The Cult of the Gol'Goroth
Chapter Three
The River
12 Elient (The Fading) 1484 DR / Day 3
Central Neverwinter Wood
After consuming a breakfast of cold rations, the companions set off on their second day of travel. Again, they progressed slowly through the Wood to dampen their steps. But this time, Varan scouted ahead of the group from the vantage of the treetops while Zelyra hung back with Arlathan, Krom, and Hayth. The ranger managed to guide them around another nest of giant spiders without incident, and thankfully, they did not run across any meenlocks or any other fey that day. But they did manage to encounter a different obstacle that, while appearing harmless, held danger of another fashion.
Neverwinter River lived up to its name. From its source on Mount Hotenow's slopes all the way to the sea, the waterway never froze. Volcanic heat and the mountain's underground springs ensured that it remained warm on all but the coldest of days. It was a stark contrast to the temperature of the rest of the forest. The wind was often harsh and biting. Despite taking the precaution of protective layers, the cold still found a way to creep inside to send shivers down your spine. But for the companions, this was their home, and they were accustomed to that unnatural feeling.
Despite the warmth of Neverwinter River, no one dared to bathe in the tributaries shrouded in the Wood. Not even the Archdruids of the Wood could explain it, but something had happened during the Spellplague that transformed it along with the rest of the forest. Submerging into the water could cause a person to grow mad and see or feel untrue things. That kind of madness could quickly turn a friend into an enemy. Fortunately, Ansron had crafted a spell to suppress that effect within the sanctum of Taras Aldar. The villagers required access to fresh water, after all! But his countercharm was not powerful enough to extend to the rest of the forest.
The wood elves, along with the help of the Circle's sentries, had built several bridges to safely pass over sections of Neverwinter River in the forest. But as Zelyra held the map up, looking at where it said such a crossing might be and then to the river before her, there was nothing.
"I don't understand," she muttered frustratedly. "It's supposed to be here."
Varan peered at the map over her shoulder. Then, after a moment of studying it, he heaved a heavy sigh and silently flipped the parchment upside down.
Zelyra turned red. "Oh…"
Arlathan and Krom began sniggering, but Varan continued to scan the map.
"I'm sorry, I—" the druid began.
"It was a mistake. You don't know the layout of the Wood like I do," the ranger replied. And though the words sounded harsh, Zelyra sensed that it was merely spoken fact and not genuine criticism.
"Maybe you should mark the top of the map," Arlathan giggled.
Zelyra's face turned even redder. [1]
"The nearest crossing is five miles south of here, the opposite direction we need to go. So, either we backtrack now, follow the river east and take the next crossing only to backtrack then, or find a way to cross now," Varan said.
Arlathan, Zelyra, and Krom agreed that finding a way to cross at present was the smartest choice. But strangely, Varan argued to follow the river east and backtrack.
"I would have thought you wouldn't want to delay the journey more than necessary," Zelyra said suspiciously.
Varan was silent as he fumbled for an excuse that the insightful druid would not see through. She was right, of course. If it had been any other situation, he would push for the quickest course of action. But it wasn't a different scenario. This was Goldleaf.
"Can either of you beast shape into an animal that can fly?" he asked.
Both druids shook their heads.
"The only plausible way we could cross is with rope," Varan said decisively. "I could attach a line to an arrow, and if it embeds deep enough into a tree on the other side, we could attempt to scale across. But I don't imagine it would hold long, especially with a half-giant's weight."
"Are you calling me fat?" Krom demanded.
Varan rolled his eyes and ignored him. "And if we were to risk that method, Hayth would not be able to make the crossing," he continued. "So, unless Arlathan wishes to leave her friend behind, we go either south or east."
"Arlathan or I could beast shape into something small enough to scale the line and secure it on the other side," Zelyra suggested. "But that doesn't solve Hayth's problem…."
"I can freeze the water in sections. Then we all can cross," Arlathan said nonchalantly.
Zelyra snapped her fingers. "Oooh—that's a better idea!"
The ranger blinked. Zelyra could produce magical flame, and Arlathan could conjure ice…
Krom slapped Varan on the back. The ranger almost buckled under the strength of it. "Druids, huh?" the half-giant cackled as they watched Arlathan step to the shoreline and begin her spellcasting. Slowly, a section of the raging waters started to freeze and turn solid.
Truthfully, it had been some time since Varan spent an extended amount of time around the druids of the Circle of Swords. His duty was to guard their borders, not loiter amongst them. But even the most mundane of their spells and abilities could make an immense impact against the trials that waylaid non-spellcasters, especially when used creatively.
