The Lair of Chaustichlorinus
Hidden in a region where the Gnarley Forest thickens into a choking, enchanted wilderness near the northeastern reaches of the Fens of Tor, lies the lair of Chaustichlorinus, an adult green dragon whose return to power signals growing peril in the region. Once thought slain in the Welkwood, the scarred wyrm has reemerged, and her lair pulses with slow, malevolent life.
The Verdant Grave
The lair is a sprawling mound of earth, moss, and creeping vines, indistinct from the surrounding underbrush unless seen from above or with practiced eyes. It resembles a natural hillock but hums with a subtle wrongness—the way the fog clings too long, how the thickets twist unnaturally toward trespassers, or the stifling silence that falls just before entering the glade.
Interior: The lair descends into a wide, humid cavern lined with poisonous fungi and trailing green phosphorescent moss. Pools of acrid water catch dim light, and root systems like claws grasp the chamber walls. Her hoard rests atop a natural stone dais cloaked in thorny vines.
- Located northeast of the Fens of Tor in the Gnarley Verge
- Disguised as a natural overgrown mound
- Filled with toxic undergrowth, illusion magic, and hallucinatory terrain
- Poisonous vines and fog act as natural defenses
The Dragon's Hoard
Chausticlorinus, having only recently reawakened from decades of healing slumber, has a modest hoard by draconic standards. Yet, the emotional and political weight of some items far outweighs their gold value.
Among the scattered piles:
- A small trove of silver and gold coins
- A +2 longsword once wielded by the elven hero Freindilin Weirkein
- A +1 shield bearing his family crest from Celene
Returning the shield and blade to Freindilin’s kin in Celene would earn significant favor and gratitude, especially among the elven nobility.
- Hoard includes treasure from Freindilin Weirkein, slain elf hero of Celene
- Items carry political value if returned to Celene
- Hoard is growing slowly as Chaustichlorinus consolidates power and demands tribute
The Influence of the Lair
Since 576 CY, the area around the lair has grown increasingly dangerous. By 587 CY, locals dubbed the region the Fogweald. Its vegetation grows twisted and aggressive, and mists tinged with a sour, acrid stench confuse and confound. Kobolds, goblins, and orcs have begun erecting crude idols—twisting trees and vines into shrines to the "Green Mother."
These creatures raid outlying villages, demand tribute from frightened woodsmen, and offer it all to the dragon in return for her protection—or in fear of her wrath.
- Region now called the Fogweald by rangers and woodsmen
- Overrun with thickets, poisonous plants, and unnatural fogs
- Kobolds and orcs raid villages and caravans in the dragon’s name
- Idols of Chaustichlorinus found in wild tribes across the Verge
Awareness Among Regional Factions
The Gnarley Rangers
The Rangers have long suspected a lurking danger in the northeast Verge, but only recently confirmed the dragon's identity. Annika Silverwood and Barda Tharrow have both lost scouts to the Fogweald. Belgin has pushed for coordination with Dyvers, while Parsimmon Turmercan, liaison in Corustaith, works behind the scenes to unite elven and human efforts.
- Gnarley Rangers are now on high alert
- Annika considers the lair a top threat to the Lake Verge
- Belgin is pressing for military alliances
- Parsimmon is leveraging diplomacy with Celene and Verbobonc
Druids of the Gnarley Forest
The Druids, led by Great Druid Naimur and advised by Archdruid Holdefer Paravis, regard the lair as a corruption of the forest’s balance. High Druid Laric has called for a coordinated natural cleansing, while Maiya Dewshine and Hrudek have begun to awaken forest guardians to prepare for confrontation.
- Druids view Chaustichlorinus as a cancer upon the Gnarley
- Naimur counsels caution, knowing the dragon’s cunning
- Sacred groves near the lair have gone silent—ominous signs
Elves of the Gnarley Forest and Celene
The Elven Clans, particularly those of Clan Enlandefel, have not forgotten Freindilin Weirkein, and news of his belongings being in the dragon's hoard has stirred old grief and vengeance. Though Celene's court remains aloof, some younger warriors seek to defy Queen Yolande’s isolationism and launch a vendetta.
