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?”

Zindra

"It is an honor to meet you, Turlang. As my friend Davroar said, the Emerald Enclave sent us."

She didn't want to correct Davroar so she treaded as gently as she knew how. "Yes. Giants attacked us and others but we are not the only ones. The Enclave believes that there is something strange going on; something we simply do not understand."

She then tells of the attack in Triboar where the fire giants sent waves of flaming allies at the town but spent their time digging something up. "It was a big piece of iron or metal. Once they had it, they left the other fiery creatures to wreak havoc and they took off.

After that story was regaled, Zindra described the attack by hill giants on the road. "They were more interested in the horses than in us."

"We are here to pass on that information and to gain any from you. And if there is further knowledge that you can share about what is going on and how to stop it, we are ready to act on it."

ooc: Sorry. I've been crazy busy.

Pavel

Pavel is quiet and observing. It is not yet time for him to say anything so he remains respectfully silent.

Davroar

He gives Zindra a small smile and a nod for telling Turlang the things he forgot, and will turn his attention back to Turlang.

DM

Turlang listens without interruption.

As Davroar and Zindra speak, the treant does not nod or gesture. Only the slow creak of his limbs and the faint settling of roots betray that he is not stone. When the last words fall quiet, his gaze lingers on Davroar a long moment, then shifts to Zindra.

"You speak truth," he rumbles at last. "And you are not the first roots to bring such news."

He straightens slightly, moss and lichen shifting along his shoulders.

"In my forest, the signs are plain. To the south, hill giants prowl the margins like starving beasts. They seize cattle, horses, anything that moves and bleeds. They do not linger. They take and withdraw, as if driven by hunger sharpened beyond need... but not their own."

His eyes drift northward, beyond the cathedral.

"To the northern reaches, the disturbance violates the sanctity of these woods. Orcs gather there in numbers they have not dared for generations. They dig where no sane creature would dig... old stones, old mounds, sacred places warded by memory alone. They do not act of their own will. Storm giants stand behind them, unseen but unmistakable, pressing purpose into lesser hands. Some have said they seek to recover their own relics from centuries ago."

Branches sway as his head turns back to the Enclave members.

"The fire giants, too, seek fragments of an ancient construct as if to recover its power, like the Storm Giants, leaving behind abandoned dig sites and charred forest."

A low, unhappy groan rolls through Turlang’s trunk.

"And there are others who profit from this unrest. Dwarves. Humans. Those who sell iron to any hand large enough to pay. I have seen weapons borne by giants that were not forged by giantkind. Such meddling rots the soil far beyond where the blade falls."

He pauses, then adds, more thoughtfully: "These are not random acts. Each giant kind pursues its own design, blind to the damage left in its wake. Whether they prepare for war, flight, or dominion, I cannot yet say. Only that the land groans beneath the weight of too many purposes, all pulling at once."

There is a longer pause, but the treant does not look like he's expecting an answer, merely letting the news sink in before... suggesting action.

"There is one among the giants who walks more freely than most. A frost giant called Harshnag. He hunts his own kind as often as he hunts monsters. He has crossed these woods before, and the forest did not reject him."

A faint, thoughtful silence, and for the first time since he begun the conversation he looks directly at the two guests. "An ally," he says, before looking back toward Zindra.

"Where giants gather in numbers, Harshnag is often not far behind. If fire giants dig and hill giants swarm, he will follow the trail of disruption. Your missing companion... Bern... may already be nearer to such a place than he knows. The lands near Olostin’s Hold have grown... loud."

Turlang plants his limb more firmly into the earth.

"If answers are what you seek, Harshnag is more likely to give them than any council of trees. I do not command you to find him."

A pause.

"But the forest would not hinder you if you did."

The treant falls silent once more, the weight of his words settling among the shadowtops, leaving the next choice... and the next question... to the party.

Jaliera

"Then that is who we should seek and hopefully we can find Bern too. Thank you for your wise counsel Turlang."

She is relieved that they have some useful information now.

Davroar

"Yes, thank you Turlang."

To the others he says, "Guess we go to Olostin's Hold. See if we can't find Harshnag."

Davroar hopes they can meet up with Bern there.

Zindra

"The dwarves and humans that are profiting off of the unrest sound like the Weevil and Vhalak the doppelganger," she says.

"They are both criminals and we've been trying to track them but they seem to be one step ahead of us. The doppelganger has been taking on the image of one of our compatriots, a member of the Emerald Enclave by the name of Bern. Vhalek has not met our friend Pavel here. Use that knowledge to verify identity."

"Thank you for sharing your information. We will do what we can to restore the balance," she adds.

DM

Turlang pauses as he listens to the thanks. If there's such a thing of a trant nodding his... head? There is a momentary movement of trunk and branches that gives that impression.

But then his gaze shifts to Jaliera and Pavel with the weight of deep roots testing uncertain ground.

"You speak of what you will do," he rumbles, slowly. "That matters. But I have learned, over long ages, that many who walk these lands act not for balance, but for banners. Coins. Promises made to powers that do not grow from the soil."

His eyes narrow slightly, green light dim but steady.

"You are not of the Emerald Enclave. You walk here by tolerance, not by right. Your companions seem to trust you."

He pauses, as if carefully choosing his words. Those who know his historic xenophobia may sense an internal struggle. And then, carefully chosen words explaining why the guests are allowed.

"This threat will not be turned aside by any single circle. Not druids alone. Not soldiers. Not merchants or secret keepers. If the North fractures, if factions grasp for advantage while giants tear at the land... then all will be broken, root and stone alike."

He turns his head slightly, addressing the whole party.

"If you carry allegiances beyond this forest, weigh them carefully. The giants do not care whose mark you wear. They will crush societies and alliances with equal indifference. Should you choose to stand against the giants, truly stand... and call others to do the same... then you will not find the High Forest opposed to you."

He straightens again, vast and immovable.

"But if you bring the conflicts of men and their shadowed bargains into this struggle... the forest will endure. You may not."

It's a challenge. Maybe even an expectation Turlang hopes is proven wrong. Maybe a caution to those in the Enclave.

Turlang’s gaze shifts back to Davroar and Zindra, softer by a fraction.

"You have my leave to go. Seek Harshnag. Find your lost companion if you can. And remember this..."

A final, heavy creak as his roots settle deeper into the earth.

"Balance is not kept by intention alone. It is kept by what one is willing to set aside."

With that, the treant falls silent, the shadowtops whispering faintly overhead, leaving the challenge hanging in the air.

Pavel

His questions answered as well as any business with Turlang remains silent. He hadn't even opened his mouth but they were.He nervously eyes the rest of his companions.

Jaliera

Their business here is concluded. She waits for Davroar to lead the way out.

Davroar

"I shall keep your words in mind, Turlang."

In his young life, Davroar never thought of keeping nature's balance where he would have to sacrifice something of himself. Turlang's words has left him a little unsettled for a brief moment, yet he quickly tuns to the half-elf and satyr to take his mind off that for now.

"Tharra, it is nice to meet with you too. Greenwhistle. Thanks for playing while we waited. Hope you find what you are looking for."

Greenwhistle never did fully explain why he is waiting for Turlang, yet it is probably none of his business anyways.

Picking up his pack, he looks to his companions and starts walking towards the forest edge, while under his breath he asks the High Forest to guide them north towards the road that will lead them to Olostin's Hold.