INgryd Roars as she feels the claws dig in, though her rage keeps off the worst. She reverses her grip mid swing and opens herself up to more blows but lets the rage carry her through.
Luthael presents his holy symbol again and calls, "Regard the power of the Sunlord!" A flash of greenish radiance explodes from his amulet of the sun.
"And feel the holy lance of sunlight!" He shouts.
Gunnar's hands crackle with electricity. The wizard unleashes the charged energy driving the construct directly into Deathmetal's oncoming path. There is another sickening *pop* and the construct bursts into a spray of soaking blood drenching paladin and dwarf alike.
Arianna snuffs out the nearest set of flames while encouraging Ingryd to greater heights of destruction. The bearkin happily obliges connecting with a quick strike following a cleverly disguised feint. Although the astute observer may have noticed how the bearkin simply slipped, but then who's going to argue with a raging maul wielding bearkin.
The burning maul slams into the final construct at the same moment Luthael unleashes Khor's radiance once again. The two powers converge and the construct bursts in a similar fashion to the others only this time Ingryd is the one drenched in the foul sticky mess.
With that final blow nothing is left in the area except a few lingering flames, shivering trees, the burnt unicorn carcass and the foul stench of decay and death.
Gunnar uses his Curse of the Frost Giants (Frostbite) cantrip to help put out the rest of the flames, then he spends some time sensing for any changes in the ley line now that the blood golems have been defeated...
Luthael will survey the area looking at the unicorn carcass and feeling for the hate that he felt before.
"Is anyone injured beyond a short breather?" The prophet ask his companions.
Arianna thanks Gunnar as he helps put out the flames. Now that the fight is past, she turns her attention back to her arboreal conversation partner.
"My deepest apologies about what happened. Are you hurt," she asks the trees.
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"A victory worthy of song and feast!" Aterro declares as the last of the evil nature-blood-creation-golems explodes in a shower of pink mist. "Let all the forest know that Heroes have once again returned and all they tread shall be land once again reclaimed!"
Aterro aids in the fire-reduction effort with his own finger-snapping Prestidigitation.
"Aye, Luthael, let us take some short rest to regain our strength and we shall press on to the heart of this darkness."
Ingryd comes back over cut and bleeding as she looks at the others."A rest would be nice."The barbarian says bleeding all over the place.
"Naps after battle are always nice." she smiles and looks at everyone then giggles.
"How about a hug"
Arianna, after finishing her conversation with the trees sings as the others recover their strength and tend to their wounds. Interwoven through the soothing notes are spells that mend and clean Ingryd's clothing and fur. While she is a skilled songstress, Arianna's nervousness shows through, weakening the effects of her song.
Moving back to the wagon, Gunnar comforts the animals and secures the vehicle. He then pulls out his spellbook and renews his arcane energy (Arcane Recovery) while resting and letting the magic soothe his injuries.
"All pathways lead to the stairs for all paths lead to the heart. " The wild twilight elm shivers. "All must be drawn into the grasp of the dead ones who seek to feed their abomination to life upon the sap and strength of the forest and all who dwell within."
"What forest does not guard itself from outside eyes and unwanted intrusion? For those who leave the offered paths, wait and lurk." It whispers. "Frustration and anger rule this land. Brought on by outside trickery and treachery. All are impotent to intervene else all be lost."
Another ear piercing screech echoes across the forest from somewhere deeper within. A reminder that threats certainly must exist, but as the echo rattles your ears you notice it sending shivers of fright and anger through the massive tree before you. For several minutes nothing but madness and suffering is shared by the tree...all the trees.
"Feel in burn...stabbing iron...hate the dead ones...pain...do not harm....we will serve...pain...pain..." And similar is all you can get from the trees for several minutes. Eventually one calms enough that you are able to ask about the unicorn.
"Bury it. Let its remaining substance feed us. Let us cleanse the corruption of the undying from it mortal remains so that the spirit is free to return to us with health, strength and vigor."
