The young stag and the undead wolf

Dear Diary,
 
We woke up in the familiar comfort of our keep, which we have now nicknamed The Den, after the fishy adventure in Marsh’s Fury. The events of the past few days were still fresh in our minds. After a hearty breakfast, Gael addressed us, a serious look on his face. He produced a small, silver box. It was a relic from his past, a connection to a time when we were still younglings in the small town of Tarn.
 
Gael explained that the box had been with him when he was found in the forest as an orphan. He also revealed a knife, a gift from Tommel, once belonging to their shared mentor, Sylvesse. The knife, he believed, held the key to unlocking the secrets of the box.
 
Gael was cautious, his hesitation evident. He feared that opening the box could unleash a force beyond our control. The fey, with their enigmatic ways and ancient power, were not to be trifled with. Yet, the allure of the unknown, the promise of answers, compelled him to proceed.
 
Gael, still uncertain about the nature of the box and the knife, had opted for a cautious approach. He had hoped to wait for Tommel to fully recover, to gain more insight into the mysterious artifact. However, the specter of Cornu's return loomed large.
 
I, unable to resist the urge to delve into the unknown, proposed a simple ritual to detect any magical properties of the box. Alistan was slightly miffed that I had carved the ritual circle directly into our kitchen table, but drastic times call for drastic action (and I can re-use the rune circle later with some touch-ups). The ritual was a success and I found a faint illusionary aura emanating from the box. It was a subtle enchantment, likely designed to conceal the box from prying eyes.
 
We decided to leave the aura intact as it probably has a protective nature. The mystery deepened and the stakes rose. The box, a relic of the past, may hold the key behind Gael’s origin and the reason why Cornu had relentlessly chased us down so many years ago.
 
Gael, his resolve strengthened, visited Tommel, seeking his aid. When Gael returned, his face was a mix of excitement and apprehension. Tommel, despite his recent illness, had agreed to accompany Gael on the journey to the mysterious cabin. He had even donned an old army uniform, armed himself with a short sword and a longbow, ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.
 
Alistan immediately began preparing our supplies and making preparations for our absence from Wolf’s Rest (the new name is finally catching on). Provisions were gathered, gear checked, and orders were given to ensure the smooth running of the district in our absence.
 
Tommel, his spirit rejuvenated, explained the journey ahead. The cabin was located deep within the Lorewood, a perilous journey of several days. Despite the passage of time, he seemed confident in his ability to navigate the treacherous terrain.
 
We ventured into the Lorewood with ancient trees casting long shadows. Alistan inquired about the cabin and its location as a means to pass the time. Tommel, his voice filled with nostalgia, recounted a tale from his youth. Lost in the forest during a storm, he had stumbled upon a hidden clearing. There, he had encountered Sylvesse, the familiar stag, who had guided him to a secluded cabin.
 
The cabin, a haven of peace, was home to an elven couple. They had sheltered Tommel, offering him warmth and comfort. Sylvesse, a guardian of the forest, had forbidden Tommel from revealing the location of the cabin to others, a secret to be kept until the time was right. Now, a dream from Sylvesse had told him that time had come to show it to Gael.
 
As we delved deeper into the Lorewood, we encountered strange anomalies. Small clearings, patches of disturbed earth, dotted the forest floor. Gael speculated that these were the remnants of menhirs like we had encountered before, powerful artifacts connected to the ancient conflict between the Immerglade and the Neverhold.
 
The first day of our journey was uneventful. We set up camp, the towering trees providing shelter from the elements. The forest, though ancient and mysterious, had seemed peaceful for our initial trek, but that would soon change.
 
The morning sun filtered through the canopy, casting dappled light on the forest floor. Before long, we cross the tracks of a large group of humanoids, about ten to twenty people accompanied by horses and dogs. It was likely that they traversed during the night, and may have been the tracks of the hobgoblins we encountered later. We decided to continue on, not wanting to get distracted.
 
