The Cult of the Gol'Goroth

Chapter Two

The Wood

11 Elient (The Fading) 1484 DR / Day 2

Taras Aldar, Neverwinter Wood

Morning never fails to come too quickly after a night of revelry. But, as Arlathan promised, she was ready to go at dawn. In fact, the moon elf managed to beat Zelyra to their agreed-upon meeting place at the edge of the village! And so, Arlathan waited patiently for Zelyra to arrive with one of her wild wolf friends that often hung around. In the early hours, before the sun had even risen, Arlathan had specifically sought out one of the pack called Hayth, as he was an excellent tracker and defender. Through their special bond, Hayth graciously agreed to accompany his druid friend on her quest.

Zelyra, on the other hand, had spent far too long fussing with her pack that morning and, at last, succumbed to the urge to seek out advice from her father. The elder had laughed when he opened the door to his dwelling and found Zelyra on the other side. They went through the contents of her pack together, and aside from a few mundane items that the young druid had not thought about—needle and thread for mending, parchment, quill, and ink for the off chance she needed to write down notes—she was well prepared for the journey.

"You worry too much, young one," Laucian told her with a fond shake of his head.

Zelyra chewed at her lip. "How can I not?" she asked quietly. "Every time I have left the village before, I've been drug back like a misbehaving child—"

Laucian raised an eyebrow and gave his daughter a look that silently conveyed, 'Is that not an accurate description?'

"—and now I'm being told to leave, and I guess…I guess I'm afraid I'm going to fail."

"You will not fail," the elder said sternly, but a bit of warmth also seeped into his tone. "You are smart, have good instincts, and care about your friends. While I doubt the validity of these ill-omened frogs and an undead sorceress, something strange is happening in that village. It might be as simple as a hoax that can easily be explained away. Or maybe it is a malevolent nature spirit. Either way, it's your job now to solve the mystery and help these people."

Her father made it sound so easy. But more than anything, Zelyra did not want to screw up this task. Hoax or not, she could not pass up the chance to earn a titled place among the Circle of Swords. It was the equivalent of Varan being offered the Oath of the Sentry. He'd had to complete his own quest to earn that title, and Zelyra thought it was ironic that her childhood friend was to go with her as she was striving to achieve hers.

"Thank you," Zelyra said with the utmost sincerity as she wrapped her father up in a hug. Perhaps she was reading too much into the situation, letting her fears and emotions get the better of her, but to have his blessing? That meant the world. Laucian was the first to believe in her and had never stopped supporting or encouraging her. He might not be family in blood, but he more than made up for it in spirit.

Laucian returned his adopted daughter's embrace with equal vigor, and when they parted, he said, "Now, shall I see you off?"

"I'd like that."

Neither Zelyra nor Laucian blinked to find a wolf at Arlathan's side when they met her at the edge of the village wards. And Arlathan thought better of making a jab against Zelyra for being late in Laucian's presence as it was very likely that the elder druid was the reason for her tardiness.

Laucian silently waved goodbye as the two druids and their added wolf companion stepped into the mirage arcane wards and blinked out of sight. Zelyra led the way as she had more experience with the illusioned path. More than once, Arlathan hesitated as the other druid stepped into what looked to be a pile of burrs or a thorn bush, only to step away unharmed. This continued for more than a mile, as the illusion the masters placed around their village to conceal it from outsiders was strong indeed.

When they finally stepped out of the illusion, the two druids found themselves in a very different world than the twilight-like tranquility of Taras Aldar. The forest floor was a web of decaying plant matter and twisted tree roots, highlighted by tiny slivers of morning light that just barely poked in through the boughs above them. But the trees themselves were blackened. The autumn season was upon them, but there were no colorful leaves to be seen. Instead of the yellows, golds, and oranges that would be found in a healthy forest, the Wood appeared as though it were in the depths of winter. It was hushed and dark. Not one call of a bird nor the scurrying of a squirrel interrupted that heavy silence. It was the sort of quiet that made one's hair stand up on end. But this was Neverwinter Wood—or as it had been—since the Spellplague ravaged Faerûn.

A swirling mist made it difficult to see the path ahead, and so the two druids were forced to rely on their hearing and enhanced sense of smell to be on the lookout for danger. The outposts were not far now. One more mile, maybe two, depending on the path they took. Arlathan took the lead this time as her lessons in beast shaping and animal handling with Bael had led to her spending more time in the Wood than Zelyra's lessons in healing with Naitha or spellcasting with Ansron.

