Pre-chapter notes: This tale takes place approximately six/seven months before The Grey Warriors.

The Cult of the Gol'Goroth

Chapter One

The Task

10 Elient (The Fading) 1484 DR / Day 1

Taras Aldar, Neverwinter Wood

It was unusual for a meeting involving the Masters of the Wood to be held at such a late hour. It was even stranger for someone like Zelyra Erenaeth to be summoned to such a gathering. And yet, in the twilight of 10 Elient 1484DR, that very same individual found herself climbing a wooden staircase that spiraled the largest tree in the village of Taras Aldar, wondering what such a summons might mean.

The young druid wracked her brain for something she might have recently done to earn the masters' wrath—a prank, failure in her studies, disobedience—but came up with nothing. She had not even dared to explore the Wood alone as of late! An abnormal increase in giant spider nests had discouraged any thought of that.

Zelyra took a deep breath when she finally reached the top of the stairwell and timidly stepped into the trazaethe where the council was to be held. Taras Aldar's four advisors—Naitha, Master of Medicine; Ansron, Master of Lore; Artana, Master of Swords; and Bael, Master of the Hunt—were all present. Zelyra's adopted father, Laucian Erenaeth, also stood in one corner, speaking to a female shield dwarf that the young druid had seen in passing but had never spoken to personally. Zelyra thought she was a member of their druidic ally, the Emerald Enclave, but even so, her presence was abnormal. Taras Aldar rarely entertained guests in the village proper, not even those they considered allies.

The other corner of the tree-dwelling was occupied by an equally nervous-looking female moon elf with long red hair and green eyes. This was Arlathan Addar, a fellow druid-in-training. She and Zelyra had been partnered in many training exercises and as such, the two had developed a friendly rapport throughout the years of knowing one another. Zelyra started in her direction, but then the air within the space shifted.

The druid whirled around in surprise, her eyes wide. But her senses had not deceived her. Standing post near the door of the trazaethe was a half-elven ranger with shoulder-length dark hair and piercing blue eyes. A vicious scar on his right cheek marred what was otherwise a ruggedly handsome face.

"Varan?" Zelyra cried in surprise. The ranger somehow managed to blend seamlessly with the shadows of the room. She would have walked right by without noticing him if not for his familiar scent. "What are you doing here?"

"I was called, same as you," Varan said.

The druid nervously shifted her weight. "Did I do something wrong?"

"If you did, then why would I be here?"

Zelyra wrinkled her nose. "Well…" she threw her hands out in a hopeless gesture.

"Well?" the ranger echoed coyly.

"Well, you're usually the one who gets me out of said trouble," Zelyra admitted with a sigh. "So, in theory, if I were in trouble now, your presence wouldn't exactly be…out of the ordinary," she rambled.

Varan's upper lip quirked. "Is that so?"

Zelyra blushed and hastily changed the subject. "I haven't seen you for nearly an entire moon cycle! Where have you been?" She leaned in and grasped his forearm, quietly adding, "And how have you been?"

Varan Fenhirel stared at her hand on his arm for a heartbeat before his gaze snapped back to her face. "Fine," he said shortly. "The masters sent me and a new recruit into Neverwinter for supplies. On our way back, we ran into a scout of the Emerald Enclave," the ranger gestured in the shield dwarf's direction. He continued, "She asked for an audience with the masters."

"So, our summons is likely her doing?" Zelyra reasoned.

"Most likely," Varan replied.

The half-elves' conversation ended abruptly as a handsome male wood elf with long, auburn hair crowned by an elegant circlet made of rough-cut crystal called for the room's attention. His face had an ageless quality, but in his eyes, there was a sadness, for he had watched many generations of the Circle rise and fall during his extended lifespan. This was Ansron, Loremaster of Taras Aldar and father of Zelyra's adopted father, Laucian Erenaeth. He wore long, emerald-green flowing robes, and although he did not look it, he was the eldest of the four masters. Over 30 lifetimes of Man, he had endured. Like his fellows, Ansron's life force had become so intertwined with nature that it now sustained him.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Ansron began with a disarming smile. "For those who do not know our guest, let me introduce Morista Malkin! She is a scout for our ally, the Emerald Enclave, and hails from the recently reclaimed dwarven city of Gauntlgrym, which sits to the west of our forest. A neighboring village recently appealed to their king, Bruenor Battlehammer, for aid. But presently, Gauntlgrym does not have the resources to spare. Morista is a close advisor to King Bruenor, and knowing that our Circle has two young druids close to completing their training, she has suggested that this might be the perfect task for them instead."