Another scream, for that is what you believe it might be, shatters the eerie silence of the wood once again. This time there is no calling the trees back into sanity and you are forced to break the connection else be drawn into the forest's own madness and pain.
Having deconstructed the dark blood magic constructs, a rest is called. Wounds are tended and mended. Arianna tries to get more information from the trees before offering her own magical comforts to those injured in the fray.
All the while the same piercing screech echoes through the twilight intermittently. A pained, bitter cry that batters against the walls of hope and peace. It rattles nerves and sends spine tingling making rest uncomfortable but not entirely impossible. But after a short while further attempts to find any comfort beneath the dark silver leaves of the wood are completely futile. The mules grow agitated. Nerves fray. The desire to be free of this place grows ever stronger.
"The trees said that we should bury the unicorn. They'll cleanse its remains of any of the foul magic that brought those constructs to life," Arianna tells the others after they've recovered some of their strength. "I fear that we will find out what is causing that scream. The roads have been twisted to lead to its source. We should be ready to fight. The ghouls and their masters have been feeding off anything they can get their hands on that comes through the forest, and they mean to do the same with us."
"Then, let's bury this poor unicorn, and get on with our journey over these hills." Luthael suggests.
He starts to figure out the best way to remove the unicorn from the tree and dig a burial pit.
Ingryd lowers the Unicorn and lets it lay on the ground. After that, she begins to dig. She is filthy with the blood golems' remnants, the bile of the unicorn, and her own ride blood. Still, she continued on after rest using her muscles and might to perform tasks her party needed.
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"This is strange," Aterro observes during the rest.
He's staring at his shield. He had thought to give it a brief wash, to get some of the offal off of it. When he had done so, he noticed something that shocked him.
On the outside, along the top edge of the shield, are the words "Der Amboss".
"It means...wait," he says to no one as he turns his shield to see the inside.
Yes.
There, just as perfectly chiseled, are the words he had spoken not an hour before.
"Du musst Amboss oder Hammer sein."
"You must be the hammer, or the anvil. It is orcish. I often swear in orc. It gives it more kick. But this? From an orcish philosopher, if such a creature can be called. So that means the front...the front means.... No."
To merely say it is "The Anvil" would be true, but not entirely. Aterro remembers his lessons in the Orc language, for he thought that pitiful race would be his cheifest foe. What a fool he was! But orcs do not pound metal with such grace as the more civilized race, so they started by simply calling anything forged that could survive hot metal and hammer blows an "anvil" before advancing the craft. So it doesn't really mean "The Anvil". It is both more crude and more simplistic. At once mortal and divine. Simple. Yet elegant.
"It seems my shield has chosen a name. It is...
Aterro tends to his shield as Gunnar tends to his physical wounds. Honoring the request by the trees passed on through Arianna, Luthael and Ingryd see to the remains of the fallen unicorn.
A few yards away from the trees, the two find a suitable patch of soft, loamy ground. Easy digging and mostly free of roots. With Ingryd's strong back it only takes a couple of hours to create an opening large and deep enough for the big creature. Another to carefully get it into the grave and covered up again.
When the work is done and Luthael offers a final few words of prayer to Khors and the unicorn's spirit a gentle breeze suddenly stirs within the wood. Or at least all initially thought it was a breeze gently rattling the leaves of the trees. Yet none feel the movement of air upon faces or hands. All is calm. But then a few lights begin to glimmer and sparkle within the nearby forest canopy. Like fireflies flitting about on a summer's eve, the lights slowly drift downward until finally all can see the softly shimmering silver seeds twirling from the higher reach of the wood. Dozens of the seeds slowly spin like lighted tops down into the newly turned soil. Each burrowing upon impact deeper into the soft earth. A few others fall near the dark, foul smelling remnants of the blood pits.
No more than a few minutes longer and several of the finger sized impact sites on the unicorn's grave sprout tiny seedlings. Bright silvery newborn leaves slowly unfurl to gather the twilight. While around and within the pits, more seedlings sprout, but these run roots rapid and deep, cracking stone and breaking down the hard, packed soil. A short while later and the pits collapse upon themselves, the arcane symbols surrounding the edges sundered and shattered.