The ranger vowed to remember to tell the Masters of the Wood of this moment when the druid-in-training's reviews came up, for even he was impressed with Arlathan and Zelyra's spur-of-the-moment ingenuity.
Unfortunately, Arlathan's spell could only cover ten-foot portions at a time. This part of the river spanned over twenty-five feet. It was still plausible for the companions to cross this manner, but they did so cautiously. Arlathan had to allow a five-foot section of the waters to unfreeze to begin work on the next, thus leaving the companions cramped together on the remaining five-foot cube of ice. Varan and Zelyra huddled together while Krom lifted a very reluctant Hayth into his massive arms to give Arlathan enough space to cast.
The companions made it two-thirds of the way across without incident. But as Arlathan began unfreezing the ice behind them to work on the last section, spidering cracks started to form under Zelyra's feet. It all happened so fast. One moment, she stood just behind Varan and Krom, and the next…
Zelyra plunged into the cursed river.
What came next was pure chaos in a very, very cramped space.
Krom was carrying Hayth and could not come to the druid's aid. Arlathan was similarly tied up by her spellcasting. And Varan was hesitant to move, lest he fall in as well. But when a moment passed, and Zelyra did not reemerge, the ranger knelt by the edge of the conjured ice and peered into the murky waters below. Cursed river or not, he was damn near prepared to dive in after her.
But then water suddenly exploded all around them. Varan scarcely had time to react before talons—nails—latched onto his vambrace and began to peel away at the supple leather. Trails of acid were left in the wake of the attack. The ranger instinctively threw himself back as far as he could on the block of ice. Then, as the shock wore off, he saw what had attacked him. It was Zelyra. Only…not Zelyra as he had ever seen her. Her fair features were contorted in a snarl, and her teeth and fingernails had magically grown into sharp points, resulting in a corrosive partial transformation. [2]
"Zelyra!" the ranger shouted.
With no obvious target within reach, the transformed druid began to claw at the conjured ice as she struggled to pull herself out of the water.
"Arlathan—make more ice over here! Get Zelyra out of the water!" Varan barked.
"I can't!" the other druid cried. "The magic won't work if a living creature is in its space."
"I have the dog!" Krom said helplessly. Hayth whined, but there was no safe space to put the wolf down. The half-giant had to maintain hold.
And so, Varan surged forward and grasped Zelyra's arms. Pulling her onto the sheet of ice was a fight. The madness did not leave the druid even once she was pulled to safety. She continued to snarl and claw at the ranger every step of the way, leaving vicious gashes of burning acid in his leather armor.
Varan was brutally reminded of a time nearly five years prior when he had snuck up on Zelyra as she adjusted to her first beast shape. When a golden panther pinned him to the ground and snarled, he had not felt fear. Zelyra was in control. But at present, there was no control. This was not a game, not a thrill of the chase, just pure madness.
Arlathan completed the last section of ice, and she and Krom raced to shore. Once there, the half-giant released Hayth and came back to help. He did not step too far out, as Zelyra and Varan were already in danger of sliding off the sheet of ice and back into the cursed water. Then, they would have an even bigger problem.
"Snap her out of it!" Krom advised.
"How?" Varan shouted as he half-heartedly blocked a swipe of the transformed druid's claws. He took most of her hits willingly to keep them on the ice.
"Only one thing can snap a berserker out of a rage—shock factor," the barbarian replied. "Be it pain, ecstasy, whatever."
"Ecstasy?!" the ranger exclaimed in bewilderment.
Krom shrugged. "I'm just telling you what I know."
Against his better judgment, the ranger settled for pain. He waited patiently for the right moment to use his greater strength against her and then used the same trick he had against her panther form all those years ago. In a swift display of force and agility, Varan twisted one leg around Zelyra's torso, grasped her flailing forearms, and flipped them. And as he did, Varan slammed the druid's head down onto the ice. Not enough to cause lasting damage, but he prayed it was enough to snap Zelyra back to her senses. When they settled, he locked his legs on either side of her, clamped down her hands, and sat directly on her torso, limiting any attack she might dare to make.
But the druid did not attack. Instead, she grimaced and moaned in pain.
Varan breathed out a sigh of relief and whispered a prayer of thanks. The only good thing that had come out of the chaotic situation was that the ranger was now confident that Zelyra had the means to hold her own in a fight.
Zelyra blinked several times as her vision adjusted from the confusing haze that had clouded her mind. And when she saw the claw marks and trails of acid on Varan's leathers, she was horrified.