Ansron gestured for the shield dwarf to take the floor.

"Morista, if you would please share Goldleaf's plight…"

A curious thing happened then. Varan stiffened at the name. But no one in the room noticed aside from his fellow half-elf.

Morista Malkin was stout, with dark skin and a single streak of grey piercing through her inky locks. She rolled her shoulders and confidently stepped forward to address the room despite her own doubts.

"Goldleaf is a tiny hamlet nestled in the furthest north-eastern reaches of Neverwinter Wood. The town's mayor, Hal Neelow, came to us, spouting some tale of an elven sorceress that used to live in the nearby woods that would send plagues of frogs to torment the townspeople. The sight of these horrid creatures was almost always followed by a disappearance; thus, the town grew to fear them."

Arlathan slowly raised her hand to ask a question, but Morista pressed on.

"In recent weeks, the sightings of these strange frogs have picked up again, and various citizens have begun wandering off into the woods after them in a daze. If they return, they are changed. The sorceress was slain many years ago, yet the frogs are back. The town now suspects this to be the work of a malevolent nature spirit. Or perhaps the enchantress continues to enact fell deeds from beyond the grave. Either way, these are…strange tidings. I could have consulted the Enclave but wanted to first extend the invitation to the druids-in-training."

Morita's gaze flicked to Arlathan. "Yes? Do you have a question?"

The druid swiftly lowered her hand and shook her head.

"No, I think you just about covered it. What do you think, Zelyra?"

Zelyra did not answer. She was too busy staring at Varan. Her father, however, had plenty to say.

"Frogs? These villagers are terrified of frogs?" Laucian asked, his brow pinched. "And don't you think the Circle of Swords would know if some sort of necromancer resided in our forest? I realize the Wood holds many dangers, but this is outlandish!"

A quick glance around the room told Morista that everyone else thought the same.

"Aye, we laughed too—privately, after Hal had left, of course," the shield dwarf admitted with a slightly red face. "But the poor fool was terrified out of his wits! Bruenor didn't see sense in wasting our resources on a possible hoax. I think this could be the perfect opportunity for your young druids. If the plagues of frogs and disappearances are nothing more than an elaborate prank, then great! But if it is the work of a malevolent nature spirit, it could be a chance for Zelyra and Arlathan to apply what they've learned."

Zelyra's gaze finally cut from the ranger to the group assembled before her. "What if it turns out that the story about the undead sorceress is true?" she asked warily.

Varan's hands balled into fists.

"In that unlikelihood, you would earn your full marks," Bael, Master of the Hunt, said brusquely. He was a monster of a wood elf, standing nearly seven feet tall, with a headpiece of thick curved branches mirroring a tiefling's horns that sat upon a mass of wavy dark hair. When not in animal form, he maintained a constant state of barkskin and, to an outsider, might appear more tree than humanoid. [1]

Zelyra chewed on her lip while Arlathan gave her mentor a curt nod. As always, Bael was sharp, direct, and to the point. Of the four masters, the moon elf had spent the most time under his tutelage after discovering she had an affinity for beast shaping and animal handling, particularly with canines.

"But surely we can't send Arlathan and Zelyra through the Wood alone," Laucian said cautiously. "Yes, their initial training is close to completion, but we wouldn't even send one of our veteran druids through the Wood without ranger escort. We decided scouting parties involving druids would be comprised of no fewer than four individuals due to the increase of giant spiders—not to mention the recent sighting of meenlocks!"

"What's a meenlock?" Arlathan mouthed to Zelyra.

"I don't know!" the half-elf mouthed back.

The elders continued their debate.

