A/N: I made a few changes to this chapter. I've decided to go a less gory route than what the module describes for future chapters and toned down previously written scenes here to match that.

The Cult of the Gol'Goroth

Chapter Four

The Village

15 Elient (The Fading) 1484 DR / Day 6

Northeastern Neverwinter Wood, near Goldleaf village

Another day of travel passed for the four companions with only a minor setback. They were far from the Long Road, the Blackford Road, and the High Road—the three major trade routes that looped around Neverwinter Wood. Occasionally, daring caravans would depart from those major thoroughfares and pass through the Crag Mountains or skirt the Wood as a shortcut. The companions nearly met one such train of five wagons traveling south on their fourth day of travel. After observing them from afar, the party agreed that the other travelers were not a threat. They were pale-skinned humans dressed in thick furs, likely Illuskans from the frozen north. Varan, Krom, Zelyra, Arlathan, and their animal companions quietly slipped into the forest and waited for the wagons to pass instead of engaging them. They were on a timed mission and did not wish for anything to slow them down.

By the following morning—their fifth day of travel—the companions were half a day's march from their destination. And unlike in days past, Varan trailed behind the others. He gave the excuse that this was Zelyra and Arlathan's mission and they should head the journey from here on out, but truthfully, the ranger was fighting himself with every step. It brought him closer to a nightmare, a time he wanted to forget. He wanted to be angry. He was angry. And yet, he knew the Masters of the Wood had not sent him on this quest out of spite—no matter how much Varan wanted to blame them. They didn't know. No one knew. For the ranger had not told a single soul what had driven him into Neverwinter Wood as a fourteen-year-old boy in the first place…

Zelyra and Arlathan chatted about this and that as they walked. Krom would occasionally offer input from where he trailed just behind them. But Varan was utterly silent and haunted by memory.

By mid-morning, they reached a dirt-packed path lined by healthy trees laden with large golden apples. A light breeze blew and stirred them, causing a sweet scent to gently waft through the air. The weather was balmy, and the sun shone overhead. It was quite pleasant for an autumn day.

"Look at the size of those things!" Arlathan exclaimed as she ran over to one of the trees. The druid quickly scaled a low-hanging branch and plucked off one of the apples.

"Get me one!" Krom shouted.

Arlathan picked a second apple and hurled it in the half-giant's direction.

It struck him square in the jaw.

"Ouch," he groaned.

"You were supposed to catch it!" Arlathan laughed.

Zelyra picked up the now bruised apple as it rolled to a stop at her feet and handed it back to Krom. He took a big, crunching bite and gave a thumbs up after a few moments of chewing. It was good. Arlathan quickly began to fill her pack with apples. They would make a good snack later in the day or breakfast for the return journey.

"I wonder why there are so many apple trees?" Zelyra mused.

"Because the village is known for its apple-based wines," Varan replied unthinkingly.

The druid raised an eyebrow. "How do you know that?"

Varan shrugged. "Come on, we're wasting daylight," he said instead. The ranger then looked to the other druid, who was haphazardly balanced in the tree, still picking apples, and sighed. "Arlathan!" he barked.

"Whaaat?"

"Oh, for the love of—let's go!" [1]

Arlathan scurried out of the tree and rejoined her companions. She excitedly held out her pack and showed them her spoils. "I got enough for all of us," the moon elf said. There were approximately twenty apples in her bag.

"Yeah, that's great," Varan replied with an eye roll. "Let's just get this over with."

The ranger stalked off, and as he did, Arlathan muttered under her breath, "Except you. You don't get any apples…."

The pleasant atmosphere followed the four companions all the way into town. Goldleaf was a sleepy little hamlet with picturesque views of rolling hillsides, lush green grasses, and sturdy trees. The leaves were just beginning to reach their peak here. Some had turned to rich autumn golds, oranges, and reds, while others still stubbornly clung to their verdant summer coloring. The dirt path the companions had followed thus far led them straight to the village. It was dotted with colorful cottages with thatched roofs, and the town square was dominated by a towering church with a clock tower that chimed every hour. But that was where the delightful scenery ended. The scent in the air abruptly changed, and it soon became clear why.

