Out of the woodlands sidles a furtive-looking humanoid which seems to be a cross between an owl and a man.
"No hurting, no, no reason to hurt Embor-Comes-by-Night. But three of you have three nice pretty things that Embor-Comes-by-Night likes: only one colour, but not one size, stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies; present in sun, but not in the rain, doing no harm, and feeling no pain."
"In stories owls are bad." Alainn says, "I think..."
”He wants our shadows,” Lydia says to her companions. She looks back at the owl. ”Our shadows belong to us. You cannot have them! Fly off, lest you feel the sting of my blade!”
Her shadow blade appears in her hand, flames flickering along its deadly length.
"Attempt to take my shadow and you will know more than just a sting," Sercha says with a growl.
"Sercha's shadows are really scary." Alainn adds, "You wouldn't want them anyway."
"Well, I guess I will leave your beautiful shadows to you then."He says downtrodden. "But perhaps I could trade you my favourite needle and thread for just one shadow?" he asks, perking up a little with the idea.
"I could make you have lots of shadows..." Alainn offers. "Could you keep those?"
"No. Be on your way," Lydia says sternly.
The owl looks downcast and turns to walk away, cooing to himself.
"Let's go. I hope that bridge is sturdier than it looks," Lydia says as she cautiously leads the way forward.
Alainn flies across, not bothering with something as mundane as a bridge. Mage Armor, on the other hand, is worth bothering with...
"Sercha's shadows are really scary." Alainn adds, "You wouldn't want them anyway."
Sercha sends a frowning gaze in Álainn's direction as she tries to work out whether that was a compliment or not.
When they prepare to cross the bridge, Sercha holds up her hand. "Let me go first. Wait here."
Alainn has already gone, but Sercha's well meaning efforts might save Lydia some awkwardness... ?
”Okay. I’ll watch your back,” Lydia tells Sercha.
Black and reeking of mildew, this frigid-looking lake spreads out from the broken terrain of the swamp. Its still surface reflects the distant shore. A single, rocky island rests in the center, capped with sickly grass and tangled growth and glowing with dozens of flickering, colored lights. An ancient, withered suspension bridge runs from the island to the banks.
As Sercha walks up to the edge of the bridge as if to cross she hears a gorgeous song— part lullaby, part dirge—piercing the otherwise haunting silence before dissolving into sobs partway across the bridge.
Taking a closer look, Sercha sees what looks like a make-shift nest made of a convoluted mess of vines and rotten leaves enveloping an opalescent, rainbow-hued pool of tears set between two of the barriers along the bridge. In the middle of the pool lies a large feathered and winged snake in a pitiful state. Feathers that used to be radiant as a rainbow are now discoloured and washed, her wings are slumped and mangy, the scales on the serpentine part of her body are opaque and weathered. As you arrive, the creature is shaking in uncontrollable sobs.
Alainn flies over the bridge to get a better look of the island. From Alainn's vantage point, it observes flickering, colored fireflies scattered in all directions. Beyond the light undergrowth just past the bridge lies a maze of leaning gravestones. In the center, two white candles stand burning atop a weathered stone sarcophagus. A creature is laying, slumped against the sarcophagus between the candles.
”The Winged Serpent. It is a couatl, usually a champion for the forces of good. Alainn, can you talk to it and try to cheer it up?”
"Sure!" Alainn calls, swooping back across the bridge, card in hand.
"Hey, how are you? Silly question, you're not happy. But I am. Maybe I can help cheer you up? What did the druid say to the snake that ate his own tail? Where's the rest of you?! Ok, not such a good one. How about.... hmmm. Or maybe you could just tell me what's wrong? The Heroes over there are really good at helping with bad things."
Sercha glances back at Lydia wondering to herself why she wasn't asked to talk to the creature. With a shake of her head, she approaches the creature and listens as Álainn attempts to cheer her up.
"Mourning Choir is surprised - who comes to watch my misery?" she replies to Alainn, not acknowledging to the joke.