Most of the seedlings within and near the pits wither and die upon the pits collapse. Their tiny thin bodies falling into the soil. Sacrificial fodder for a second wave that drift down from the trees above.
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After Aterro's pronouncement, the prophet offers, "Your shield is called 'the Metal;' your mace is called 'Deathmetal;' and that fairy, ferry chain turned you a bit metal. I'm noticing a trend." He finishes with a wry grin.
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After the unicorn's interment, Luthael watches the silvery seedling shower in amazement finding another example that Khors is not the only authority in the worlds. "Arianna, looks like your flora friends are retaking control."
"On the road again?" He asks his companions to get closer to destroying the evil artifact.
Roused from his rest, Gunnar pulls his nose out of his spellbook at Luthael’s words. ”Yes, let’s get going,” he answers, as he starts the wagon rolling forward.
"There is an ancient power in the trees and meadows, as strong as stone and flowing like a deep, roaring river," she says at Luthael's comment about the forest regaining control. "It is wild, untamable, and even the gods must ware their steps near it. Too often, we mortals forget that power and think ourselves mighty."
She nods as he asks about returning to the road. They still have many miles to go, and even as they near the next leg of their journey, she knows that there are still more obstacles to overcome here on the Shadow Road.
She chuckles as she sees Gunnar coming up from his book.
"Tell me, Gunnar, are all dwarves so focused on their tasks? It would explain their skill and artistry with iron, gold, silver, and gems."
Returning Arianna's smile, Gunnar says, "The best of us are, though sometimes it means we get caught unawares."
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After Aterro's pronouncement, the prophet offers, "Your shield is called 'the Metal;' your mace is called 'Deathmetal;' and that fairy, ferry chain turned you a bit metal. I'm noticing a trend." He finishes with a wry grin.
"Ha! You have the right of it, Luthael! But to be fair, that deal with the chain was not of my doing. How was I to know it's magicks were so potent they would repair anything, even a humble human trying to keep it from snapping! Ha!"
Aterro bangs Amboss against a bare arm, making a *clanging* sound.
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When the falling lights have at last ceased, Aterro concurs, "Aye. It looks like there is an offensive thrust here, but did it take a unicorn's death to at last move the plants to motion? Would that they might be so moved before the animal had to die! If they have power stronger than stone, then would that they walk to our aid when we confront...whatever it is that has them so riled up."
Aterro breaks off and approaches Phobos. The man and horse stare at each other in obvious telepathic communication, first one then the other nodding as in agreement at some silent and unassailable point. At last he mounts him and makes ready.
"Just don't eat all of them," he says, patting the horse's thick neck.
"The bees will return and the flowers bloom, honey will flow" Ingryd says as she gets back in the cart. She sighs as she looks at herself and chuckles.
"I am basically a bloody mess. Oh well. Wake me up when something is trying to kill us" The bearkin says as she lays back and gets comfortable.
Arianna smiles as she climbs into the cart, though it disappears as she listens to Aterro's contemplations.
"Ghouls hold the heart of the wood hostage. Their power is limited so long as the forest is at risk. Whatever road we take will lead us to them. They hunger and are twisting the ley lines."
Gunnar flicks the reins and the mule team is all too happy to get moving again. Slowly the wagon rolls along the shadow road. The squeaks and creaks of the passing wagon drift in the air along with the soft jangle of Phobos' tack and the parties own gear. And, of course, Ingryd's snoring. This relative piece is periodically interrupted by the chilling piercing cry that by now has almost become normal despite its grating, bone shuddering sound. Yet, for now, the trees seem calmer. Less hostile to your passing. A temporary reprieve granted following the defeat of the golems and burial of the fallen unicorn. Leaves no longer rattle and shiver in open hostility. Roots no longer appear from nowhere to cause the wagon to lurch wildly or someone's boot to catch. Instead there is a sense of cautious, guarded optimism, but one that could easily turn hostile once again should something go horribly awry.