"What in the Nine Hells happened here?"

Krom couldn't have said it better.

The four companions stopped short as they took in the bizarre sight before them. Despite an outward idyllic appearance, an eerie stillness hung over the town. The streets were empty, doors were bolted, and the windows of the cottages were tightly shut. It was as though all the villagers had vanished into thin air. Not a whisper of sound could be heard—not a crying baby, the clang of a hammer on an anvil, a bird's song, or even a cricket's chirp. But most disturbing were the carcasses of dead livestock. The rotting corpses cut through the pleasant aroma of the apple trees to fill the air with the putrid stench of decay. Zelyra and Arlathan immediately began coughing as the awful smell assailed their heightened scenes. Hayth growled and pawed at the ground.

"Hello?" Krom called out.

No answer came.

"Do you think the citizens abandoned the village?" Zelyra muttered to Varan as she held her nose.

The ranger shook his head and pointed to a nearby cottage. This one had no shutters, just ordinary windows. A curtain was partially drawn back, and a pair of eyes peered out at them. But as soon as they were noticed, the figure fled, and the curtain was abruptly pulled shut.

"They're hiding," the ranger said.

"From frogs?" Zelyra asked incredulously. "This seems a bit excessive."

"Must be some scary-ass frogs," Krom grumbled.

Arlathan tried knocking on the door of that same nearby house. She heard the shuffling of feet, hushed whispers from inside, and then a voice shouted, "Leave us alone! Please! Don't hurt my baby!"

The pure desperation in the woman's tone started the moon elf. "We won't, I promise!" Arlathan said soothingly. "We're here to help! We've been sent by the Emerald Enclave."

A scraping came from the other side of the door as if the inhabitants were pushing a piece of heavy furniture in front of the door—which they were. Arlathan sighed, stepped away from the colorful door, and tried the next house. Same reaction. More pleas of mercy, panic, and terror. A third try at least garnered the party some information. It was something they already knew, but the man was cooperative, at least.

"If you're with the Enclave, go see the mayor," the old man croaked.

The companions continued deeper into the village, searching for the mayor's home, and found that the pattern continued. Buildings had been boarded up as if to keep something out. It was unnaturally quiet. The shadows that the houses and trees cast were unnaturally deep and dark. The air was thick with a sense of foreboding, and the companions could not shake the feeling that something sinister was lurking just out of sight. Occasionally, they would catch flickers of movement from the corner of their eyes, but if they turned to look—nothing. An indescribable sense of dread fell over the group the further they delved. Something was really wrong here.

As the party neared the tall church and town square, they finally saw the first signs of life. A man stood outside one of the homes and violently scraped against the door. He wore filthy black robes and appeared to be carving strange symbols into the home's front door with an ominous white, double-tipped blade that protruded from one of his sleeves. Guttural sounds came from his mouth. Certainly, nothing that would be considered Common speech. In contrast, desperate sobs and pleading came from within the house. The homeowners were clearly terrified.

Krom grasped the warhammer strapped to his back and took a threatening step forward. "I don't think you're supposed to be going in there, friend," he said.

The man stilled and, after a moment, slowly turned to face the four adventurers. And as he did, each of them recoiled. One of the man's eyes had been removed, revealing an empty socket. In its place was a thick, oozing, dark-blue substance. His other eye was intact but completely bloodshot.

And now, upon closer inspection, the party saw that the white, dual-tipped blade was not a blade at all. It was bone. The man's hand was gone, and his ulna and radius had been sharpened to sharp points. Sitting higher up on his arm was a bloody set of bandages. Zelyra fought the urge to retch on her boots.

The man's visage turned from eerily calm to crazed in a split second.

"Sacrifices for the Gol'Goroth!" he cried and charged the party.

But Krom was ready. With an answering battle cry, the half-giant thundered forward to meet the crazed cultist head-on with his warhammer. The man gave an animalistic screech and thrust his sharpened bone toward the half-giant. Unfortunately, only one of them struck their intended target, and it was not Krom. The half-giant winced as the bone weapon made contact near his ribs but, fortunately, only drew blood. The man's subsequent attacks were unfocused, but his frenzied movement made it difficult for Krom to get a good hit on him.