As we continued our journey, we stumbled upon another peculiar sight. A trail of destruction, a swathe of dead and decaying vegetation, stretched before us. The trees, once vibrant and alive, were now skeletal husks, their leaves withered and brown. No footprints marred the forest floor, no sign of the creature or force that had wrought such devastation. The mystery deepened, the air heavy with a sense of foreboding. This was our first indication that there was something unnatural in the forest with us, which we would encounter the next day. Yet, undeterred, we pressed on, our resolve unwavering.
 
As we ventured deeper into the forest, a strange sound reached our ears. Soft voices, carried on the wind, guided us towards a clearing. Gael, his senses heightened, volunteered to scout ahead, his stealthy movements allowing him to approach the clearing undetected.
 
Hayley sent Fiachna along to investigate. The raven returned with disturbing news: a group of hobgoblins had set up camp. With them were death dogs, creatures of shadow and death. The clearing, once a place of tranquility, was now a den of evil.
 
We decided to try waiting, to let the hobgoblins move on. Fiachna kept us informed of their movements. However as the hours passed, the tension grew. The hobgoblins showed no signs of leaving. Gael then suggested a direct approach. He would attempt to reason with them, to find a peaceful solution. I prepared a fireball, ready to retaliate if necessary. The god of Death was often represented as a hobgoblin, a fact that filled me with unease as we dealt with the fey-associated creatures.
 
Hayley, her knowledge of the goblin tongue invaluable, stepped forward, her voice soothing and reassuring. She explained our intentions and our peaceful mission. The hobgoblins, initially wary, listened intently. They revealed that the clearing was an ancient ruin, a place of power and mystery. The hobgoblins state that they are simply passing through and have set up camp here for now. They invited us to join them in the ruin, which we hesistently accepted.
 
We entered the ruins and see the labyrinth of crumbling walls and overgrown vegetation. Tommel, his memory sharp, guided us through the complex, pointing out familiar landmarks. The once grand cabin, now reduced to rubble, was a testament to the passage of time.
 
The hobgoblins were a curious lot. They kept to themselves, their conversations a low murmur in the goblin tongue. We were offered a meager meal, a gesture of hospitality, but their attention was focused on their own affairs.
 
A peculiar structure, a stone gateway adorned with ancient runes, caught our eye. The runes, similar to those we had encountered in Tarn and hinted at a connection to the Immerglade. This used to be a portal to another realm, a land that we had only heard of in stories, but whose path keeps crossing ours. Only Liliana has gone into the proper Feywild and returned. It took her five years and did not age her, except for her now stark white hair. Thoughts of journeying into the Feywild still sends shivers down my spine, as I know that if we would ever need to go there, we would not return the same.
 
As we studied the gate, my sister Hayley tried engaging the hobgoblin leader in conversation. She soon returned, her face a mix of intrigue and concern. Despite their aloofness, we still did not trust the hobgoblins. We knew that there was a good chance that they were agents of the fey, but did not want to attack them without cause either.
 
That night, we kept a watchful eye on the hobgoblins. I even fortified myself with protective spells before going to sleep, a precaution I rarely took. As the night wore on, a disturbance awakened us. Liliana and Dadroz were engaged in a fierce battle with the hobgoblins, their swords flashing in the dim light. It seemed that either the hobgoblins had finally made their move on us while we slept, or there had been another triggering incident. In any case, there was no time for second guessing with my friends in danger.
 
I saw the chaos unfold, cracked my fingers and unleashed a devastating fireball. The inferno consumed half a dozen hobgoblins, their bodies reduced to ash. The flames licked at the ruined walls of the cabin, casting eerie shadows. Alistan and Liliana, their shields raised, formed a defensive line, blocking the enemy's attacks. The battle raged on, a clash of wills, a test of strength and skill.
 
A few hobgoblins, sensing defeat, fled into the forest. Gael, however, was soon found frozen in fear. A monstrous figure, a creature of darkness, emerged from the woods. Cornu, the elven hunter who had tormented us years ago, had returned, his form twisted and corrupted. It was also thanks to the prophetic dream that we shared before that we even recognized his form, but his intent was unmistakable. His eyes, glowing with malice, fixed on Gael.
 