- Elves of Enlandefel are incensed at the dragon’s survival
- Queen Yolande maintains neutrality—for now
- Rogue elf warbands have begun operating in the Fogweald
Future Encounters & Campaign Hooks
- Recover Freindilin’s Shield: Players returning the shield to Celene can gain strong allies.
- Stalked in the Fogweald: Characters entering the Fogweald may be hunted by Chaustichlorinus or her minions.
- Green Serpent's Cult: Kobolds and goblins now worship Chaustichlorinus as the Green Mother, creating a dark forest cult.
- Elven Vengeance: Players may be caught between rogue elf warriors and the Gnarley Rangers, each with competing strategies for dealing with the dragon.
- The Disguised Visitor: The red-haired woman with green eyes seen in villages may be the dragon in disguise, manipulating politics and tribute.
Conclusion
The Lair of Chaustichlorinus is not just a nest—it is a growing shadow stretching across the Gnarley Verge. Her influence poisons roots and hearts alike. For the Rangers, the Druids, and the Elves, she represents not just a threat, but a test—of their unity, resolve, and memory. She has slept long, but now she remembers—and she is hungry.
Chausticlorinus, Verdant Wyrm of the Gnarley Verge
Ancient Green Dragon (Chaotic Evil), Legendary Creature
Armor Class 21 (natural armor)
Hit Points 385 (22d20 + 154)
Speed 40 ft., fly 80 ft., swim 40 ft.
STR 27 (+8) DEX 12 (+1) CON 25 (+7)
INT 18 (+4) WIS 17 (+3) CHA 21 (+5)
Saving Throws Dex +7, Con +13, Wis +9, Cha +11
Skills Deception +11, Perception +15, Stealth +7
Damage Immunities Poison
Condition Immunities Poisoned
Senses Blindsight 60 ft., Darkvision 120 ft., Passive Perception 25
Languages Common, Draconic, Sylvan
Challenge 22 (41,000 XP)
Traits
Amphibious. Chausticlorinus can breathe air and water.
Lair Magic. While in her lair, she can warp terrain, create illusions, and cause choking mists.
Actions
Multiattack. Bite + 2 Claws.
Poison Breath (Recharge 5–6). 90-ft cone, 22d6 poison damage (DC 21 Con save for half).
Terrifying Gaze. Once/day, each creature of her choice within 60 ft. must succeed on a DC 18 Wis save or be frightened for 1 minute.
Legendary Actions (3/round)
- Detect. Makes a Wisdom (Perception) check.
- Tail Swipe. +14 to hit, 15 ft. reach, 17 (2d8+8) bludgeoning.
- Mist Veil (Costs 2). Creates heavy fog in a 20-ft. radius, heavily obscured for 1 minute (DC 18 Wis save or hallucinate).
You first notice the stillness.
Not the kind of stillness that comes with dusk or fog, but something stranger—a hush too complete, like the forest is holding its breath. No birdsong. No rustle of squirrel or deer. Just the wet whisper of moss beneath your boots, and the creak of old trees bowing in a wind that doesn’t seem to touch you.
The trail vanishes behind you sooner than expected.
It doesn’t fade. It simply… stops, swallowed by undergrowth that wasn’t there a moment ago. The smell of the air changes, sharp and sour, like crushed bramble and old blood. Your throat tightens, unbidden, and someone behind you murmurs a warding charm under their breath.
Ahead, half-buried beneath a veil of ferns and twisted ivy, rises a low, moss-covered hillock. Harmless at first glance—like any other forest knoll. But something’s wrong with it. The vines move too much. The mist refuses to part from its base. You feel the eyes before you ever see them.
Then, a whisper—not a sound, but a presence—skims across your thoughts, low and silken:
Come closer, little ones.
Your skin prickles as your boot finds damp stone, worn smooth by something that shouldn’t dwell here. Shapes twist in the mist just beyond your vision—shrines of clawed wood, hunched and bowed like worshippers. One of them bears a crude carving of a dragon’s fang dripping venom onto roots.
You swallow.
You’ve come far to find me, the whisper purrs in the back of your mind. Now show me what you’ve brought to die for.
You feel the weight of her stare—ancient, mocking, patient—settling across your shoulders like a hunter’s net. And you understand, too late, that the lair hasn’t been hiding from you.
It’s been inviting you in.
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