"Why do you suppose one of our most dedicated sentries has also been summoned to this meeting?" Artana, Master of Swords, said as she pointed to the half-elven ranger among them. "Varan will be Arlathan and Zelyra's guide."

Hearing that the experienced sentry would be accompanying the young druids, Laucian relaxed. He knew Varan well. The ranger had a vigilant eye, and the elder druid had suspected for many years that he also had a sweet spot for his daughter. Zelyra and Arlathan, by extension, would be in good hands.

"And as a measure of an extra precaution, we have decided that the half-giant, Krom, will go with them," Artana added. "A ranger, two druids, and a barbarian should be more than capable of completing this task, I would think."

Although Ansron was the oldest of the masters and Bael the strongest, Zelyra had always been most intimidated by Artana's presence. Maybe it was because the young druid had seen how quickly the nimble swordmaster could draw her twin scimitars and land three attacks against an opponent before they even had a chance to draw theirs. Or perhaps it was the ancient magics that seemed to waft off the moon elf and pulse around her like thousands of twinkling stars. Either way, Artana was not one to cross.

"You want me to abandon my post to escort them to Goldleaf?" Varan spoke at last.

"Not abandon," the swordmaster corrected sternly. "Temporary reassignment. Elre will continue to cover your sentry post while you are gone. This is no different than our request for you and Krom to journey to Neverwinter for supplies."

Successfully admonished, Varan averted his gaze and did not argue the order further. But he certainly was not thrilled. Returning to Goldleaf after so many years was one thing, but to be forced to endure Krom's endless chants about the gods, death, and glory in battle was a true test of the ranger's patience. The five-day journey to and from Neverwinter had been bad enough. An expedition to Goldleaf would be twice that.

Zelyra elbowed Varan and discreetly signed, "Why are you questioning this? We haven't seen each other in tendays!"

But the ranger's hands formed a scathing reply, "I would rather neither of us go anywhere near that village."

Before Zelyra could ask why, the final member of the druid masters stepped forward. Unlike the others, this was not an elf. Naitha, Master of Medicine, might have been one of the wood elves in another lifetime but, through extraneous circumstances, had been reincarnated into a forest gnome. Now shriveled with age and feeling the weight of a nature-fueled extended lifespan nearing its end, Naitha was perhaps the most unconventional of the four masters.

An eclectic headpiece comprised of the horns of a bull, various bird skulls, and dark branches sat upon her braided white hair. She had lost the ability to speak years prior, during the same circumstance that robbed her of her elven form, and now communicated solely through sign language. But that disability did not stop her from ordering others around, and she took pleasure in whacking individuals with her staff when they stepped out of line. She was the Circle's main healer and herbalist and oversaw the collection of food and gardening. Of the four masters, Zelyra had spent the most time under her tutelage. The young druid had a natural penchant for healing.

Naitha lugged a wooden chest towards Zelyra and Varan and dropped it at their feet. The old gnome then signed, "Supplies for the trip—a small store of healing potions, a driftglobe, ten days of rations, bedding, and blankets. Anything else will have to be procured at your own disposal."

Ansron pulled out a map and beckoned the two half-elves and Arlathan toward the table at the center of the room. "It is a two-day journey to the central part of Neverwinter Wood. I would suggest exiting here," the loremaster suggested, pointing to a specific point on the map. "This will put you just to the south of the entrance to Gauntlgrym. You can then skirt the Wood for an additional day and a half to reach the village. Depending on how long you stay to investigate, you might have to resupply there before coming home." [2]

Ansron then promptly rolled up the map and instinctively went to hand it to the more experienced ranger. But after an errant thought, the loremaster changed his mind. Instead, he placed the scroll in the hands of his adopted granddaughter. Zelyra grinned up at him. And though Ansron did not visibly smile back, the warmth in his grey eyes told the young druid he was placing that responsibility in her hands for a reason. At that moment, Zelyra felt like she was looking into her father's face.

"You are to leave in the morning. Krom has been informed and will meet you at the sentry outposts," Bael concluded.