The pair walked as quietly as they could as they were forced to trudge over broken limbs and wove around brush piles and thorny thickets. Hayth had a much easier time than the druids. Zelyra longed to cast a magical veil of silence and shadow over them as her father often did when they made similar trips through the Wood. She feared their steps were far too loud. More than once, the half-elf thought that she heard a rustle in the trees behind them, but upon looking, she saw nothing. As an extra precaution, she sniffed the air. Again, nothing. But the wind was also blowing in the opposite direction, which slightly threw off her senses.

"What is it?" Arlathan hissed, noticing the other druid had stopped and fallen slightly behind.

Instead of answering aloud, Zelyra signed, "I thought I heard something. But I see and smell nothing out of the ordinary."

Arlathan began to sign something in reply, but before she got out more than, "Be on—" a small creature burst through the dead foliage and hurdled straight for Zelyra.

The moon elf let out a startled shriek, and Hayth let out a warning growl as a blur of gold and brown assaulted the other druid, but then Zelyra began laughing.

"Ambrosia!" the half-elf exclaimed as a familiar hawk circled around her, curiously picking at bits and pieces of her armor, leather circlet, and hair. Zelyra reached out cautiously as the bird settled on her shoulder. And when Ambrosia bobbed her head in consent, the druid began to fondly stroke the bird's beautiful golden feathers. "I know what you're looking for, and you won't find him! I haven't summoned Peanut today. You two play such a cruel game, anyway!" she admonished.

Ambrosia screeched as if she disagreed. Varan had explicitly trained her to know that Peanut was not food. It was a summoned fey creature and would disappear in a poof of smoke if Ambrosia gave in to her natural instincts. Thus, the hawk knew there was no reward with this particular field mouse. It was only the thrill of the chase. And for some reason, both animals enjoyed it.

Ambrosia screeched again, this time with more insistence.

"Okay, okay, okay!" Zelyra relented.

And with a wave of the druid's hand, a tiny grey field mouse appeared on her shoulder. Peanut, the fey mouse, stretched and yawned as he came out of the daze of being pulled from the Ethereal Plane. But then, an excited screech from a familiar antagonist had the mouse scurrying down his master's armor and bounding off into the darkened forest. The chase had begun. [1]

"Do they always do that?" Arlathan asked in bewilderment.

Zelyra shrugged. "More or less."

"And you're okay with the fact a bird of prey is actively hunting your familiar?" the moon-elf said. "Isn't that—"

"Cruel?" the half-elf supplied. "I thought so too at first. But Ambrosia knows no reward comes from 'killing' Peanut. It's just an endless game for them."

Arlathan tilted her head, still not convinced. "Huh…"

"Come on," Zelyra bade the other druid. "If Ambrosia found us, the sentry posts can't be far."

"You're right," a sudden voice came from the tree above them.

Both women startled and looked up, only to find Varan perched on a branch in what would have been an unnatural way if not for his boots of spider-climbing. The enchanted boots allowed him to move up, down, and across vertical surfaces and even upside down along ceilings while leaving his hands free. All druids and sentries were given a gift by the Masters of the Wood upon completing their training; the boots had been Varan's reward.

Zelyra threw her hands to her hips. "Did you sic your bird on me on purpose?" she demanded.

"No," the ranger replied.

The druid did not believe him. "So, how long were you following us?" she asked in defeat.

Varan shrugged. "A while."

"We tried our best to be quiet…." Arlathan muttered.

The ranger snorted but, otherwise, held his tongue.

"Are you ready to go?" Zelyra asked.

Varan hopped down from the tree in three gravity-defying strides, and when he landed on the ground with not a sound, he silently gestured to the small pack upon his back. It was far smaller than the ones the young druids carried, but Zelyra figured the ranger was used to living without the comforts of home. She had packed a spare blanket, a pillow, a few changes of simple clothing… Now, the druid feared those extra items might wear her down. Ansron had said it was a five-day journey to Goldleaf, and it was highly unlikely they would be traveling on beasts of burden.

"You're bringing a wolf?" Varan asked, looking at Hayth with a raised brow.

"Yes. What of it?" Arlathan challenged.

As an added insult, the dark-furred wolf in question growled low in his throat.

Varan held up his hands. "It was only a question." The ranger then looked down at the wolf in question. Then, after a moment of thought, he knelt before the beast and whispered, "I remember you…how ironic that you would join us on this quest."

