Reunited

To rest for the night, we slightly drew back along the way we came initially, taking care to mask our tracks as good as possible. After finding shelter in the slightly more comfortable air of the protective musical dome, we sat down and weighed our options for the coming day. Whilst we, especially Nysqwen and Teynos, had experienced first-hand how dangerous these woods have grown, travelling back to Mirabar would be a long journey and Grum grew more anxious with every passing hour that we did not find Quercus. But delving any deeper without Kyla’s aid might cost us dearly and surely, if we died here that would not help his old friend either. The dwarf suggested that come the next morning, he would be able to speak with one of the remaining forest animals and convince it to deliver a message to Kyla which could reduce the time it would take for us to travel there and return with her if she were to follow that missive. It would still take a good portion of the day of course for her to catch up but that might be the quickest solution.
We agreed to go along with that suggestion and after drawing first watch I settled down in the centre of the hut as the others around me bedded down for the first night in the Lurkwood. Even for me who has lived almost his entire life behind the city walls of Neverwinter, the lack of discernible life in the forest amongst us was quite noticeable as things quieted down. Sure, there was the occasional cry of a bird and the rustling of some critter darting through the underbrush, but far more scarce and disjointed as I had encountered on any of our other nights in a forest, which usually were rather loud affairs. Whatever that black rot was that seemed to coat the water of the nearby stream, it almost seemed to draw or quench the life out from the woods around us. Thus, throughout my watch there never was any semblance of ease to be felt, just raised hairs in the back of my neck. Eventually though, without any noticeable incidents, I judged it was time for a changeover and I woke up Teynos for the second watch, slid into my sleeping bag and fell into the dark arms of slumber.
 
I found myself in an unfamiliar place. A building of sorts, though more imposing in structure. A temple? Maybe. With determination I rushed down corridors as if I exactly knew the layout of this unfamiliar place and had a clear aim to this directionless running. I exited through a large set of doors – yeah, maybe a temple – and over a small square towards the edge of a surrounding forest. This one seemed more normal. My feet carried me over a moonlit path through dense trees and healthy, green bushes with an unfamiliar determination. Before long I came upon a clearing. But without taking note of its make, my eyes were draw to the silhouette of an impossible large, midnight-black bird, sharply contrasted by the glowing silver moon behind it. The huge raven dove seeking perch on a tree on the opposite side of the clearing. And looked straight at me. There was no escaping this unblinking gaze, black eyes like pools of endless shade in which I was beginning to drown.
And then suddenly I was expelled from the dream and jolted up in the little hut into a low crouch, breathing heavily and cold sweat on my brow. And yet… there was this strangely warm feeling as if of the supporting hand of a dear friend placed on ones shoulder, promising strength and aid. I knew with certainty that there was something there, a mote of sorts that could be drawn upon in a dire situation yet why I knew this or how to use its effects I could not tell. I noticed Nysqwen, who was currently standing watch, turn around to me and with concern written plainly on her scaled face asked what had occurred. I told her about the dream upon which, with a contemplating expression, she reminisced that she used to set to the sea with someone who was versed in the art of oneiromancy and used to say that if birds occurred in one’s dreams that would be a good omen. Or a sign of an upset stomach, she was not too sure on that part. Given that we all had had the same food and I was not feeling sick, I chose to maybe trust her first inclination a bit more, but this was certainly something I would be keen to discuss with Kyla. A little more at ease after being able to talk to our gentle barbarian, I turned back around for some final hours of rest.
 