Zelyra briefly wondered why the masters did not summon Krom to the meeting as well but then just as quickly dismissed the question. Not all the Circle's sentries and scouts were privileged enough to have unrestricted access to Taras Aldar. Unless they grew up in the village from a young age as Varan himself had, it was an honor that had to be earned… Perhaps Krom was not yet at that point in his service. The young druid could not say. She'd never met him.

Arlathan turned to Morista Malkin and asked, "Earlier, you mentioned that the villagers who went in the woods came back changed—changed how?"

The Emerald Enclave scout shook her head. "The mayor did not say. My suggestion is to find him as soon as ye get to town. He'll be able to provide ye with more information," she said.

Again, Varan shifted uncomfortably. "Will you also require an escort out of the Wood?" he asked to mask his agitation.

"No," Morista answered. "If the Masters of the Wood allow it, I plan to stay a few days and update the Circle of King Bruenor's efforts in Gauntlgrym. We're neighbors now, after all! The king thinks a beneficial trade agreement can be reached now that we've pushed out those pesky drow and reclaimed the forges. The dark elves still hold the underbelly levels of the city, but Bruenor thinks it won't be long before they turn tail back to Menzoberranzan. And I also wouldn't mind catching up with an old friend," she added, looking first to the four archdruids and then Laucian.

Artana, Bael, Ansron, and Naitha each nodded approvingly.

Laucian grinned. "Ah! So, you do have ulterior motives for your visit… You merely wish to sit in our Hall, partake in Ansron's reserve of mead, and share tall tales of our adventures long ago!" the elder exclaimed.

Morista winked at the wood elf. "Ye aren't wrong!"

Zelyra's eyebrows rose in surprise. Had Morista been part of Laucian's entourage during his travels in the Underdark? Her father never named names in the hundreds of stories he'd told. And Zelyra had never dared to ask as she was fearful that one of those companions might have been the beloved wife that he had lost. Perhaps she would have to accompany her father and his old friend to the Hall. [3]

And she was not the only one with such thoughts, though for an entirely different reason. "I thought your mead was only reserved for festival days!" Arlathan exclaimed.

Ansron barked out a laugh. "Exceptions can be made for guests, and if you plan to indulge as well, I would advise not heavily partaking the night before you set out on a quest," he said.

Arlathan waved a lazy hand. "Don't worry. I can handle it," the moon elf claimed.

Zelyra and Varan exchanged a glance. If Ansron was breaking out his mead and Arlathan partook, tomorrow would undoubtedly be interesting… she could be a loose cannon on festival days.

"Then perhaps we should move this meeting to the Hall. The Circle of Swords will show our Emerald Enclave ally some hospitality," Artana suggested. "It is not often we have the pleasure of entertaining guests."

"For good reason," Morista replied knowingly. She bowed slightly before her old friend and the masters of the Wood and said, "And that is why I thank ye for granting a lowly scout like me clearance. I know ye wood elves value yer privacy, so it is truly an honor."

"You are no mere scout, old friend," Laucian argued as he placed a steady hand upon the shield dwarf's shoulder.

Morista smiled mischievously. "Perhaps…"

Varan raised a hand. "If I might be excused to return to the sentry posts tonight?" he requested.

Zelyra shot a crestfallen look his way. "But you could stay—"

"I can see to my sentry duties for this night at least," the ranger spoke over the younger half-elf's protest. "And I will prep Krom on any information that might have been missed in your messenger spells. Zelyra and Arlathan can meet us at the outposts in the morning. I know Zelyra is…quite…familiar with weaving her way through the wards."

The last comment earned a chuckle from the elders. It was no secret that the young druid recklessly snuck out of the village, fought her way through the illusion wards, and ran off into Neverwinter Wood to explore—only to be brought back by a stern-faced ranger, usually Varan—many times throughout her adolescence. But as Laucian glanced between his disheartened daughter and the stubborn ranger who was so blindly driven by duty that he so often failed to see what was standing, unwaveringly, right in front of him, the elf shook his head. Such were the misconceptions of young love…

"You are excused," Bael told Varan.

Varan nodded to the master and then looked to Zelyra. "I'll see you in the morning," he promised.