"Help?" sighs Mourning Choir, sighing and raising her slender neck to face you letting out another, quieter, sob. "Oh, there is no way anyone could ever help me! Why did I ever conspire? Why would I fight against she who gave me life, that I would then get poisoned by that act? Ah, misery! Ah, profound misery!" she sobs and sniffs a few more times.
"Then he took my compassion that I had devoured and left Mourning Choir like this." She turns her head towards the island. "He overflows with compassion for the dead but not for the living. He does not care for the living." she says, returning her head to sink down, tears streaming down to the nest.
”Hmm. If we destroy the one that took your compassion, will it return to you?” Lydia inquires.
"Who took your compassion?" Alainn asks gently, "Was it the Patchwork Lord? We intend to find him so we would be happy to help you along the way. If it's someone else then we could speak to them on your behalf? Lydia is very convincing. Sercha too, as long as she doesn't have to speak."
"Morning Choir's compassion was not taken by the Patchwork Lord but by the Barrow King." it says, lifting its head back up from despair, for now stopping its sobbing.
"He fills the undead with hatred for any living being as he devoured the compassion that I had devoured from Sonnorae as well as taken my token! Be warned, if you do go to attempt to retrieve Mourning Choir's compassion, The Barrow King will blindly attack any living being as soon as they get close to him on the island. Why would someone do something like that for Mourning Choir?" she questions, and then starts emitting a beautiful, but morose, tune.
Alainn gives the coatl a consoling pat and then heads for the 'safe' end of the bridge, waving Lydia and Sercha back with her.
"So someone called 'the Barrow King' has the token now. Not Morning Choir, and will attack us if we set foot on the island." Alainn says. "I saw a body when I flew so I could just fly over the island and drop lots of fire on it? If you two wait at the bridge then you can hold it heroically once the Undead Horde rises?"
Lydia nods. "Do it, Alainn. We'll be ready."
With Lydia's approval Alainn takes to the air, holding position as high as it can and still maintaining a reasonable degree of accuracy. Then the orbital bombardment begins!
Alainn flies over the island, leaving Sercha and Lydia behind. It fires flaming streaks through the still air, scorching the man slumped against the tomb.
63/94 hp
"So I'm supposed to, what? Just stand here?" Sercha asks, looking between Lydia and the rain of fire taking place on the island. "I think not."
She turns and summons her shadow blade before walking purposefully across the bridge.
The Barrow man stands up, tall and menacing, knocking over the two candles on his way.
He strides towards the bridge to confront the new interloper onto his island, testing his glowing greatsword cutting through the cold air.
Lydia strides forward to meet the Barrow Man. "For Desna!" she cries, pronouncing a judgment.
Sercha presses forward across the bridge and shifting her shield into place as she strikes with her flaming shadow blade.
Alainn manages to avoid laughing when Sercha makes an utter fool of herself, and focuses on the job at hand.
Lydia strides across the bridge, closely following behind Sercha, readying herself to reclaim Mourning Choir's compassion.
Sercha moves to intercept the Barrow King, summoning her flaming shadow sword and slicing at him, but she slices too fast. Her sword was not fully realised as she attacked and the Barrow King is menaced by nothing more than a whisper of shadow.
Alainn, The Sidekick, sends two more very effective scorching bolts at the Undead Lord as he howls out in agony.
The Barrow King swings his greatsword back at Sercha with all his might.
32/94 hp
The fetchling glares at her blade and then ... shifts.
Since it isn't broken, there's no need to fix it. Alainn fires more fire!
Lydia enhances her blade to be undead bane and moves in to attack.
Alainn's bolt hit true yet again and the Barrow King yells in pure agony and wavers on the spot, yet he is still determined to fight on.
Lydia's blade ricochets off the undead's armour, leaving no dent behind.
With the last of his effort, the Barrow King swings with his remaining strength at Lydia.
1 hp
Sercha takes a risk and exposes herself to move to flank with Lydia. Then she slashes with her blade.
The Barrow King swings his sword at Sercha's moment of vulnerability.
Sercha slashes back in retaliation and strikes the Barrow King with fury as it drops to the floor and vanishes, leaving its clothes and equipment in a pile in front of you.
