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Kenner considers Jeb and Zenjaya's offer and nods, retrieving the bowl and accepting the trade. "Sounds a fair deal. You can never be too well prepared, that's for sure. Good luck with the ritual. Speaking to a god, you say? Hope that they're happy to chat. Me and my girls will leave you to it, but we'd be happy to share a meal with you before you head off...if you're not in too much of a hurry!"
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Moving across to the next small building, the group find it overrun with a dense thicket of vines and shrubs bearing yellow-green leaves. Rickety stairs lead up to what used to be a doorway but is now a gaping hole in the western wall. Another large hole punctures the northern wall, and a much sturdier door on the southern wall leads into a single large room.
Hanging from the ceiling In the center of the room are several handcrafted necklaces, including one made of leather and strung with bear claws and black feathers that matches the description of the totem that Nelket said was needed to summon Dolok Darkfur.
Blocking the way to the totem, however, is a clinging vine that has grown throughout the ruined building. If what Kenner said is true, then this could be the poison oak he warned of.
This is indeed poison oak.
The ceiling in the building look low enough that an average-height human could get it off the hook with minimal stretching but it seems to be attached to the ceiling and might need to be untied to retrieve it. Getting to the token without touching the plants may be a little bit tricky.
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Jeb, agile for his age, easily manages to shuffle in, reach up and get the necklace from the hook on the ceiling. In addition to the ritual totem, other necklaces are hanging from the same hook. He finds two finely crafted hemp necklaces, one with jade stones set in it like beads and another with garnets. They'll likely be worth something should the group wish to keep them and cash them in later.
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The next building is essentially empty apart from the mostly decomposed remains of some dead villagers.
You discover that these people seem to have been eaten away from the inside by some kind of caustic substance, though none of the substance is present and the remains are little more than oddly clean, broken skeletons.
You determine that the damage is consistent with the damage caused by some oozes.
Also in the building, Zeb spots a jar of honey. Another thing on the list of items that Nelket said they needed to collect to perform the ritual summoning Dolok Darkfur.
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Smith raises his eyebrow and stretches a bit, motioning the man to close his door and go back inside his own house. Clearing his throat, he adds-"We have no need for the honey, for I procured some. Still, we should explore so we can be certain it won't be a hazard to the family living here. While our mission is pointing us somewhere else, I feel the Pathfinder Society would benefit from making sure civilians are safe."
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Zenjaya rifles through her bag. "Let's see... darkwood bear, necklace, bowl, stone, and Smith's honey. Looks like we're good. Let's go summon Dolok Darkfur."
Zenjaya heads over to the altar and prepares for the ritual. She places the bowl on the altar with the rock in it, honey to the left of the bowl and bear carving to the right. Then she looks at Watergreen, who's wearing the necklaces.
"Are you leading the ritual or should I?"
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With all the items collected, the group return to the altar and complete the ritual as instructed.
Within moments of the ritual’s completion, a dark-furred bear walks slowly toward the altar, appearing out of nowhere as if he had walked through a fog. He walks on his hind legs, like a human, his arms swinging slowly at his sides. His shoulders are covered in a mantle of feathers arranged to create a rainbow that cascades down his back.
He comes to a halt near the statue behind the altar—a striking resemblance to the real thing—and takes a deep breath. “I am Dolok Darkfur, lost god and failed guardian of the doomed Farheaven Clan. Who are you to have distracted me from my eternal sorrow?”
Dolok Darkfur speaks in a low, rumbling voice, befitting a bear and towers over most the group. He speaks slowly, almost in a monotone, a distinct lack of joy or emotion in his deep voice.
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"Howdy, Dolok Darkfur. I'm Jeb Barlo of the Pathfinders. These here are my fellow Pathfinders." He gestures at the others, never taking his eyes of the bear-god. "We are trying to learn about the Farheaven Clan and their history. We spoke to Nelket and she told us what she remembered of the village. But she said to learn more of the history of her people to speak with the great Dolok Darkfur."