While Varan typically preferred ranged weaponry, this was one such case where swords seemed the better option. The ranger swiftly drew a twin pair of scimitars and raced across the street to flank the cultist opposite of Krom in a dread ambush technique. The ranger made three sweeping strikes at the man's calves and back. But again, somehow, the cultist managed to elude all but one of those attacks with his frenzied movements. He then rounded on Varan with his bone spear. The ranger parried with one of his scimitars and staggered back, somewhat stunned. He did not miss. Ever.

Arlathan reached into her pack and grasped one of the apples she had picked on the way in. The druid swiftly loaded it in the sling she had strapped to her belt and fired. The plump piece of fruit sailed through the air and struck the cultist square in the temple. Simultaneously, a conjured whip of thorns snaked around the man's ankle and tugged. The disfigured cultist came crashing to the ground as Zelyra yanked on the thorn whip and pulled him closer to her, allowing both Krom and Varan to strike.

"Your battle cry needs some work," the half-giant mocked as he brought one mighty foot down on the cultist's chest and held it. [2]

The cultist cried out as an unexpected mental assault further scrambled his dark and twisted thoughts—originating, surprisingly, from the barbarian. Varan, meanwhile, forced one of his scimitars to the man's throat. He was not gentle about it and drew a little blood.

"What is Gol'Goroth?" the ranger demanded.

"God!" the man choked out.

Before Varan could ask another question, the man began to thrash and wail under Krom's foot. The half-giant and half-elf both took a knee and forced him down. But after a few moments, they realized that the cultist was not trying to escape. Something was happening to him. He began to foam at the mouth, his back arched upwards unnaturally, and the back of his head, which was covered in thinning blond hair, began to swell rapidly. A sickening crack soon followed as the back of his skull burst open, and a frog-like creature hopped out of the hollow cavity. Zelyra and Arlathan let out startled shrieks while Varan and Krom promptly backed away from the mutilated body. But the man did not move. He lay silent and still, his one good eye trained upward, unseeing.

Hayth snarled and stood guard in front of the two druids. But the wolf was the only one who reacted. The four companions stood frozen in their tracks as their minds raced to comprehend what had just happened—never mind, what they were now looking at! The creature that had emerged from the man's skull had tiny, writhing tendrils on its back, and instead of a pair of bulging eyes, there were only empty sockets. It was just slightly smaller than your average bullfrog, but the mere sight of it filled them with disgust and dread. They stared at it, dumbstruck, for several heartbeats.

The frog released a single, ominous croak and began leaping away.

That broke the companions out of their stupor.

Zelyra let out another loud shriek.

"What the FUCK just happened?!" Krom exclaimed.

"I don't know! Just kill it!" Arlathan cried.

There was no time to waste. Despite the abomination's small size, it was swift and was already two houses away from them in just a matter of seconds. The companions would lose it if they didn't react quickly. Zelyra hurled a fist-sized ball of flame at the creature while Varan shot an arrow. But as if somehow sensing the attacks, the frog took a bounding leap and landed ten feet away from where the fire and arrow crashed into the earth.

"How?!" Zelyra exclaimed.

Krom prepared a javelin, and Arlathan loaded another apple into her sling. But before either could launch their attack, the door to a nearby home flew open, and an older, round-bellied man barreled out with a wash bucket, screaming, "Don't kill it!"

Again, the four companions were bewildered by the strange shift in events and raised their weapons at the man. The air was ripe with tension. Given what they had just witnessed, the group was understandably hostile and on edge.

"That thing just burst out of someone's skull!" Arlathan cried as she trained her sling on the man. "And you're telling us not to kill it? Are you mad?!"

The man ignored her and dashed after the frog. For such a large individual, he moved with impressive speed. He caught up to the creature and tossed the wash bucket over it, effectively trapping it. He then held up a finger, silently gesturing for the companions to wait, as he bent at the waist and pressed his hands to his knees as he fought to catch his breath.