During breakfast the next morning, Nysqwen was uncharacteristically quiet for some time. Her face was twisted into a stern grimace, almost intimidating if one wasn’t used to her during a fight. After a solid ten minutes of silence and unmoving, concentrated staring, her face suddenly lit up as she turned to the forest and called out to the surrounding forest in what sounded surprisingly close to the bird songs that were emanating through the morning air. A small, brown feathered bird that apparently was a bit more curious or brave then his brethren made his way closer to her and sang with renewed vigour. She joined into his tweeting but while she is a fabulous friend, a ferocious fighter and a caring creature in general, she definitely is not a gifted singer. Smiling through the gratingly discordant performance, the rest of us decided that it was best to let her enjoy herself and just chewed as loud as possible until the performance finally came to an end. The dragonborn and her new little feathery friend seemed to be communicating for a little while longer, until the bird eventually took to the sky. With an excited glimmer in her eyes, Nysqwen turned to the rest of us and explained that the little fellow had told her that the corruption we had noticed seemed to be the worst along the banks of the stream and then grow slowly less severe the further one was from the cursed water. Also, apparently the “protector tree” apparently had wandered downstream a long while ago which had worsened the whole situation.
In the interim period, Grum had scribbled an astonishingly accurate looking map of our location in relation to Mirabar on a piece of parchment and now took his turn in calling down a bird from the surrounding foliage. In a far more sober, level-headed manner than Nysqwen before him, he muttered something to the animal before sending it off into the air again. He proclaimed that the bird would seek out Kyla and give her a brief explanation of our situation and instructions on how to find us.
 
To bridge the hours until her arrival, we returned to the small clearing with the pond from which we set out yesterday for our search. As a point of refuge, I once more prepared the tiny shelter whilst Grum immediately began pacing restlessly across the glade. No words of solace would ease his mind, the worry for his friend written on his face plainly for everyone to read. Eventually, he said that perhaps if he were to more actively take another look along the riverbanks, he might calm down a little. Nysqwen accompanied him, promising to return within the hour and not get into anything too sketchy with just the two of them. Teynos and I stayed behind, in case Kyla would arrive during that time though with no certainty that the messenger bird had found her or if she had been able to follow its instructions. Teynos spent the waiting time by practicing some of his acrobatics which was amusing until I involuntarily found out that he put as much value into underwear as he did in a coat. It regardless helped to pass the time and thankfully the two scouts returned at the promised time. They had not found anything new but the bodies of the gnolls Grum and I fought the day before had been dragged further upstream, leaving nothing but grooves in the mud.
Our conversation was abruptly cut short by the sound of something approaching up the path we had taken to get here and before long, the dear features of our half-elven friend came into view. Before long, in catching Kyla up to what had transpired, the conversation came to the dream I had experienced the night before and much to my surprise, Kyla apparently had seen a very similar vision and woken up with a similar feeling. Upon my descriptions she was certain that the building I had seen was the temple that she had grown up in and that, as far as the Raven Queen was concerned, we seemed to be on the right path given her beneficial regard. Whatever quarrel she might have had with her patron goddess she seemed to have sorted out as her genuine excitement about these news brought a wide smile to her face.
I was of course glad that my instinct of this vision being something without ill intent seemed to be confirmed and returned the warm smile. Yet I am not entirely sure how to feel about being this noticeable to a god. Sure, she seems like a good being from all Kyla has told us and the gods in general were of course to be credited with all manner of fascinating creations. Camp’s enthusiasm about Mystra’s weavings in the world had been rather infectious and there is genuine gratefulness towards her for all the gifts she has bestowed upon myself and so many others to aid those around us. But it is one thing accepting that the gods were somewhere out there doing their thing and it seemed an entirely different ballpark to suddenly have drawn the direct attention of one of them. And why was there that shivers-inducing side effect of conjuring back up other visions of fire and anger, of other wills at work on the foundations of the world…
Shaking myself out of these ponderings and following the words of Nysqwen’s avian friend whom she apparently unfortunately had not asked for his name, we all set out, following downstream along the shallow bed of the creek. Kyla took out her raven figurine and with a short phrase brought it back to life to have it scout ahead and keep a look out for the treant. We wandered on until nightfall, when we found ourselves a spot not too far off the river but at least a little ways away to have some distance between us and the strongest manifestations of the corruption. During our preparations for the night, the raven returned bringing word of a massive tree that stood out even if it did not fully fit the description given by Grum. This one apparently was half consumed by the dark rot that crept through the forest. With renewed hope but also growing concern, we all bedded down for another night in the dying woods.
 
