Alessandria is about ready to set the foliar treatise on fire just so the patterns will change, but she still manages to wring some meaning out of them.
After several more days of research, you discover more about Ghorus's work. One of the more insidious creations to come out of Ghorus’s Garden were tainted seeds, which the Goroth Lodge scattered throughout Taldor’s countryside. When watered, they sprouted into dangerous fungal creatures called cythnophorians, which infected and killed a host, took possession of its corpse, and fed on it as they spread their spores. Despite their power, Ghorus considered the cythnophorian seed pods a clumsy weapon and crafted other weapons with similar powers that could be better directed.
Chief among these items was the Cythbikian staff that, when plunged into the ground, spread a fungal network across a vast area. This fungal network coiled around any living creatures present and forced them to attack and kill everything nearby‚ wielding them like conscious, living puppets.
You can continue to do more research, or you can seek out the dweomercat Felivaine to try to find out what he remembers about Ghorus.
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"Wowzer, that's quite a staff!" Wispil comments when they pool their knowledge. "I wonder if that cat guy ever heard of it?"
"Like, that sounds awful," Kilitsi says, mimicking retching a few times as she thinks about what that staff would be like. "Hopefully, it's like as lost as the Wildwood Lodge."
"A horror, but one that can be overcome... We should find this cat."
Eilwith Glen is a steep, narrow valley filled with towering, moss-covered trees and old growth. Berry bushes grow along the banks of a river that lazily flows down the valley’s center. Eilwith Glen is the demesne of Felivaine, an immortal and capricious dweomercat who once belonged to the Goroth Lodge.
It isn't long before entering the glen when a voice calls out from above. "Well, well, well," the voice purrs. Looking up, you see Felivaine lounging in the branches of an ancient tree. He stands and stretches, digging his claws into the bark of his perch.
"More trespassers who should know better than to disturb me. You smell better than the last ones, at least. Much more appetizing. Less prickly. Let me guess, you’ve come seeking information about something boring. Ghorus this, Goroth that, Moot of Ages, Ruzadoya, war, war, war... Tedious. Predictable. Well, come then. Give me your speech, mortals. Entertain me."
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"Well, thank you...I think," Wispil is a little confused by the twisty words of the cat. "We'd be happy to trade some entertainment for some information."
"What sort of stories do you like? Have you heard the one about the kholo and with a fever? He was a hot dog."
"Wait, you think we smell like food? That's stinkier than a moldy cheese even! The last things that tried to eat us ended up dead!"
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Gentlestorm halts himself from shifting and engaging when Felivaine decides they're at least worthy of talk. He then silently thanks Wispil for being surprisingly good at diplomacy, when he wants to be.
"It's true that we are after information that you see as boring it seems. But it is with good cause, as we are seeking the deeper threat behind the attacks that have placed Ruzadoya in power. That have made it their goals to splinter the Wildlodge and the pacts it has forged."
He muses worriedly, "And what horrors might be drawn up from the Goroth lodge's ancient armories."
Felivaine laughs at Wispil's joke. "Heh. Very funny, bird." The dweomercat's tail waves back and forth behind him as you have successfully caught his attention.
After some more jokes, Gentle Storm gives his pitch. Felivaine sighs. "Yes, it's true. I was once acquainted with that fool Ghorus, but I have no desire to relive that part of my life—it was no fun at all! But you, bird, are entertaining! More jokes!"
Wispil starts to fluff his feathers to counteract the flush he feels climbing up his body.
"Sure, jokes...I got a million of them. But what do you say we trade? I'll tell you some jokes and you tell us about that dull old Ghorus."
"Oh, very well. Follow me." Felivaine leaps down from his perch and wanders through the glen. After a few minutes, he stops at a small stone cottage, long fallen to disrepair and settles onto the front step.
“When the tides turned against Ghorus, he fled the Verduran Forest for distant lands and left much behind. Ghorus loved things, you see? Books, weapons, plants, his experiments—he loved those most of all—the things he shaped and warped himself. He thought that things mattered—a mortal misconception. Thus, Ghorus had a plan to retrieve these lost possessions. He carved instructions into four stone menhirs of his favored pulpit, a place his followers called Coronet. These point to locations of various keys—each a portion of a map that, when combined, would reveal the passage to Ghorus’s Garden.” Felivaine shakes his head, remarking, “Convoluted, I know, but remember that Ghorus had just lost a war. He saw enemies everywhere. Expected betrayal everywhere. Turns out he was right.
“Ghorus directed a most loyal lackey to share this knowledge with only the Goroth Lodge’s utterly devoted followers. Then they could retrieve Ghorus’s treasures and carry them off to him. A foolish hope. I ate his chosen mouthpiece within minutes and left his treasures to rot!”
Felivaine cackles cruelly before continuing. “Hmph. Or so I thought. Now, another renegade rallies the Verduran Forest to war, and her minions search under moss, root, and rock for Ghorus’s leavings. I’d like to see them fail. I will give you the location of Ghorus’s pulpit. You can read the menhirs, track down the sites, forge the map, and dig up the old garden—if you’re clever enough. But I require payment. Not in things,” Felivaine spits in disgust, “but in labor and a very singular memento.” He casts a look over his shoulder at the ancient, crumbling stone cabin. “This house belonged to a friend of mine—the dearest friend I ever had. Her name was Eilwith, and she was one of the many who believed in Ghorus. She joined his lodge and was lost to me. I joined the Goroth Lodge not for Ghorus or his war, but to find Eilwith. I never saw her again. She’s dead now, of course. I have no illusions about that—she was human. I doubt that even her corpse remains. I simply ask that you keep alert for signs of her presence or the necklace she once wore. It was gold with a moonstone pendant shaped like a flower. If you find it, bring it to me. Do we have an accord?”
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"That sounds great. We're always on the lookout for historical items that might have been mislaid," Wispil agrees. "As to whether we are clever enough to get our hands on Ghorus's goods, time will tell."
"Now, my turn: Did you hear about the druid that wanted to be a barrister? He went to Claw School!"
"Bwa ha ha!" Felivaine laughs uproariously, rolling on the floor.
Once he has recovered from his laughing fit, the dweomercat gives you directions to the "pulpit" where Ghorus once spoke to his followers. Furthermore, he explains that Ghorus used to slip away for weeks at a time to “meditate” in his “private temple.” Felivaine followed him one day but saw that there was no temple at all; Ghorus was “just talking to a strange wooden ball from another world.”
"How could you tell it was of another world?"
Felivaine gives a feline shrug. "I'm immortal. When you've been around as long as I have, you've seen everything this world has to offer. And that wooden ball thing was something I hadn't seen before, nor have seen since."