Hayth stared back at the ranger with intelligent, amber-colored eyes.

"You were only a young thing then, following the pack…." Varan mused. "And look at you now!"

The wolf pawed at the ground, almost showing an apology.

Arlathan narrowed her eyes at the display. "You know each other?"

"We've met," is all Varan supplied.

The moon elf sighed. "So, where's this barbarian we're supposed to meet?" she asked, swiftly changing the subject.

"You introduced me as 'the barbarian?'" another voice shouted from further up in the tree.

Again, Zelyra looked up. If she squinted and looked at the tree from just the right angle, she could barely make out the shape of a modified trazaethe concealed within its mighty blackened boughs. Unlike the enclosed tree dwellings of Taras Aldar, this was little more than a platform that was only partially covered to protect the sentries from the elements. It was no wonder that she and Arlathan had not seen the outposts! The sentry towers blended seamlessly into the rest of the Wood.

"Technically, Master Artana was the one who said it," Varan bit back.

A monstrous head peaked out of the sentry tower. He had long, tangled brown hair and a thick beard. His pale skin was covered in inky black tattoos, and he wore a mixture of pelts and hide that clearly marked him as one of the seafaring Northlanders. Zelyra had never personally met one of the Northmen, but their reputation for leading brutal berserker raids against the peaceful Ffolk proceeded them. The druid could not help but wondering what had led this half-giant to abandon the sea and his people for wood elves and a cursed forest.

"Oh, well, if it was Master Artana who said it, I'll consider it a compliment," Krom laughed as he climbed down the tree to join the assembled group. He was noticeably less graceful about it than Varan.

When the half-giant all but fell to the ground on the last few feet, Varan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Krom's still in training," he said. The ranger did not add that he had made the unlucky draw of being responsible for that training. It was likely the reason the masters had decided Krom would go with them to Goldleaf.

"I was born and raised on a boat. I'm still getting used to these tree things!" Krom argued as he rubbed his rear end, which had bruised during his fall.

Zelyra's brows rose as the half-giant confirmed her theory on his origins. But before she could ask, Arlathan beat her to it. "What brought you to the Wood? You're one of the Northmen, are you not?" the moon elf said bluntly.

Before Krom could answer, Varan pointed up to the sky. "We're losing daylight. You can discuss that on the way. Quietly," he emphasized.

The party of four—plus a wolf, a hawk, and a fey mouse—began a cautious trek through the Wood then. Ambrosia and Peanut returned to their respective masters shortly after the group left the watch posts and ended their game for the time being. Varan would not risk traveling once the sun set, so it was likely that the party would make camp near the central portion of Neverwinter Wood. The ranger forced the group to march slowly to lighten their steps and be more elusive to the dangers of the forest.

Zelyra and Varan silently took the lead as the half-elven druid held the maps, and the experienced ranger was a natural choice of scout. Arlathan, Krom, and Hayth made up the rearguard. The moon elf and half-giant chatted quietly but endlessly on the march. And as Krom felt the need to hold nothing back, Arlathan finally put the question of a Northman's presence in Neverwinter Wood to rest.

Krom left his life in the north not because he was angry at the sea or tired of his peoples' raiding but because they denied the gods. Most islands in the frozen north revered Auril, Tempus, Umberlee, Valkur, and Talos. Those deities of chaos were responsible for the trials that the people in the frigid north endured and deserved respect. But Krom had grown up on Tuern, an island in the Frozenfar, part of the Trackless Sea, far west of Faerûn. It was a rocky island of black beaches and fuming volcanoes but still fertile enough to sustain the villages. Unfortunately, most of the people of Tuern paid no reverence to the Northlander gods. Some would even go so far as to claim that none existed, and for Krom, that was something he could not face. He had spent far too much time on the frozen seas to deny the existence of Umberlee—at the very least—let alone the other gods.

And so, the half-giant left his homeland and sailed east. He migrated from island to island for a time before eventually making landfall in the coastal city of Neverwinter. There, by chance, he met up with rangers associated with the Circle of Swords and the Emerald Enclave in a tavern. Occasionally, both factions would hire new blood to enforce their ranks. And upon hearing that the elusive wood elves of Neverwinter Wood worshiped the nature deities of the First Circle—lawful, chaotic, and neutral—and particularly revered Melora, the keeper of the wilderness and all aspects of nature, the zealot barbarian jumped at the chance to join them. Melora's realm extended from the shifting seas to the most mundane of forests. She was the Wildmother, representing both the savageness and beauty that was nature.