"Did I—"
"Yes," the ranger interjected before she could form the question. But he assured her, "It's okay. The damage is mostly superficial. It wasn't your fault."
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean it," the druid pleaded.
Varan's face softened. "I know, Z. I'm not angry."
Zelyra abruptly gathered him up in a hug. And this time, the ranger did not shy away from it. Nor did he mind that Arlathan and Krom were watching. His main concern was that Zelyra was okay.
When the pair parted, Varan offered the druid a hand to help her stand, and they crossed the rest of the ice bridge to rejoin their companions. As Krom and Arlathan could tell that Zelyra's guilt was eating away at her, nothing more was said about the attack. And so, the group of four, plus a wolf and a hawk—Peanut, thankfully, had not been summoned that day—silently continued their journey. [3]
. . .
Fortunately, the rest of the day passed without incident. The party made camp before the sun had fully set so they could utilize fire for cooking and enjoyed another dinner of simple stew. After the companions ate their fill, Krom took up his giant lute and serenaded the group. He began with a rousing song, one that was often sung in the mead halls of Tuern.
"Here we are,
Different paths led us here,
Now we stand,
Happily drunk, united as one, ready to fall.
You will rise,
Warriors of rock, sweet children of mine,
Allfather's best,
Protected by faith, an army of eight, ready to fall.
Together we stand, together we fall,
When we do die, we meet in the hall,
The eternal feast goes on,
Warriors unite, we will stand up and fight,
See the flagons fly in Valhalla!
If we all die, we will feast on a high.
For the mead is flowing in Valhalla!"
As the half-giant enthusiastically chanted the song's verses, Arlathan thrust a previously concealed flask into the sky and took a deep drink. Varan had once again excused himself to walk the perimeter of their camp, so Zelyra alone witnessed the gesture.
"Where'd that come from?" Zelyra asked incredulously.
Arlathan shrugged innocently. "My pack."
Revelation struck the half-elf. "Did you fill it with Ansron's mead?" she demanded.
"I might have…taken…some," the moon elf hiccupped.
After a moment, the other druid asked, "Well, are you going to share?" After the day that she had, a drink was welcome.
"For you—yeah," Arlathan said as she passed the flask to Zelyra. "I suppose I sort of have you to thank for this…in a roundabout way, at least. Your brother procured this item for me before he parted ways with the Circle."
Zelyra froze, flask halfway to her lips. "Zelphar did what?!"
Arlathan waved her hand. "It's an enchanted flask. It triples the contents that are poured into it, and trust me, I've poured a lot of mead into this thing through the years. I enjoy it year-round," the moon elf admitted with a lazy grin.
The other druid could not say what part of that statement shocked her more. But then Krom switched to another ditty, and while Zelyra really wanted to press Zelphar's involvement with the flask, it would be rude to talk over his song. So, she patiently waited until the half-giant was finished. The two druids occasionally passed the flask back and forth throughout it.
"Who wants to swim, swim, swim in the open seven seas,
We'll be killed and devoured by sharks.
So my swim, swim, swimmingzone is only Caribbean,
Where the sharks are hanging drunk in bars.
Who wants to row, row, row on a tiny little boat,
Is a fool and a lousy jack,
I want to roam, roam, roam on a floaty mighty oak,
With a mast and a sail on deck.
Who wants to fight and fight with a grimmy grizzly bear,
Will soon be knocked out by a paw,
So I only fight with an ocean far below,
Where no grizzly bear is near to fear.
Wheyoo, my friend, wheyhoo,
One life and countless goals.
I'm a lazy slug who lifes at suck,
Wheyoo, my friend, wheyhoo.
Wheyoo, my friend, wheyhoo,
One life and countless goals,
I am badly dumb so I toss the rum,
With a yarr and a keen, wheyhoo!" [4]
The half-giant's audience of two whistled and clapped. But before Krom could start on a third chorus, Zelyra hesitantly held up a hand and said, "I do have a question for Arlathan, if you don't mind…" she said.
Krom nodded and continued to pluck at the strings but did not go into another song.
The half-elf then asked Arlathan, "How did my brother procure an item like that for you? We don't have stuff like that in Taras Aldar."
Arlathan shrugged. "No, we don't. But your brother trained with the rangers, and they occasionally travel outside of the Wood. I don't know where he got it—Neverwinter, perhaps? All I know is that he said he could get it for me, and he did," the moon elf said.