Time passes as do the miles beneath the quiet, sullen forest canopy. The wagon climbs the ridge and follows a narrow path until it widens into a small hanging valley that overlooks a vast expanse of forest that stretches in every direction. The trees grow thick and dense further to the west where the mountains now loom in close proximity.
The road continues, dipping down into the upper vale where several massive trees stretch up into the twilight sky. Woven onto the wide thick limbs of these arboreal giants is web of wooden pathways, twisted and tied vines and layers of leaf thatched roofs. It is an entire village in the trees.
"The tree village has been recently attacked," announces Luthael. The prophet picks up a broken arrow shaft and points it toward a half eaten severed hand. "Look up there. The roof and entrance has been burnt. That rope bridge has been fallen cut. And that high pitched hum of insects. Lots of insects is probably from a pile of dead in that large structure perched fifty feet up in a massive maple tree."
"Arianna, do you want to ask the flora again about what happened? If we can find a way up there, I might be able to ask one of the recently deceased what happened, too."
”If the ghouls are behind this, a large pile of recently deceased bodies may not remain dormant for long. Do you have anything that might preclude their transition to undeath, Luthael?” asks Gunnar, looking warily up at the structure in the tree.
"Holy fire?" Luthael replies only half-kidding.
"Hopefully with more holy and less fire," Arianna quips before chanting in a singsong voice while casting her spell.
She finishes a few moments later, the last soft note echoing in the eerie silence.
"What happened here," she asks the trees of the village.
Ingryd half snorts and shifts waking up."GHOULS" She yawns as she looks about and wonders what is going on.
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Aterro had alternating his thoughts between the best way to kill a ghoul, and the best way to cook apple pie, so he had taken no notice of the goings-on above him until the cleric pointed it out.
"Eh?" he says, looking about. "Aye, Gunnar, if the greyskins are behind it, there may be no bodies at all to tell their had once been life here.
I would normally be against stopping to stare over something we can not affect, but this place has proved that nothing is ever quite the way it seems, so perhaps there is some good to be done.
There may even be survivors.
Arianna, after you have talked to the trees, some of us could climb up there and see if there is aught that needs tending to."
Arianna begins once again to commune with the trees. As she does so, Luthael's keen eyed gaze spots a ladder of woven vines hanging against a trunk of another tree not too far from the larger central structure.
But here. Now. In this wood plagued by evil, the trees have grown silent. No gossip flows. No rumors. Nothing.
Until after several minutes of quiet calling and waiting a single loan voice tentatively rasps a weak acknowledgement of your call. It doesn't come from the center of the village, nor from any of those massive elders ringing that ancient tree. Instead it is a lone youth, not more than a couple of hundred years old. Its wide trunk only a third of the massive wagon sized width looming in the center of the settlement.
"Gone. All are gone or nearly so." The tree groans in soft almost weeping sorrow. "Alone. I...I am alone. The stinking dead ones swept through stole the Heart. Unleashed horror. Death. Pain. Sickness. Dying. All....gone."
"Where is the Heart, now? Can you tell me how to find it," She asks the young tree. "Will returning the Heart restore the grove here?"
Ingryd shifts as her golden-hued fur stained with blood now seemed to look around eyeing the area her maul in hands ready to strike.
"Seems a bit fishy they could be hiding amongst the dead."Ingryd states as she wonders when the hammer ironically will drop.
The tree, over eighty feet tall and already more than three feet wide at its base seems to droop and sag despondently. "I...I do not know what can bring them back. The heart, maybe. Alas, all is doomed. Doomed to wither and die and burn." The tree shudders as another shriek passes. "Alone...so very alone...." It mutters in a arboreal whisper. The same madness seen before seeping into the youthful tree's psyche like poisoned sap flowing slowly into the very fiber of its wood.
