Chapter 52: Shadows Beneath the Grove (Session LXI)

Savras’s wisdom lingers in every shadowed corner; it is with this certainty I recount our descent deeper into the ruin. When Jean Marie burst through the threshold, he struck at the first goblin—a swift blow, but fortune did not favor him. Felonious, ever the opportunist, danced in with scimitar flashing, felling one of the wretches, though his attempt to cow the survivors with bravado fell flat. I, Aleksey Dotsk, momentarily distracted by the allure of ancient tomes, signed the holy symbol and strode forth, but the chaos within left me bewildered; my own attack went astray.
Draxon entered then—a storm incarnate, axe cleaving through goblin bone and sinew, the spray painting the stones. Oleander’s arrow failed its mark; in the confusion, one of their archers shouted a frantic plea in the tongue of goblins: “Aid me, protector of the twilight grove!” My understanding of their language allowed the meaning to pierce the tumult.
Jean Marie, spurred into pursuit, hurled a belay pin at the fleeing goblin. Felonious, wielding arcane power with signature flair, unleashed missiles of blue flame—the goblin, beset on all sides, fell with a final cry. The chamber that awaited us was a tangle of thorn and shrub, the floor hostile beneath our boots. The last goblin disappeared, lost to the choking vines. These creatures, it seemed, were harvesting the roots and twigs for some foul purpose. Off to the side, a chamber glowed with unnatural light.
I sent Uttu, my faithful familiar, ahead. He darted through danger, dodging the attack of a lurking twig blight, and pressed onward into a vast hall where saplings reached upward, skeletal arms beseeching. At the rear stood a massive tree, its branches clutching at the ceiling as if in supplication or defiance. Uttu’s keen senses revealed three figures: a shield-bearing man, a blonde woman swathed in robes, and a nobleman whose beard bristled with arrogance. Their eyes flickered with awareness—they knew Uttu had spied them, and they expected us.
Calling Uttu back to the safety of the pocket dimension, I summoned him again to my shoulder. As I relayed my discovery to the party, two twig blights crept forward. Draxon set a bush ablaze with his torch; Jean Marie bravely pressed the attack, staff thrusting, but the blight’s incorporeal nature defied his efforts. Calamity struck when Oleander’s shot went awry; she howled in pain, her own foot the unintended victim. Felonious, moving with shadowed precision, dispatched a blight with a well-timed sneak attack.
I called upon the arcane, attempting to fan Draxon's fire toward the advancing blight, but it escaped destruction. Burrel steadied his aim at another. More twig blights entered the fray, only to be swiftly dealt with by our relentless barrage—first Oleander, then Felonious, finishing them off. Jean Marie, ever watchful, moved stealthily up the vine-choked path and struck down yet another blight. With the immediate threat quelled, I distributed three potions of fire breathing among my companions—the promise of elemental wrath for what lay ahead.
We resolved to approach with caution. I prepared the ritual of silence, weaving its magic with careful deliberation, while Jean Marie readied his marine layer, fog swirling to shroud our advance. Belag, the twisted druid, jeered from the darkness, but our plan held firm. When my silence spell snuffed out his mockery, Jean Marie flooded the battlefield with fog, and we moved unseen.
Oleander, incensed at the blasphemy before us, broke from concealment and fired upon our foes. The blonde sorceress, frustrated by her inability to utter spells within my silenced domain, retreated. I sent Uttu aloft, scouting through the mist; he glimpsed the druid and magic-user slipping free of our spell’s reach. High in the tree, a shadow flickered—a silhouette resembling a frog. At once, I dispelled the silence and issued a warning to my allies.
Burrel’s arrow struck Belak; Oleander, channeling the might of her dragon orb, ravaged the dark druid. Draxon clashed with the bark-skinned warrior, while Felonious, twin blades flashing, delivered a mortal wound, blood raining upon Draxon as the foe fell. Jean Marie pressed forward, encountering the monstrous frog—his surprise gave way to a breath of fire, scorching the aberration.
I hurried to Oleander’s side, invoking lesser restoration to break the spell that had felled her—a sleep curse woven by the robed woman. Oleander, restored, quickly dispatched another blight. Draxon, having heard Jean Marie’s exclamation, charged the beast, his hunger for “jumbo frog legs” filling the hall. A ball of holy light erupted from Draxon’s chest, striking the amphibian, and with a masterful swing, he severed its legs in a single stroke.
The sorceress retaliated, magic missiles blazing into Burrel. Belax, in desperation, cast wither and bloom—the necrotic wave caught Jean Marie, but his resolve held. Struggling through the blight, he found and struck down Belax with his sword, declaring the druid dead and dispelling the fog. Yet, the sorceress persisted; I pondered whether the vampiric tree itself held her in thrall. I cast silence anew, trapping her spellwork once more. Felonious and Oleander finished the remaining blights, while Draxon’s fire breath battered the sorceress.
The tree loomed—its leaves tinged with blood, its aura necrotic and hungry. At the roots, I noticed a wooden stake, twigs twisted in blight, and high among the branches, a pale fruit like a white apple. Felonious shot it down, and we claimed it, the purpose yet unknown. Gently, I tended the wounds of the sorceress and the fallen warrior, stabilizing them. Breathless, we paused amidst the ruin, with Savras’s will guiding our next steps into the darkness beyond.