"I didn't realize you knew my brother," Zelyra replied suspiciously.
"We weren't familiar if that's what you're thinking!" Arlathan said quickly. "Zelphar approached me during one of the last festivals he attended before he disappeared. We chatted for a while, and then he made the offer. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but now…maybe it was a bit suspicious."
"Did you pay him for it?"
The moon elf nodded. "Yes, but not with coin. I foraged, got a few pelts for him, things like that." Then, as the words left her mouth, she realized, "Oh no…."
"What?" Zelyra exclaimed.
"I did it, didn't I? I gave him the means to run away!" Arlathan exclaimed. "I don't know the whole story—it wasn't my place to ask—but that's what everyone said happened."
Zelyra was quiet for a long while, so, Arlathan did not press further, realizing that the druid was attempting to find the right words. Even Krom's background accompaniment softened as he leaned an ear in as well. He had joined the rangers' ranks years after Zelphar abandoned the Circle, but the half-giant had still heard plenty about him. The half-elf's reputation preceded him. Sarcastic and defiant, Zelphar had been a thorn in Bael's side. He hadn't shown much respect for his adopted father either—but that could have just been a rumor. Obviously, Krom had never met him.
"Your guess would be as good as mine. One day, he was there, and the next, he wasn't. I had no warning," Zelyra said as she blankly stared into the flames of the campfire before her. It was the story of her life. First her parents, then Zelphar…
The ones she loved most always disappeared.
"But why would he leave you—"
A stern voice interrupted before the moon elf could finish the question. "That is not up for discussion. Has Zelyra not been through enough today?" Arlathan and Zelyra raised their heads in surprise, and Krom stopped plucking at his lute. Varan stood at the edge of the fire's light, and he appeared very angry.
Zelyra held up her hand. While she appreciated the ranger sticking up for her, this was something that she had brought upon herself. "I'm the one who asked about him, Varan. It's okay," she said.
But the words did not have the calming effect that the druid expected. Instead, the ranger's scowl deepened. But perhaps that was to be expected. Zelphar had been Varan's best friend. He had been just as troubled by the disappearance as Zelyra was.
"We should douse the fire," Varan barked, changing the subject. "Who is taking watches tonight?"
Krom and Zelyra each volunteered to take a watch as they had not the night before. Meanwhile, Arlathan once again argued that she needed less sleep than the other three and could easily take the third. Alternating between double and single watches between nights would not exhaust a moon elf, and it was for the group's betterment. Varan was forced to agree, though privately envious. The companions then bedded down for the night and began their watches. Fortunately, they managed to evade incident for a second night in a row through diligence and lack of a light source.
. . .
13 Elient (The Fading) 1484 DR / Day 4
The next day of travel saw a change of scenery. The companions exited the Wood entirely and began to skirt it. Immediately to their left was the dark forest, and miles off to their right was a far more ominous landmark—a mountain at the base of the Crags that resembled a set of serrated teeth and glowed with pure elemental fire. This was Mount Hotenow, the same volcano that destroyed much of the area 40 years prior. Taras Aldar could see the smoldering peak from their tallest sentry tower, which was located in the village and guarded only by its druids. They had felt the wrath of the volcano's eruption and were significantly weakened by it. They would never be so ignorant of its threat again.
The land around the glowing volcano was a vast waste. Little vegetation grew, even though forty years had passed since the eruption. Zelyra and Arlathan felt raw exposure after spending so many years cloaked beneath the canopy of trees. The midday sun bore down upon them, and there was no breeze nor a cloud in the sky to lessen its intense heat. It was an abnormally warm day for the autumn season.
The companions' walking formation gradually shifted from Zelyra and Varan walking in front to Zelyra falling slightly behind. Arlathan also slowed to examine the new disparate world while Krom maintained pace. Soon, Varan and Krom led while the two druids trailed behind with Hayth.
"I don't think I like this place," Zelyra whispered.
"Neither do I," Arlathan replied. "I can't explain it, but it just feels—"
"Dead," the other druid finished.
The moon elf sighed. "Yeah…that's one way of putting it."
Zelyra knelt and placed a palm on the ground. Maybe it was just her imagination, but it felt as if the very earth was screaming in pain, in memory. "The land has not forgotten what happened here," she muttered.
Arlathan halted her steps, shocked by the words. "You can feel it?"
The half-elf dug her hand further into the blackened soil. "Maybe…a little? It could be all in my head. But I feel pain and much sorrow," she said. "My father always said that the land has a voice of its own, but I've never felt it."