"You'll need it alive if you want any hope of defeating their god," the man wheezed. "That is, assuming you're here to kill the Gol'Goroth."

Zelyra put her hands on her hips. "We were sent by Morista Malkin of the Emerald Enclave to investigate a series of strange disappearances blamed on a malevolent nature spirit. No one said anything about killing a god," the druid said.

"We were told to speak to Mayor Hal Neelow," Arlathan added.

The man smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. "Well, you've found him. And yes, that is what I told the dwarves of Gauntlgrym. If I remember right, Morista Malkin was one of them. I hoped they'd send a party of hearty shield dwarves to help us, not…."

Hal let the rest go unsaid as his gaze lingered suspiciously on the two half-elves of the group—particularly the male. The mayor tilted his head. There was something familiar about him, yet Hal could not quite place it.

"Not what?" Krom asked as he picked up on the man's degrading tone.

"Nothing," Hal replied hurriedly, shifting his attention from Varan to the towering half-giant. "Look, I will take any help I can get—even if it is from othlir."

The mayor muttered the last part under his breath.

But not quietly enough.

Zelyra and Varan both tensed. Some bigoted humans on the Sword Coast had taken words from the Elvish language and perverted them into a racial slur against half-elves. Othlir roughly translated to 'ill-born.' Unfortunately, that was what some humans thought of the half-elven race, especially in smaller villages such as this, where the citizens were sheltered.

"Or we could turn around and walk away right now since you seem so inclined to insult two of our party members," Arlathan replied testily. "I would think that a mayor whose town is in trouble would be more courteous and set aside bias in a time of crisis."

Zelyra privately disagreed with leaving. Not everyone in the town should suffer because of one man's insolence—especially the children. What would they report to the masters and Morista Malkin then? A mutant frog burst out of the skull of a crazed lunatic! But the town's mayor was racist, so we turned around and came home. That would almost certainly not earn the druids their marks.

Fortunately, the mayor caved under pressure before the half-elf could raise an objection—just as Arlathan had planned. "Sorry, sorry…" he muttered, his cheeks red with humiliation. "Please don't leave! You don't understand what we've been through!"

"Then let's keep this conversation civil. Tell us more about the Gol'Goroth and what will be in it for us upon its defeat," the moon elf said.

Hal complied. "It's been nearly three tendays since I returned from Gauntlgrym, and things have gotten worse—much worse. I'm afraid to say we no longer believe this is the work of a nature spirit. This is a creature that even demons and devils would flee from! I hope you're up for such a task," he said.

The party gestured for the mayor to continue because, so far, he had not given them any helpful information. Instead, he seemed more intent on trying to strike fear into their hearts.

The mayor fumbled to get his story straight. "Well, as I told the dwarves, people were wandering off into the woods and coming back strange. It was as if they were under some sort of daze or spell, but nothing like that!" He gestured to the mutilated corpse of the man who had attacked the four companions. "That's one of them that was taken in the first attack—Jeremiah Merrell!"

"First attack?" Zelyra interrupted.

"He was one of the first that disappeared and came back strange," Hal clarified. "Tried recruiting others to follow him into the woods. A few actually listened! But those folk returned savage, their minds seemingly withered away as they sprouted nonsense about the Gol'Goroth. They demanded new townsfolk go with them as sacrifices or suffer the consequences. The village tried to fight back, but five were left dead, and four more were dragged off into the forest. Now, the people are too terrified to fight back! They hide in their homes and only come out if they have no choice. These cultists can strike day or night with no warning. I'm surprised he was alone," the mayor said, pointing again to the mutilated body. "Quick. One of you guard the wash bucket. The others, come with me. I need to show you something."

"He may not be alone," Varan said suspiciously as he drew his longbow and stretched his senses, listening carefully for other signs of movement. He heard none but knew better than to let his guard down. The vigilant ranger looked to his companions and said, "You three go with the mayor. Hayth and I will stand watch."

The black wolf snarled and began to pace back and forth uneasily. The ranger carefully studied his movements. Hayth would likely sense an ambush before Varan would. Meanwhile, Hal led Arlathan, Zelyra, and Krom to the dead body and pointed to the man's eye socket. Upon closer inspection, they saw it was filled with a blue-colored, fleshy, round object.