Gael, terrified, stumbled backward, his mind clouded by fear. The creature, its movements swift and deadly, advanced towards him. Alistan and Liliana, sensing the danger, rushed to Gael's aid. They fought valiantly, their swords a blur of motion.
 
I, unable to stand idly by, unleashed a barrage of firebolts, hoping to weaken the creature. But the creature, its power amplified by dark magic, proved to be a formidable foe. It struck at Liliana, its claws aimed at her heart.
 
Hayley, her magic surging, intervened. She summoned a powerful spirit, a guardian of light, to protect us. The spirit, its form ethereal, attacked the creature, its strikes swift and precise. The creature, its life force waning, let out a final, desperate roar before disappearing into nothingness.
 
As the dust settled, we gathered around Gael, his body limp and unresponsive. I administered a healing potion, its magic coursing through his veins. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, his breath returning. The ordeal was over and Cornu had been vanquished once again. But his form had disappeared, leaving no body behind. A sinking feeling suggested that this would not be the last time we would be confronted with the fey hunter.
 
With the immediate threat neutralized, we turned our attention to exploring the ruins. Beneath a fallen beam, we discovered a tombstone, a testament to a fallen hero. The inscription revealed that this was where Vincent was buried, and it referred to him as a hero to those who hate him. It also spoke of his love for someone called Reeva and that he was a friend to Sylvesse.
 
We decided to move on to one of the hobgoblins that we had captured. The hobgoblin stirred after being force fed a magical berry. Alistan attempted to question him, but the creature, unable to comprehend the Common tongue, remained silent.
 
Hayley, with her knowledge of the Feywild and its languages, stepped forward. She communicated with the hobgoblin, extracting information about their mission. The hobgoblins, it seemed, were under the orders of the High King, tasked with ambushing a group that would be coming towards the ruins and stealing from them a powerful artifact. The description of the artifact matched the silver box, a chilling realization.
 
The revelation about the box's purpose sent shockwaves through our group. Gael, his curiosity piqued, reconsidered opening it. Alistan encouraged him, pointing out Sylvesse's trust in him. Dadroz voiced his concerns, but ultimately deferred to Gael's judgment.
 
With trembling hands, Gael turned the key. A small drawer slid open, revealing a series of Elven runes. The runes spelled out a single word: "Revanche", Elven for vengeance. We speculated on how to proceed as it was clearly meant as a puzzle to open the box. Gael, in a flash of inspiration, used the runes to spell out the name of Reeva, which triggered the box.
 
The box opened fully, revealing half a mask, its surface marred by a deep gash. As Gael placed the mask on his face, it seemed to melt into his skin, his form shifting and changing. He emerged, his appearance altered to that of a human version of himself. When he removed the mask, his original form was restored.
 
Alistan, intrigued by the mask's power, tried it on. The same transformation occurred, his human form replaced by an elven one. The mask, a relic of the past, held the power to alter one's appearance, a dangerous artifact with the potential for great evil.
 
I examined the mask, my magical senses tingling. The transmutation aura, a powerful force, was evident. The mask, I realized, was a piece of a larger artifact. It also bore too many similarities to the mask once wielded by the leader of the Leper Revolt, a dark chapter in Keralon's history. This brought on many more questions that it answered. We suspected that the king of Keralon had strong ties with the fey, and may even be a fey himself. Could the Leper Revolt, a seemingly unrelated dispute on the power of the guilds, have been related to ancient conflict between Immerglade and Neverhold?
 
We rested, our bodies recovering from the ordeal. The mask, a relic of a bygone era, held immense power. We packed our belongings, preparing to leave the forest.
 
As we emerged from the ruins, we heard the distant barking of dogs. The escaped hobgoblins had alerted their allies, who were now on the hunt. We quickly retreated into the forest, hoping to lose them in the labyrinth of trees.
 
But the forest, once familiar, now seemed to twist and turn, its paths leading us astray. The once comforting canopy now cast a menacing shadow, the tranquility of the woods replaced by a sense of unease. We were lost, trapped in the labyrinth of the Lorewood.