As Arianna continues to commune with the one tree that still appears to retain some sort of sentience or consciousness, the screeching cries continue to echo across the wood. The source is closer now. The with the keenest ears for such things would estimate it within a few miles.
The hum and buzz from the central building in the trees grows louder or more robust with each heartbreaking cry. Otherwise nothing else stirs within the confines of the tree village.
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"There's a ladder into the trees if you want to check out that buzzing, Aterro. Aren't you particularly attracted humming and buzzing?" The normally straight-laced priest suggests with a grin.
"Could be bees, Ooo if there are bees can you get me some honey?" Ingryd says a bit excited for the possibility of new honey.
"I wonder what honey would taste like form here!"
"To find the Heart and the Grotto, should we follow the cries," Arianna asks as she walks up to the tree and places her hands on its trunk.
Her heart aches. She remembers the vibrancy and life of the woods her clan traveled through, and wonders how she could ever soothe the pain these trees in this forest must feel.
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Aterro groans inwardly and outwardly at the cleric's jab. 'Oof. That one hurt. That one hurt.'
"It will taste like all honey, Ingryd. Like slaves laboring against an uncaring and unfeeling b&~+$ that cares only for the works of the hive and nothing for her once-human husband that just wants a steak and a f~@+ing beer just once IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK YOU WITCH?"
Aterro clears his throat.
"Apologies. Yes, in this charnel house there are souls enough lost to merit solving the remaining mystery left to us.
The word is 'up', me hearties."
Aterro dismounts Phobos, stalks over to the woven vines, and begins to climb up.
Aterro, perhaps in an effort to fend off any further jibes about his current relationship status, rallies everyone ahead and deeper into the fallen village and to the ladder spotted by the keen eyed, sharp witted prophet of Khors.
The first thing of notice is how the noises from above seem to change with proximity. Being closer allows everyone to hear the soft guttural croaks and groggy squeaks that underlie the buzzing and humming. Sickening sounds whose very presence send squeamish chills of nebulous peccancy against the mortal realms. Whatever looms in that vine wrapped cathedral of wood it is no fae queen's beehive.
The second thing of immediate curiosity is the black grime that coats everything. Leaf, vine, bark, soil. The once silvery or crimson or shadow purple leaves are all withered and coated with this thin film of black. Initial thoughts turn to ash or some kind of dust, but a little further investigation reveals to stuff to be some kind of mold or mildew like growth infesting the entire inner grove. The stuff appears harmless enough, although disturbing the stuff at all tends to cause a mild cloud to burst forth tickling noses and clogging sinuses.
The third anomaly of interest is yet another grim pool of what appears to be blood dripping beneath the large building with its odd sounding tenants. A closer examination reveals the thick sappy substance to be an odd blend of blood and sap. Unlike the pools beneath the unicorn, this shallow gathering of death merely fills a slight depression in the soil. A natural pool bordered by ancient tree roots. Much of it is already dried into tiny tacky copper hued stalagmites emerging like little fingers clawing free of a primordial ooze.
But nothing living or undying lives within the drying lifeblood dripping from whatever abattoir lurks above.
Before ascending the vine ladder Aterro pauses. The paladin takes a moment to gauge the potential danger lurking in the heights above.
Then you focus your gaze and senses upward. Up and upon the large building at the center of this dead village. Alarm bells clang in your mind like a mad priest calling the faithful to prayer. Evil lurks above. A fiendish, demonic evil that spreads its vileness across the wood. Whatever lies above spreads sickness and death like sewer sludge oozing from a broken pipe.
What was once a holy place dedicated to the heart and spirit of the forest is now a corrupt, broken source of abyssal horror and sickness.
Having parked the wagon well out from under the buzzing death glade, Gunnar follows up the ladder carefully, keeping one hand ready in case someone falls (so he can cast Feather Fall if needed).
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"Be wary, my friends," Aterro warns as the ascent is mounted. "Again, in this place where great evils wander at will and slay without thought, we are facing an evil of malignant intent and great hunger. Methinks within that central building is another force of blackest night that might still be the means which slew this village, now laying and digesting its meal, or engaged in thought of which new curse to lay upon these blighted lands.