"What does this look like to you?" the mayor asked.

Arlathan and Krom shrugged. But Zelyra briefly studied the gruesome object before saying, "A frog egg?"

"Precisely," Hal confirmed. "I've seen this happen to another one of them. The frog hopped off into the forest, likely returning to its mother. Follow the frogs, and they will lead you to the root of this evil—the creature the cultists call the Gol'Goroth!"

"And what is Gol'Goroth? You said it's the cultists' god?" Arlathan said.

"I can only tell you rumor," Hal said apologetically. This time, he gestured for the three companions to follow him to the house the cultist had attacked and pointed to the crude carvings the cultist had made on the door. It was a series of glyphs that the party could not read next to the head of a frog with no eyes.

"They say Gol'Goroth is a frog the size of a wagon with nothing but empty sockets for eyes. Four massive tentacles extend out its back, and spikes of bone run down its spine. It is a beast of legends, of nightmare!" the mayor concluded dramatically.

The companions exchanged wary glances. While they had just witnessed something strange, it was hard to believe a giant frog was behind all the madness. Surely there was some other explanation.

Sensing the party's doubt, Hal added, "The town wizard, Erstod, left to try to put an end to these attacks, but he hasn't come back either. Erstod is a powerful mage! So, he is either out there and in need of aid, or this creature is even stronger than him." [3]

Again, it sounded like nothing more than an elaborate hoax. But Hal had objective evidence to back the strange claims up.

"You never said what you would offer us for taking out this killer frog," Krom reminded the mayor.

"Right, right! The bounty is three hundred gold, a magical scimitar salvaged from the ruins of an elven sorceress's shack, and the endless thanks of our people," Hal offered. "The scimitar is said to warn its wielder of impending danger."

"So, there was an elven sorceress?" Zelyra asked, her curiosity piqued. "Morista mentioned that in her briefing."

The mayor nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, a decade ago, give or take. This was long before the Gol'Goroth cult attacks started, but there were a few strange disappearances even then. Her husband, for example. But perhaps we were too quick to place the blame. They had a young boy—"

Sudden movement near the wash bucket cut off Hal's rambling words. Hayth's warning growl had allowed Varan to sense a sneak attack before it came. The ranger swiftly loaded two arrows into his longbow and fired at the humanoid advancing on him. This was a woman wielding a makeshift flail. She screamed as one of the ranger's arrows struck her, revealing a mouth completely devoid of teeth.

"Sacrifices for the Gol'Goroth," the woman cackled. "Flesh for his spawns!" But without teeth to properly enunciate, the cry sounded like a slur of speech.

Arlathan, Krom, and Zelyra immediately dropped into defensive positions.

"How many?" the half-giant bellowed at his sentry counterpart.

"Two," Varan shouted as he spun and swiftly fired two more arrows just behind the clustered companions and the mayor. A second cultist was slinking up behind them, bearing a rusted sword. Their face was concealed behind a painted wooden mask resembling a frog. Fortunately, both of the ranger's shots met their mark, and the individual dropped, barely clinging to life—or their perverted version of it. [4]

Hayth leapt on the male to silence him quickly and efficiently while Zelyra hurled a ball of flame at the flail-wielding woman. Arlathan drew her scimitar and stood guard before the mayor, who was now quaking in his boots and begging the party to protect him. Krom then charged the remaining cultist with a bellow. The woman met him with an answering snarl and cracked her flail. But the half-giant had seen worse brutality from the Northlander berserkers and barely blinked as the weapon whipped around his side. He batted the ball and chain away and made a brutal upward swing with his warhammer. It struck the woman's jaw with a sickening crack, and she flew back. When she hit the ground, she did not get up.

The half-giant checked for a pulse. "Dead," he confirmed.

"What about the frog?" the mayor croaked.

"WHO CARES ABOUT THE FROG!" Krom bellowed.

Hal shrunk back at the barbarian's menacing tone.

"Don't mind him. He's just coming down from a rage," Arlathan said dismissively.