"I think you did! Just now!" Arlathan said excitedly.
Zelyra shook her head. "No, I don't think so…if I did, that was but a whisper to what he can do."
The other druid frowned. "Your father has had centuries to hone that focus. You are just finally learning to listen," she said.
"Now you sound like Bael," Zelyra chided with a roll of her eyes.
"That's because I'm quoting him!" Arlathan lamented. "Do you know how many times I've heard him say, 'All it takes is listening?' A lot! And well, listening is hard!"
The two druids looked at each other, laughed, and kept walking.
By the time evening fell, Mount Hotenow was long behind them. The four companions walked further this day than they had the previous two. First, their pace was quicker as they were not trying to stealth through a cursed forest, and secondly, they had no intention of lighting a fire that evening so they could travel all the way up until the moon rose.
When they eventually stopped to make camp, they ate cold rations, and watches were negotiated. Krom pulled out his lute and played short, cheerful ditties for a while before succumbing to exhaustion. Arlathan and Zelyra rolled out their bedrolls and laid down flat on their backs. The entire autumn night sky was revealed to them without the boughs of many trees to obscure their view. The two druids whispered and giggled as they found shapes within the glittering stars and made up stories about them until, at last, sleep and reverie claimed them.
Varan unsurprisingly volunteered to take the first watch. And this night, he did not walk the perimeter. The openness of their campsite, the bright starlight, and the lack of a campfire made it much easier for him to spot approaching danger before an enemy might spot them. But he was distracted as several thoughts raced through his head.
The primary thing was his trepidation about Goldleaf. The journey brought up many memories that Varan had tried to repress for years. The second was a slumbering young druid who, until just a few minutes ago, had been giggling and pointing at the stars with her counterpart. Varan privately envied their carefree attitudes. He himself could not relax, could not ease his restless thoughts. He was always looking for danger, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. These things were ingrained in his very nature and could not be easily ignored. It made for a dutiful ranger but hindered him in just about everything else…
Relationships, for example.
A sudden crackle of brush tore the ranger from his troubled thoughts. His gaze shot to the tree line to his left, and he silently reached from his longbow and quiver. Otherwise, Varan stayed utterly silent, did not move or blink—he might not even have been breathing. Seconds passed, minutes, and then there were footsteps. But fortunately, they softened with each footfall, signaling that whatever was responsible for making them was walking in the other direction. The ranger let out a sigh of relief. The rest of his watch passed without incident. He did not let himself be distracted again by what-ifs and hopeless fantasies. He had a job to do.
But when Varan woke Zelyra for the second watch, the druid pulled on his sleeve as he went to return to his own bedroll. "Can we talk for a moment?" she whispered.
The ranger hesitated as he felt the exhaustion of their travel but quickly relented. They moved away from their sleeping companions and stood side by side, their backs to the tree line and gazes looking out at the wasteland before them. Silence stretched between them for a long while, to the point where Varan wondered if Zelyra was going to say anything at all. But just as he was about to question her, the druid spoke.
"Did you know Zelphar got Arlathan an enchanted flask before he left?"
Of all things Varan had imagined Zelyra saying, this was not one of them. He'd thought the conversation from the previous night had been all but forgotten. And now he was stuck—because he would never lie to her, but neither could he admit the truth. So, the ranger stubbornly stayed silent.
Zelyra observed Varan's tense posture, the way that his jaw clenched, how his fists were tightened, and wrongly assumed the reason. "I was surprised too… It doesn't make any sense. Where could he have gotten something like that?" she muttered.
Again, Varan stayed silent.
"Arlathan suggested Neverwinter. The Circle's rangers occasionally go there, right?" she prattled. Before Varan could reply, Zelyra slapped a hand to her forehead and said, "That was a stupid question. You and Krom literally just came from the city before setting off on this quest."
"Yes," Varan said shortly.
"But the question that is nagging me the most is why?"
Because that's what your brother does, the ranger thought bitterly.
"Why would he do something…weird…like that and just disappear? Is it connected? Am I overthinking this? Tell me I am, Varan," the druid pleaded. "Because this has been driving me crazy."
Yes, you're overthinking it, the ranger wanted to say.
But he couldn't. Because that would be a lie. The truth—
Your brother is a conman, a thief. Despite his promise to walk away from that life for your sake, he lied. He chose gold over you.
Varan folded his arms across his chest and stared angrily at the flat plains before him. For as long as he lived, he would never tell Zelyra what really happened the day that Zelphar fled Taras Aldar.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought this up. You've already been so distant since the quest was announced…." Zelyra muttered as she wrung her hands together nervously. "Why is that?"