Searching through the remains of his equipment you find no obvious token, so continue further into the island; Alainn suggests that you search the area that she saw him resting before.
Walking through the eerily still graveyard, you head towards the stone sarcophagus that the Barrow King was using as his resting place as well as two large candles that Alainn points out he knocked over earlier.
For a second you hear a low rumble and feel the ground shake and arms burst up from the ground all around you, attempting to tear at your legs.
Lydia dodges the arms around her and pulls Sercha to the side just in time but Alainn, attempting to fly off, doesn't quite make it in time.
Lighting a pair of votive candles atop the island’s central sarcophagus (a standard action per candle) placates the spirits and suppresses the haunt so long as the candles remain lit.
Lydia resists the Barrow King's draining strike, nodding to Sercha when she finishes him off.
When the arms start grabbing at the group, the inquisitor leaps to the side. "The spirits are restless! We must placate them! Sercha, the candles!" The half-elf rushes to one of the candles and sets it alight while the fetchling does the same for the other one.
Lighting the candles whilst evading the undead clawing from the ground was not the easiest task, but as both candles come to light the undead rising halts and the arms retreat back to resting under the broken earth.
Searching around the area, there are some scorch marks against the open, empty sarcophagus from Alainn's rain of fire, as well as a large assortment of items inside the sarcophagus. Searching through the Barrow King's items, you find a large, flawless ruby hidden amongst a half-mouldered collection of books and scrolls on burial rites.
Continuing your search, there is nothing else of note apart from aged gravestones, none of which have any offerings to the deceased.
Returning to the bridge, you find Mourning Choir, still miserable and sobbing as before.
"Mourning Choir's compassion has left this place, for now there is none with his death." she continues to bawl, and doesn't respond to any efforts to placate her.
"Is this what you are looking for?" Lydia asks, offering the ruby to the couatl.
The couatl looks up at the ruby, tilting its head. "Why, that's the Bard's Heart. Merely just a little token to remind us of our conspiracy to destroy Sonnorae. Mourning Choir does not want this in her sight any longer! It is merely a reminder that Sonnorae is gone and any hope with her, any light and music and colour! Never will her sweet words be whispered, her yearning songs raise towards the skies!" She returns yet again to repeat her mourning in her pool of rainbow coloured tears.
Sercha leans in to whisper to Lydia, "What a drama queen," she says with a roll of her eyes.
Lydia smirks slightly. "Right. Well, Mourning Choir, we'll leave you to your, er, mourning." She secures the ruby and leads the group away from the fen.
"We are making good progress. Let's head on to the next location."
"Is that the forest to the south?" Sercha asks.
"Yes, I believe so," Lydia replies.
Heading to the south of the Harrowed realm doesn't take long at all, and after a short rest, you reach the location you were aiming for.
White marble walls, stained by ages and overgrown with thorns, surround a weed-choked garden. White cobblestones lead into the open gate, flanked on either side by tarnished bronze angels. A weather patio looks over what must once have been an immaculate garden of flowers and fruit trees, now overgrown with brambles and vines. Still, you can imagine the past beauty of this place, which still feels like happy endings and hard-earned bliss.
A short way further into the Garden, after a stagnant grey pond, you see a pear tree, bizarrely colordul and in full bloom, heady with fruit. The path continues north into a forest of pillars.
Under the tree, you notice two creatures apparently locked in a heated debate: one is a small humanoid, a goblin judging from its oversized head, wearing a paper-mache unicorn mask. The other one is a unicorn.
"Steal food from a poor, hungry, unarmed creature! This how good you are? It is a mercy to be, uhm, merciful! Me picks pear, me haves right of snack!" proclaims the goblin.
"In my opinion" answers the unicorn, with an aria of superiority "creating a world with fewer goblins is a good act. As you are wicked, evil little creatures, appropriating this pear is a righteous action in the name of the greater good."
They don't seem to have noticed you.
Alainn looks rather downcast as they leave the Demon's Mire. "I never thought about what happens to the characters when a story ends." The gathlainn says when asked about the uncharacteristic quiet. "It is sad..."