But the young druid stubbornly stared down at the floorboards beneath her feet and did not reply. As the ranger turned on his heel and left the trazaethe, Zelyra wondered, not for the first time, if she was chasing a hopeless dream. The others began to file out one by one until only she, Laucian, and Arlathan remained.

"I know how much you enjoy stories, my dear," Laucian said. "Join us in the Hall."

And then, Arlathan, who had a keener eye than what she outwardly showed, wrapped an arm around her soon-to-be companion's shoulder and said, "Let us raise a glass to the last leg of our schooling. I could think of no better way than Ansron's mead! What say you?"

"Only if you promise to contain yourself to no more than two tankards," Zelyra said with a slight laugh as her posture relaxed.

The moon elf giggled and said, "Of that, I will make no promises. But I can vow that we will set off on time in the morn…."

Zelyra rolled her eyes.

. . .

A good time was had by all in the Hall that night. Arlathan had her fill of Ansron's sweat mead. When Zelyra pressed Morista Malkin for any stories involving her father and their supposed adventures, the half-elf's theory was proven correct. Morista had traveled with Laucian for a portion of his stent in the fabled Underdark. Laucian, Morista, and the rest of their comrades had fought off drow and duergar, intellect devourers and mind flayers, roper, carrion crawlers—the list went on. Zelyra eagerly listened to their stories with wide eyes. The alien creatures of the Underdark were nothing more than tall tales in her head.

For now…

One day, they would become a terrifying reality.

[1] Think, beardless/elf Jason Momoa with barkskin :P And you'll be on my wavelength.

[2] Based on where I've plotted Taras Aldar in Neverwinter Wood, the party is approximately 50 miles from Gauntlgrym. Depending on whether you are traveling at a normal or slow pace, it would take 2-3 days to get there. I assume that Varan would want the group to travel slowly through the Wood so that they can utilize stealth, and then, once they are out of the forest, they can travel at an average pace.

Goldleaf is not an 'official town' just as Taras Aldar is not. I've marked it with a star on my version of the Faerûn map. I wanted it to be to the north but not so far that the mayor would have been better off seeking aid in Luskan or Mirabar. Gauntlgrym is their closest known ally, as I'm sure word has spread all through the nearby land, even to the little hamlets, that the ancient dwarven city has been reclaimed from the drow... But more on that later.

[3] It is implied in the flashback Roots that Laucian's wife was human and that he only began adventuring after she paid the price of mortality. Zelyra is unaware of this, as Laucian never speaks of his late wife.

Several end notes…

Encounters in this one-shot are scaled for an 'average-party-level' of 4-7. DM/husband chose to run it with three level 5 characters. So here is where the rules and storyline get finicky. Bear with me!

To make this adventure flow with The Grey Warriors timeline, Zelyra can only cast spells she had access to in Velkynvelve (level 2). Arlathan's abilities will be similarly scaled down, Krom will stay level 5, and I'm throwing in Varan as a more experienced character (level 7) to balance the APL to 4. But that's as far as I'm concerned about the rules. I'd rather lean toward flavor and plot than hyper-analyze the characters' levels, stats, spells, and whatnot.

I'm retroactively giving the party a driftglobe to make up for the fact that Zelyra and Arlathan had access to the Daylight spell in our original one-shot as level 5 adventurers but do not at level 2. It will come up later.

Also, you may be thinking—holy crap! Four archdruids (and I use that term loosely because I'm homebrewing/multiclassing many of their abilities) in this little secret village tucked away in the middle of a cursed wood? Wouldn't they be able to go in balls blazing and solve every one of these problems themselves? The answer is absolutely, but they won't. Their adventuring days, like Laucian's, have passed. Think of their characters as the Gandalf or great eagles of Lord of the Rings… These great beings of power are there to offer motivation, guidance, and support to a new generation of heroes and will not interfere with conflict unless they have no other choice.

I am also *heavily* foreshadowing later events in the Out of the Abyss campaign/The Grey Warriors in this chapter. Remember the names Morista Malkin and King Bruenor Battlehammer, as well as the city of Gauntlgrym (aka Eldeth Feldrun's homeland) :D