

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.

Zindra

"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."

"Davroar, can you tell what is ailing the grove?"

Davroar

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.

DM

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

Pavel

"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... }

DM

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.

As for how Pavel could help, he might be carrying something other than water.

Pavel

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.