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"The Farheaven Clan isn't doomed. Some survived," Zenjaya replies. "I'm Zenjaya. And Jeb's right. We're here to learn what we can about the ways of the Farheaven Clan. Maybe even convince some of them to come back." She crosses her arms and begins to tap her foot in impatience. "What can you tell us about this place and it's people?"
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Dolok doesn't seem particularly pleased to have been awoken or very happy to see the group of Pathfinders as they bombard him with a series of questions.
"Howdy, Dolok Darkfur. I'm Jeb Barlo of the Pathfinders. These here are my fellow Pathfinders." He gestures at the others, never taking his eyes of the bear-god. "We are trying to learn about the Farheaven Clan and their history. We spoke to Nelket and she told us what she remembered of the village. But she said to learn more of the history of her people to speak with the great Dolok Darkfur."
The bear god snaps back at Jeb. "What would be the point? All that matters is my failure as their guardian! Whatever history the clan once had is best forgotten. They are dead, and even little Nelket has abandoned our ways. Let us vanish from this world.”
Watergreen smiles at the bear. "Hello. I'm Watergreen. You look very sad. You should know that the Farheaven Clan lives on in its children. There were some survivors."
Darkfur doesn't seem particularly heartened by this news, his mood only getting worse as you speak. "Of the plague? A vile contagion! An oozing, honorless sore upon my people, which robbed them of their lives in coughing fits of agony! A foe that the ‘mighty’ Dolok Darkfur could not best. My shame, oozing from the mouths and flesh of my children.”
"It all came from those damned trees!" Dolok bemoans, his voice filled with grief and remorse. "When I went to investigate I found only death. Dead trees, bleeding a vile yellow and black stuff like pus and sap, stood in a small circle amid a stinking mire and fetid mist. Roga began coughing as soon as we entered that copse, the sickness already in him. Whatever that fool woodcutter found spelled the end of the Farheavens."
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At the offer of help, Dolok first continues to bemoan his fate and that of his people. “You cannot erase my failures or my deeds. The blood of my clan stains my claws, my fur, my teeth. I taste it in my mouth always. I choke on it and feel it seep from my eyes as I weep. Justice! Oh, that I could find some way to destroy that foul contagion that has taken my people from this world, whatever the cost to myself! But I would not know how to accomplish such a task, could I even return to that tainted grove. I am bound here, to this altar and this village, damned to haunt it like a miserable ghost.”
When the group offer to go to the grove, the bear god's moods picks up just a little. "You would do that? Well I can tell you how to get there"
Before the group goes, he swats aside a heavy stone at the base of his altar, revealing a small cubby containing an elixir of fire breath. "Take this. I hope you can find a way to use it and bring justice to my dead children...though I doubt that you can!"
"Oh...but you wanted to know the history of the Farheaven Clan. Well, seeing you are willing to help me, it is the least I can do.
"When the Worldwound erupted in the land that was once known as Sarkoris, many of that nation’s people fled before the demonic invasion. By the time the First Mendevian Crusade had begun to reclaim parts of Sarkoris, most of the refugees had already settled in other lands. One such group of refugees was the Farheaven Clan. I lead them east over the Icerime Peaks and eventually settled in the Norinor Forest of Iobaria.
"Here, my children made a new home in the Norinor, founding this small village, building this shrine, and trading with the other humans scattered throughout the forest. The clan lived in peace and relative seclusion for several decades. They mostly kept to themselves, so when doom befell
the village, the clan’s demise went largely unnoticed."
"But, now you must go! You must hurry!" The bear god waves the group off, the deeply sad look still on his face as he slumps down to sit by the altar.
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Smith hangs back during the conversation, instead focused on taking notes of any possible information Dolok might have. Still, he keeps his eyes open as Zenjaya and Jeb offer to cleanse the evil. He cannot hide the smile that appears when he hears that, despite his effort to.