Arlathan listened intently through the half-giant's sad story and did not interrupt. Varan had mentioned that Krom was still in training. Hence, the moon elf wondered how much the zealot knew of the secret that the druids of Taras Aldar guarded—if he knew that a gift of the Wildmother was concealed just beyond the village's heavily guarded illusionary wards. Did he know that was the reason the elves of Taras Aldar were so elusive and that their borders were so protected?

But despite her usual impulses, Arlathan was not about to stick her foot in her mouth. Not when it came to a sacred matter of her people…

"Why didn't you stay on one of the other islands? They still worship the Northlander gods, right?" the moon elf asked curiously.

Krom shrugged. "I could have and considered it several times. But I think deep in my heart I knew I needed to try something new," he said mysteriously.

The group's progress was slow on the first day of travel but, fortunately, proved uneventful. Varan was forced to utilize the same cloaking spell Zelyra had wished for earlier that morning to conceal the party twice. First, to avoid a nest of giant spiders, and the second time, to bypass a terrifying-looking creature that no one in the party wished to face.

Varan later explained that a type of wicked fey, meenlocks, were a recent infestation of the Wood. Meenlocks had the head and claws of a crustacean and could strike unnatural fear into their prey while simultaneously delivering paralyzing attacks with their vicious pinchers. The ranger was reluctant to admit that he and his fellow sentries had discovered that last ability the hard way. But even more troubling, they had yet to find out how the creatures had crossed over from the Feywild.

The companions stopped to make camp when the sun began to cast long shadows in the forest. Krom and Varan quickly gathered enough stray brush for a small fire while Arlathan and Zelyra prepped vegetables and herbs for a simple stew. They had a short amount of time to enjoy the fire before the sun set. As soon as night fell, the flames would be doused. The light could attract unwanted attention to them, and the last thing they wanted was to be attacked in their sleep.

When Varan instinctively reached for his flint, Zelyra said, "Would you rather I do it?"

"Do what?" the ranger asked.

"Do this," the druid said. And with a twist of her wrist, flame appeared in her hand.

Varan blinked. "I didn't know you could do that," he admitted.

"Because you haven't been around," Zelyra bit back unthinkingly as she flicked her fingers and sent the spark of magical flame towards the mound of brush that Krom and Varan had sat up. The ranger met her gaze as the fire took hold but, otherwise, made no effort to rebuke the harsh truth. Arlathan and Krom awkwardly carried on with their duties as the pair stared at one another across the fire. The air was ripe with tension.

"How about a song?" the half-giant suggested to lighten the mood as he pulled a wooden instrument—a giant lute that looked to be scaled up just for him—from his pack.

Varan grimaced, and beneath his breath, he said, "By the gods…."

But Krom ignored the ranger's protest and began to sing,

"Mothered by the night

His senses sharp and keen

Shaper of the greatest winds

A northman's ever seen

The moonlit sea, the raging storm

His will and his domain

Bend the sea, oh God of waves

And guide us through the wind and rain

Gales of mighty fury

For fortune and for glory

Through the wind and rain." [2]

Krom's voice was gravely but not entirely unpleasant. He sang the verses quietly but with a strength of heart. Arlathan and Zelyra found that they enjoyed the harsh contrast to the sweet sound of the lute. Varan, however, rose from his place at the fire and strode over to the edge of their camp. It was not that he disliked music, per se. He was far more concerned about what it might attract. Throughout Krom's song, the ranger kept a sharp eye on the tree line.

When the half-giant finished, Arlathan clapped and said, "I've never known a berserker to also be a performer!"

Krom flushed slightly and replied, "Well, I wouldn't exactly call myself a berserker…."

"What do you mean?" Zelyra pressed curiously.

The half-giant was silent for a minute as he sought the correct answer. "Well…in our culture, berserkers lose themselves to their rage and, if maddened enough, might not tell friend from foe. They are a wild card, sometimes good to have in battle and sometimes not. Either way, they are fearless and care little if they are slain in battle because they know what awaits them in the afterlife. A heroic death is a glorious death to the Northlanders," he explained.

"And you don't think that applies to you?" Arlathan asked.

"No," was all Krom said. Then, he swiftly changed the subject. "Song is how my people pass down legends, tell stories, share lessons… That, at least, is a part of my culture I will always keep with me."

