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

DM

Time passes in the cathedral without ever quite announcing itself. The party has time to tend to their horses and rest a bit after their travels

A bit over an hour drifts by as the light filtering down through the shadowtops subtly changes, the copper undersides of their high leaves catching less sun with each passing moment. What little warmth there was fades into cool green shadow, and the forest’s vast columns seem to stretch even taller as dusk approaches.

Greenwhistle fills the silence easily enough.

He plays between conversations, sometimes lively, sometimes wistful, the panpipe notes echoing softly among the trunks. A few verses carry words this time—half-sung, half-murmured—about a heart pledged elsewhere, about loving someone whose duty runs deeper than affection.

She tends her roots where the wild things grow,
While I dance where the roads all go,
Her vows are bark, her breath is leaf,
And mine is song and passing grief

Once or twice during a more playful melody his gaze flicks toward Jaliera, curious and almost playful, but he quickly looks away again, catching sight of her seated beside Davroar. Whatever thought crossed his mind passes without comment, and the music softens instead, respectful.

Then the forest shifts.

Not abruptly, but with purpose. Branches sway where there is no wind. A hush settles, deeper than before, as if even Greenwhistle senses it and lets his pipes fall silent.

From between the trunks steps a half-elf woman clad in travel-worn greens and browns indicating druidic alignment, her cloak stitched with mossy patterns and the subtle knotwork of the Emerald Enclave. Her hair is pulled back simply, her expression alert but not unfriendly. She pauses when she sees the party, eyes moving carefully over each face, lingering just long enough to assess intent.

"I am Tharra Shyndle," she says evenly. "If you’ve come seeking Turlang, he will be along shortly. I am here to... begin the conversation."

Her gaze settles briefly on Zindra and Davroar, recognition there, then flicks to the others, not with suspicion, but with measured caution.

"You have the forest’s patience," she continues. "That is not nothing. But Turlang’s trust is earned more slowly. Consider your words carefully when he arrives."

As if summoned by the words themselves, something vast stirs in the not-too-distant forest. The ground trembles. Somewhere beyond the trees, wood creaks like ancient timbers under strain, and a low, resonant groan rolls through the forest.

Greenwhistle exhales softly. "That’ll be him."

Tharra turns toward the sound, then back to the party. "When he arrives, speak plainly. He has little patience for pretense, but given recent events, he will listen to all offers of assistance."

Zindra

She had waited patiently, never the one to worry about time. When the half elven druid arrived, Zindra greeted her. "I am Zindra Winterbow and these are my companions. They are friends."

She had every intention of letting the others introduce themselves but she was going to let Davroar do the talking for the group. It was not her place.

Pavel

Pavel as waits patiently for the others to speak. This is not his place. He knows it. But still he will be polite and introduce himself once the opportunity arises after Davroar speaks.

Davroar

He quickly gets to his feet when the half-elf makes her appearance.

"Hello Tharra, I'm Davroar."

His attention shifts towards the movement further into the forest. Suddenly finding himself a bit nervous, he quickly asks Tharra, "How long have you been with Turlang?"

Davroar wonders if Tharra would have any information on how Turlang is doing under the circumstances with the giants encroaching within the High Forest.

DM

A deep, grinding groan of ancient wood under immense weight rolls through the cathedral, followed by a slow, deliberate thud that can be felt through the soles of your feet. Trees surrounding the cathedral do not break or bend so much as part, their trunks shifting aside with the reluctant obedience of old things recognizing something older still.

Then Turlang enters.

The treant is colossal, even by the standards of his kind. Moss hangs thickly from his bark, and pale lichen traces the deep grooves of his limbs. Each movement is unhurried and deliberate. When he stops, the ground settles.

His dim green eyes sweep the clearing.

"Zindra Winterbow," he rumbles.

"Davroar of the Emerald Enclave."

He pauses, regarding each of them in turn, before his gaze shifts, coolly looking toward Jaliera and Pavel. "You stand within Shadowtop Cathedral," he continues, his voice resonant and heavy. "Few outside the Enclave are permitted this far." He looks like he intends to say more, but abruptly shifts his attention back toward Davroar, seeming to prefer the druid as the spokesperson, at least for the moment.

"The forest has spoken of you. Enough to earn you my presence," the treant rumbles.

He plants one massive limb into the earth, roots sinking with a low, creaking sound.

"Speak."

The single word echoes softly among the towering trunks.

"Tell me why you have come."

Jaliera

He is not what she had been expecting and feels herself come under scrutiny. But she isn't compelled to speak. This is Zindra & Davroar's area of expertise and she doesn't want to interfere.

Davroar

He struggles for half a minute to find his voice as Turlang’s green eyes seem to bore into his soul. Silently he wishes Bern, being his elder, would be here. Bern would probably be the better speaker at times like this. Yet, it seems he has been nominated so he will try his best.

Letting out a held breath, Davroar gets his mouth working again and then respectfully kneels to look up at the massive treant.

“Ah, ah, yes. Thanks first for letting us in. It is a true honor to meet you, Turlang”

He takes another moment to figure out what to say next.

“Druid Reidoth has sent us to seek you out. As you probably know the giants are fighting. The first time we saw giants they were going into a town and digging up a large steel rod. It’s happened at other places too. People are panicking and wondering why the giants are suddenly attacking us.

It was only recently on our way here did we meet up with a cloud giant. Fænra, if I remember her name.
She told us the giants are not really fighting us small folks but are looking for powerful artifacts to survive a war against the dragons. Fænra said the giants really don’t care about us small folks. She said each tribe is following their own goals for power and then, I guess eventually form alliances amongst themselves. Fænra was not exactly clear on that though.

I do remember though her last words saying that we would have better luck finding out more about the giants that live on the land, and perhaps find and stop anyone that supports the dragons.
Reidoth, was hoping you might have some news too about all this.”

Davroar turns to Zindra, and in a quieter voice asks, “I can’t recall if there was anything else Reidoth was exactly wanting from Turlang?”