Mayhap we could pass by, as our mission does have some priority, but we've no guarantee that it would not follow us and a less opportune time, and it would surely continue to raze any living souls that might be making slow but dogged process to re-claim this place and make it a land that could welcome those who crave warmth and light.
I would not wish us all to go into battle without warning, so I have had my say."
Aterro of course mounts to the ascent, but he feels better for having given other an out should they wish it.
"Before we enter the building we should make ready for a great assault, for nothing less will carry the day."
"May Khors be with us." Luthael issues his benediction causing angels of distorted bluish sunlight to appear and flit about him.
He knocks Aterro on his pauldron and then follows him up the ladder.
Arianna frowns as her question goes un answered. Not wanting to risk the madness brought about by the atrocities of the ghouls, she apologizes to the tree before breaking her connection.
"If there is something fell up there, then perhaps the ladder is not the best way in. I can get you in there ready for battle, if you wish, Aterro."
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Aterro pauses to consider the tactical advantages of some magical means to poof into a room, surprising the enemy with ferocity and fear.
Were this some human enemy, say, a room full of bandits waiting for salvation to be brought to them at the end of a hammer, then, yes, of course.
But this? Every foe they have encountered has not conformed to normal rules and laws for life. Most things have not even been monsters that have some kind of analog back in the real world, varied as it is. Within that room is some defiling evil, but that is all he knows. It could be one gibbering monster, or a million monsters so close they seem as one. It could be made of all eyes, or all mouths, or have some form he has never even seen.
In the end he shook his head.
"Nay, Arianna, nay. Gratitude for the thought, but my plan is more basic. Mayhap Ingryd, fully furious and raging, could plow through the door, with me either following closely, or, better, crashing in by some wall made of naught but ferns and grass, taking them in the flank.
Let us be there all together and take it with a full fist. Surprise might be a precious coin, but I would lay my bet on all of us, together, any day."
"It would be better to bring Lutheal in via the door. I can climb. I can strike without the weapons should they await and I have no weapon drawn." Ingryd says as she begins to climb as well.
The vine ladder creaks and sways as each of you ascend the fifty feet into the forest village. Two dozen behemoths make up the arboreal foundations for the settlement. Massive trunks more than twenty feet in diameter rise from the forest floor. Wide secondary branches stretch outward creating natural walkways and support for various buildings grown from patiently guides smaller branches and vines.
A small partially fortified sentry post sits at the top of the ladder. A splattering of the same golden hued blood marks several sides of the interior and several of the withered, blackened vines are torn, shredded or broken. A trail of blood leads from the little guard post toward the same central building already noted by Aterro as the likely source of whatever evil and doom remains to plague the village and the surrounding area. Something, a body, obviously dragged along by something or someone else.
Another piercing screech echoes across the landscape.
The branch path ends abruptly where a vine bridge once covered the gap to the next wide branch leading to the central building. The original bridge was clearly cut away, but in its place is a crude replacement made from cut timbers and nailed into the branches on either end by thick iron spikes. Golden sap has oozed around the spikes and turned a sickly pale gray where it contacts the iron.
The crossing appears sturdy enough to handle even Ingryd's heavy bulk. Across the way is the large central hall of the village. The odd croaking, buzzing sounds now quite easy to hear from this perch only thirty feet from an arched entrance. From here, all can see a pale, sickly green light glowing from within. The light is diffused by thick clouds of steam and fog that swirl within the building and occasionally leak out the opening to drift upward into the trees.
Even across the way the smell of death and the stench of something vile and toxic tickles everyone's noses. A scent grown stronger whenever a tendril of the fog from the building happens to drift and wind its sickly path closer to the party's current perch.
”If we can be sure there are only foes inside, I can conjure a Storm Sphere at the center of the room within to batter and shock the enemy, perhaps forcing it to come out and face our might here,” suggests Gunnar.