Zelyra and Arlathan nodded approvingly and gestured for the half-giant to continue. It was something pleasant to pass the time, at least. Krom continued to fiddle with his lute and occasionally sing a few verses, all tales of the gods, until night fell. The fire was then doused, and the companions began to bed down for the evening.

Varan returned from the camp's outer edge and said, "I will take the first watch, but we should set up at least two more to cover the night."

"I could take two," Arlathan suggested. "I don't need as much sleep as you." Then, when Zelyra and Varan both frowned at the comment, the moon elf added, "Oh, come on! That wasn't meant as a jab against half-elves!"

"I don't know why either of you'd oppose it! Means more sleep," Krom laughed.

Varan relented. "Fine, but we won't make this routine. I don't want you exhausting yourself."

Arlathan sighed and fluttered her eyelashes in annoyance. "Trust me, I'll be fine. Plus, I've got Hayth as backup," she said. The black wolf was curled up near her and, as if in confirmation, opened his mouth and let out a drawn-out whine. Arlathan reached down and patted him affectionately.

After giving everyone a quiet goodnight, Varan sighed and returned to his post at the perimeter. Zelyra watched him go with a furrowed brow. His reserved temperament was coming out more than usual and had been ever since the quest was announced. But Zelyra could not figure out what about it set the ranger on edge. Was it the fact that he was forced to chaperone two druids-in-training and a recruit for the sentries instead of tending to his usual duties? Was it something about Goldleaf?

Gods-forbid! Was it her?

Varan was not the type of person to wear his emotions on his sleeve. Someone who did not know him might think him cold and aloof, rude even—but Zelyra knew better. Buried deep within, behind the mask, was a heart of gold. Varan cared deeply for his home and those who dwelled there. He was duty-driven and reliable. He always respected the orders of an elder. And that was why she was so worried. Varan had questioned the masters' decision, which was entirely out of character.

The druid tossed and turned in her bedroll, drifting in and out of light sleep until Varan woke Arlathan for her scheduled watch. As the moon elf and her wolf friend padded off into the night, Varan laid out his bedding next to Zelyra's after a moment of indecision. When her eyes shot open, the ranger abruptly froze.

"I wasn't trying to wake you," Varan signed so as not to awaken Krom.

Zelyra shook her head with a sleepy smile and gestured for him to lie down.

He did.

And as much as the druid wanted to pepper him with questions, she knew Varan well enough to curb that desire. He would come to her when he was ready. He always did. Instead, Zelyra placed her hand, palm side up, between their two bedrolls and waited to see if he would take the bait.

He didn't.

At least, not right away.

The ranger waited until the druid's breathing evened out, and she was lost to the world of dreams before giving in to the selfish desire to take her outstretched hand.

[1] I know, I know, I know. I added not just one animal companion to the party but three! And here I thought Peanut was hard enough to keep track of… Ambrosia has always been a thing in the back of my mind. But I never contemplated possible interactions between Varan's animal companion and Zelyra's fey familiar until an errant thought came to me that a hawk would very much consider a mouse prey, and somehow, this scene was born. Hayth's presence will be more passive as he is wild and might go off to do his own thing occasionally. We'll see. I'm still fleshing out Arlathan's wolf connection…

[2] The lyrics are borrowed from 'Njord' by Brothers of Metal. The song is about the Norse god of the same name, who embodies the wind and sea. The Forgotten Realms equivalent would be Valkur, a minor Faerûnian god of sailors and their ships, favorable winds, and naval combat. But considering the Norse pantheon resides in Asgard's divine realm on the first layer of Ysgard in the Outer Planes, Krom could theoretically worship them…

Also, I know the lute is literally the most predictable instrument a dnd character can pick. But it's the closest thing to a guitar, and I'm speaking to the player's IRL interests here :D

I'm getting into the groove of writing an entirely different party. After 3o-odd chapters in The Grey Warriors, the companions' interactions come damn near instinctively. I have to think about this group a little more. Fortunately, when I get stuck, I can fall back on the players' personalities. It helps when characters are based on your best friends :D

A note on Krom's character… I put goliath as his race, but I imagine him as truly half-giant—somewhere in his family line is a particular type of giant's blood. Goliaths are said to possibly be descended from stone giants or earth genasi. I wanted something a little different for Krom. Because of that, I'm homebrewing a few of his abilities, and he looks more human than the goliath race. Otherwise, his size is still considered large rather than medium, like most humanoids.