The mayor swallowed thickly and hurried over to check the wash bucket. Fortunately, it had not been disturbed in the fight. The abomination was still trapped beneath it. "You will need the frog to lead you back to their lair," Hal reminded the party. "If your group can take out cultists that easily, perhaps there is some hope for us. And if you can find Erstod—even better!"

The companions glanced at each other. Were they to do this? It was far, far more than they initially signed up for. But they were unwilling to return to the Circle with nothing to show for their efforts.

"If you would let us privately confer," Arlathan said tactfully.

Hal bowed. "Of course."

The companions stepped away and huddled together.

"These people deserve to be put out of their misery," Zelyra said in Elvish—the universal language used by the Circle of Swords—as she gestured between the broken bodies and the shuttered-up homes. "No one should live like this."

"Are you suggesting we kill all the people?" Krom asked. His version of Elvish was notably less refined but passable.

Arlathan slapped a hand to her forehead.

Zelyra's eyes widened. "What?! No!"

"You said they deserve to be put out of their misery," the half-giant quoted.

"The cultists should be taken out, yes. Unfortunately, I don't think there is any coming back from what's been done to them," the half-elf clarified. "And the people deserve to return to their normal lives."

Krom's expression turned thoughtful. "Well, three hundred gold and a magic sword isn't a bad bounty," he mused. "I've fought for less."

"A magic sword?" Varan asked. He had not been present for the earlier conversation.

"Hal claimed that a scimitar was taken from the ruins of an elven sorceress' hideout—"

Before Arlathan could finish the sentence, Varan turned on his heel and stalked over to the upside-down wash bucket. The other three watched him go with matching slack jaws and confusion. When a few moments passed, and the others made no move to follow him, the ranger barked, "We have approximately six hours of daylight left. I'd like to find this creature's lair before then."

"So does this mean you're going after the Gol'Goroth?" Hal asked timidly.

Varan's temperament had flipped completely. Zelyra, specifically, noted that while his outward expression was calm, his jaw was set. He had a wild look in his eyes that scared her. The ranger now agreed to the quest, not for the good of the people, but for some other purpose—perhaps something to do with the sword. Zelyra knew he was the opposite of greedy, so his reaction made little sense to her.

The druid surveyed her other two companions, and upon seeing resolute expressions echoed by each of them, she turned to Hal and said, "Yes, I suppose we are."

Hal graciously thanked each of them and started to return to his home. But then a sudden thought came to him, and he paused to say, "Whatever you do, don't let the frog's tentacles touch you."

"Why?" Arlathan asked.

"Because it is not a strike that stings. It paralyzes," the mayor explained grimly. "And those that fall under that paralysis find themselves at the mercy of the Gol'Goroth. His children desire flesh, and in its absence, their god plants his seed…."

Hal pointed shakily to the corpse of the first man, specifically, his empty eye socket.

Zelyra winced as the implication became clear. "Duly noted," she said.

The mayor finally left them then, and the four companions were left standing on a deserted street with an upside-down wash bucket trapping a flesh-eating frog that would supposedly lead them to a god.

Things could not possibly get any stranger…

[1] Yes, we really did get distracted by apples literally two minutes into the one-shot :D Varan is 100% DM/husband IRL trying to reign us in.

[2] Yes, Krom is a bardbarian :D Hope it came across that he was using vicious mockery against the cultist.

[3] As per the module, the wizard's name is Syrith. But that is WAAAAY too close to Sarith for my comfort. (For any newbies, that's the name of a prominent NPC in The Grey Warriors.) I would almost certainly screw up the names.

[4] For funsies, I rolled for this attack. Two arrows from Varan's longbow dropped the cultist from 16HP to a single hit point. He rolled a 24 and 27 to hit against a 12AC! But with a +9 to hit on his longbow (Archery fighting style), Varan would only miss a minor cultist if he rolled a nat1 or a 2. The first guy the companions fought had a 16AC with 39HP, and Varan used his swords rather than his preferred longbow. Hence, it was harder to take him out. I want Varan and Krom to seem more experienced, but I don't want them to outshine the lower-level druids. I will stick to flavor fighting from here on out.