As the group exits the den, Smith says-"I'm glad we were able to get Dolok out of his melancholy, and at least instill some hope in him. That corrupted tree might not go down so easily, if the chronicles about the Worldwound are true. We must expect opposition, demonic or not"
On the way there, Smith takes the chance to mention something to the group, as he pulls out his notebook and says-"I'm writing the report for the Pathfinder Society, so that our deeds here might resound in the Society's Lodges around the world. Convincing an ancient spirit to go forward despite the catastrophe that befell his town? That's something that's bound to get the bards singing! Do you perhaps have any suggestions on what I should include about you?"
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"Thank you for sharing your story, Dolok Darkfur. It was an honour meeting a god."
Jeb takes the elixir and hands it to Zenjaya. "Here. You look like you like to play with fire."
On the trip he scratches his beard. "Me? Well, I'm from the town of Wartle in Varisia. Not much to say about it, really. It's real small and in a swamp. Lots of bugs. Gators too." He shrugs. "Did some work as a guide before becoming a Pathfinder. I'm still a little green. Done two missions so far. One had a druid and some nasty fey-folk. The other took me into the land of the fey. The... What's it called... First World! Yeah, that's it. Went to the First World. Awfully strange place. And look what it did to my mug!"
Jeb pulls out a plain clay mug that is a bright yellow colour, too vibrant to be natural.
"Changes colour with my moods, best I can tell. Another feller I know has a hat that talks now. And Watergreen's got... Well, I'll let her tell you herself."
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Dolok has no further knowledge of how the disease might have started so the group follow his directions into the forest.
After a day’s travel south, the Pathfinders arrive at the grove indicated by Dolok Darkfur’s directions.
All of the trees in the area appear dead and lifeless, but a thick copse to the south stands out as particularly unwholesome. The branches of the trees are long devoid of leaves, the bark is an unnatural gray, and large sections of the trunks are slick with a glistening liquid the color of yellowed milk. The broken limbs that remain droop, some nearly touching a morass of dark, moist land surrounding the base of their trunks. From time to time, yellowish mist bursts up from the ground before settling into the muck.
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Watergreen smiles. She pulls out her charcoal and writes a few words on Smith's book. As she writes a stream of tiny iridescent bubbles flies from the charcoal up into the air.
She giggles.
The frog on her shoulder tries to pop the bubbles with his tongue!
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At the sight of the diseased trees Watergreen smiles. "Zenjaya, Jeb.... This was your idea. After you!"
She lets everyone else lead the way.
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Sir Lansle smiles at Jeb’s talk of the First World. ”That’s my brother’s hat.”
In answer to Smith he says, ”My brother and I were h-h-holy paladins in the service of Iomedae. We fought in the W-w-worldwound and saw many horrors. In the end we… Well, we died. We saved a lot of soldiers but d-d-demons tore us apart and…” Sir Lansle falls silent. ”Iomedae brought us back to life after that. But, I remember everything! Which is horrible! I d-d-don’t recommend being tortured to d-d-d-death by demons to anyone. I’m not…” He shivers and stammers too much to finish his sentence. ”Something went wrong with my b-b-b-brother’s resurrection. He looks like and old man now, and he d-d-d-doesn’t remember anything. Not even his own name. I think… I think that’s good sometimes. He’s happy. But also it’s sad. We can’t talk together like we used to. And he doesn’t remember me.”
”Death changes everyone. It made me a coward. But, I… I think it doesn’t matter if you’re scared of everything. What matters is you’re brave enough to do what’s right, even though you’re afraid.”
”…I hope.”
At the sight of the diseased trees Sir Lansle holds out his shield and hides behind it. He draws his sword and holds it out in front of him but it wiggles around as he shivers in fear. Peeking around the edges of his shield he creeeeeeps closer.
”Stay b-b-b-back, everyone….”
When he gets closer he looks at the diseased trees to see if he knows what is wrong.
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As the group tentatively approach the filthy bog where the diseased trees are growing, the best that they can surmise is that the trees are spreading their disease into the soil around them. Walking into the bog may be safe enough, if a little hard going, but you definitely wouldn't want to slip and fall into the sickly mud.
None of the group spot anything that suggests anything else may be lurking in the morass, but it's so murky in there, they can't really be sure.