The ranger winced. How could she so easily worm her way past every one of his defenses? "I will tell you why," he promised. "When I'm ready."
That day could be tomorrow, days from now, or even months.
But he would eventually tell her about Goldleaf.
He owed her that much.
"I need to get some rest. And you need to take watch," Varan announced, putting a prudent end to their conversation. Zelyra was right about one thing—the past few days were the most they had been around each other since they were children. And the proximity was spurring urges that the ranger would rather ignore.
Zelyra rolled her eyes. "Fine."
He thought that was the end of it.
But then, faster than the ranger could blink, the druid curled one hand around the back of his neck, fisted the other into his cloak, and pulled him to her with a surprising show of strength. As they made contact, Varan's hands fell slack. Zelyra laughed softly as she pressed her lips to his scarred cheek and held him there momentarily, breathing in his alluring scent. Wet earth and fresh pine. The smell of Neverwinter Wood. The scent of home. And then released him.
"Goodnight," she whispered mischievously.
Varan turned on his heel and walked back to camp as fast as he possibly could.
. . .
Krom took the third and final watch that night. Zelyra reported nothing out of the ordinary, so the half-giant settled in. A whisper of a song lingered in his mind, but he did not pull out his lute. Instead, his hands plucked at imaginary strings as he whispered the words that burned in his heart…
"Clear as the sky
On a midwinter's night
And deep as the stormy sea
I hear a whisper inside,
A hunger devouring me,
I beseech you, my heart, to be free.
Sure as the sun will rise
Over blood red skies
I will be on my way,
Come the break of day.
Dark as the night will be,
So my heart, are we.
Sorrow will reave my soul
This, my heart, I know.
A thread has been spun,
By an unyielding hand
The Norns have laid down my path.
Just like the seed has to grow,
The withering leaf must let go,
To be buried beneath the snow.
Shrouded in doubt,
As I leave for the shore
Though cold and unkind
The horizon calls.
Way, way, wayward waves
I will follow you home,
And vanish into the unknown.
Weaver of fate
To your will I must fold
Oh, wisdom of old,
I beseech you, my heart to set free." [5]
—
[1] This is Zelyra and Arlathan's first adventure! I have to give them a few moments of spectacular failure. Don't worry, I'm not singling out Zelyra. Arlathan gets hers later :P We haven't reached the official one-shot's starting point, so this didn't technically happen in our gameplay. I threw this in specifically for DM/husband, who says I am a terrible navigator :P
[2] And here is the consequence! I do want to clarify. The river itself did not explicitly trigger this transformation. The curse makes you attack the closest target randomly, and Zelyra is using the cantrip' primal savagery' to do that.
[3] While writing this scene, I was reminded of a parallel situation in The Grey Warriors that ended with a very different reaction. And as a less serious side note, could you imagine what would have happened if Peanut also fell into the water? I was *almost* tempted to write a feral mouse attack…
[4] The first lyrics are borrowed from "Brothers Unite" by Brothers of Metal. The second set is borrowed from "Row Row Row" by Storm Seeker. I don't know if there is an equivalent of the Caribbean in the Forgotten Realms, so I didn't modify the lyrics in the second ditty. If anyone has any suggestions, I'm open to them! :P
[5] Lyrics borrowed from "Weaver of Fate" by Brothers of Metal. (Can you tell like I Brothers of Metal, lol?) I will let the reader decide what they want to take away from it.
—
As I was writing this chapter, I did a bit more research into Mount Hotenow. If I were to go by the established lore, Taras Aldar likely would have been devastated by the volcano's eruption in 1451DR—approximately 40 years before this story takes place. The same eruption leveled the city of Neverwinter and the small settlement of Thundertree, which sits west of Neverwinter Wood. Thankfully, I had already alluded to the fact that the Circle of Swords was significantly diminished in Roots (which I initially blamed on the Spellplague), so I didn't need to go back and change much. We can just assume that the Masters of the Wood were able to combine their efforts to salvage part of their village after the explosion and then rebuild. So, I'll end with this, Neverwinter Wood was rocked by external effects during the Spellplague, and Mount Hotenow's eruption made matters worse.
Arlathan's flask is something I made up. I didn't want to give her a 'bottomless' flask that magically refills itself. Instead, I settled for, 'This enchanted flask triples the consumable amount of any liquid poured into it. The container can never be full and cannot replenish what is poured out or consumed.'