The next morning, Nysqwen renewed her attempts at coaxing the local bird population into accepting her as one of their own. Much to her dismay, the little feathered friend she made this time was not the dame that shared a duet with her the previous morning and when she turned her attention back to us, she cursed herself for once again not remembering to ask for the bird’s name. We quickly packed our things and broke camp to continue following the track described by Kyla’s raven. Over time, we noticed that the longer we travelled downstream and closer we got to the southern edge of the forest, the less intense the impact of the corruption seemed to get.
Around noon we turned away from the creek and towards the clearing, the raven had described. Soon, we found ourselves entering a glade. Or what should have been a glade. While there certainly was a gap in the otherwise fairly dense trees, the entire clearing was overshadowed by the extensive network of winding branches of a massive tree. A good fifteen or so steps across, wilted leaves rustled from gnarled twigs cloaked in bark cut through by deep fissures. Black pustules covered large sections of the trunk and branches from some of which oozed a sickly dark grey puss. Aside of the smell of fresh forest floor, a sickly-sweet smell hung in the air, and we had to cover our noses as not to start retching. Throwing all caution to the wind, Grum immediately ran across to what he recognised to be his old friend Quercus. Huge, dark brown eyes opened and slowly turned in our direction, yet they too were fogged by some sort of dark veil. A deep voice slowly called out greetings to the dwarf almost sounding like the moaning of strained wood in a storm. While the call was ragged and broken at times, we all still could hear the voice of a creature that once without doubt was one clad in authority and power. And it drove a sharp thorn into my heart to see something this majestic being rotten away by some dark curse. Quercus’ attempt to tell Grum how the sickness had carried him off slowly were cut short by our companion quickly explaining that he finally had found something that might be strong enough to fight off whatever madness had befallen the woods, pulling forth the casket that Pyro had bestowed upon him.
With the treant’s permission, the rest of us approached to help Grum in what was to come. As he opened the container, we found the thick paste to glow in a slight orange hue not unlike the essence of the flaming spirit that was consumed in its making. It was warm, almost hot to the touch as we all joined in to spread the balm across the rough bark. I cried out briefly in shock and surprise when small flames began dancing over the wood but quickly calmed myself as they did not seem to burn Quercus but rather engaged in a fight against the black ichor and cauterised the abscesses. The warmth emanating from the process seeped deep into all of us and seemed to bolster and incite our workings. After a few minutes, every last drop of the paste was spent. In a matter of mere moments, life seemed to flood back into the body of Grum’s friend. Dried and cracked branches bounced now flexible and green, dead leaves returned to a healthy, lush coloration, the veil that had clouded the treant’s eyes vanished as he blinked against the sun as if seeing it for the first time in many months. Still several islands of the rot remained upon his body, small patches of pustules or blackened grooves but he seemed vastly invigorated when he lifted himself to his full height and shook his impressive canopy with a low laughter that sent shivers through the surrounding ground. A commanding presence emanated from him as his old, wise eyes regarded all of us with what must have been a smile. It was quite hard to read any facial expressions from something made of bark.
In his slow manner of speaking, he thanked us for this service, confident in being able to cope with what now remained of the corruption in his form. Kyla approached carefully to ask if he was willing to let her conduct some further examinations that might shine light on the nature of the plague which in turn might help us help the rest of the forest. While she did so with his consent, he lamented that he had been too weak to hold off any longer what seemed to have come down the river and not knew any other help than retreat. Kyla confirmed that the magical aura that clung to the remaining traces of the sickness on Quercus was the same that seeped throughout the forest. Come the next morning she might be able to further help the treant or we could try and find the origin of this and end it for good. The forest guardian stated that in all his time strong enough to do so he never found anything that might be the source to this madness. The gnolls that now roamed the woods were just a symptom rather than the cause, if he was at full strength, they never would have dared pester these grounds. Maybe, or so he reminisced, it was time to get together the protectors of the forest, Mountaingiant, Barkwatcher, Mossbeard and the dryads of the ponds, to march against this corruption.
With this more uplifting prospect, we have now gathered around the more lively looking glade whilst Quercus is pondering who might respond or where they might be roaming currently. If someone like the treant was unable to fight back whatever encroached these woods, I am beginning to wonder if we might be in over our heads. Nysqwen’s fall in the fight against the yetis certainly was a wakeup call and I don’t know if I could stomach any more of those. But perhaps with the help of the forest guardians working together we stand a chance. Perhaps.