A/N: I'm a firm believer in flow. I planned a precise starting point and ending for this chapter, hence the title. Alas, during rewrites per DM/husband's suggestion, the middle got away from me. The final draft wound up being over 14k—which even I will admit is excessive. So, I compromised by splitting the chapter into two parts.
The Cult of the Gol'Goroth
Chapter Eight
Many Partings
Part One
15 Elient (The Fading) 1484 DR / Day 7
The Lair of the Gol'Goroth, northeastern Neverwinter Wood
The companions slowly made their way back to Goldleaf, their steps heavy with the weight of their recent battle, lack of sleep, and the grim news they carried. Erstod, the once-corrupt wizard, walked with them, a mixture of guilt and resolve etched on his face. But as the group approached town, it became clear that their return would not be met with open arms. The streets were eerily silent, and the villagers were still shuttered up in their homes, too afraid to venture outside. The once vibrant settlement was like a ghost town, its people paralyzed by fear.
"How do we want to go about this?" Varan asked as they entered the village proper.
"Perhaps we should speak to Hal first," Zelyra suggested.
"And what? Try to catch him in a lie?" Arlathan asked.
"We already have damning evidence against him," Krom pointed out.
Erstod nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed, you might, but it never hurts to cover all your bases. Perhaps there is still more we can take away from this mess," the wizard said, agreeing with Zelyra.
The half-elf shot the old man a grateful smile. "I want to know why," she added, her green eyes blazing. "How could anyone betray the trust of their people like this? What did the Gol'Goroth promise that was worth more than innocent lives?!"
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to corner the weasel in his own home…maybe force a confession out of him…" Krom trailed off, becoming more open to the idea.
"And ensure that he doesn't try to flee," Varan concluded fiercely.
"Hal Neelow is a charlatan through and through. I know it, and I know you know it too," Erstod told the ranger. He then raised his voice to address the group at large. "It would be most unwise to underestimate this man. He will try to gain the upper hand, no matter how you confront him. Perhaps it would be best to first try to do it quietly, and if that does not work—make your voices heard."
"I think we can manage that," Arlathan said with a feral grin.
After some direction from their new ally, the companions approached the mayor's modest home, a structure that seemed out of place given his duplicitous dealings. They knocked on the door, and after an extended pause, it creaked open. Hal Neelow stood before them, wearing a set of striped pajamas and a ridiculous nightcap with a fuzzy ball on the end. The mayor's eyes widened in bewilderment when he saw Erstod standing with the group, but swiftly masked his shock with a wide, disingenuous smile.
"Erstod!" Hal exclaimed. "What a pleasant surprise! I didn't expect to see you here with our valiant heroes."
The wizard made no effort to return the greeting.
"You have all returned in one piece. So, I assume that all is well?" the mayor continued, unfazed by their silence.
"Not all of us have returned," Arlathan said icily.
Hal's gaze flitted among them confusedly.
"But…there were only four of you…"
" Five," the moon elf corrected bitterly.
"Are…are you certain?"
"The Gol'Goroth is no more, but Hayth gave his life in the process," Arlathan barked.
"Hayth?" the man muttered before his eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh— oh! Your pet!"
It was the wrong thing to say.
Arlathan's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"I mean…your…animal companion?" Hal backpaddled nervously. "I'm so sorry for your loss. But at least now, the vicious monster is dead, and the town can rest easy. The people have nothing more to fear," he offered, not really meaning the words.
The moon elf folded her arms across her chest and huffed in reply.
Hal then offered the adventurers and their newfound wizard ally a round of ale to save face after his erroneous blunder. "Please! Come in, come in, my friends!" he said. "If all you say is true, let's toast to the Gol'Goroth's defeat! And, of course, we can raise a glass to your fallen friend as well and hail the victorious dead!"
Somehow, Hal Neelow managed to take the phrase and utter it in such a way that it felt like the absolute opposite of honoring anyone.
Arlathan's hands clenched into fists at her side.
Sensing her rising fury, Zelyra clamped a hand on the other druid's wrist. Arlathan took a deep breath and tried to loosen some of her tension, but she really just wanted to wring the round-bellied man's neck.
"It's a little early to be drinking, don't you think?" Krom said, gesturing to the rising sun behind them.
"Nonsense!" the mayor boasted. "This is a time for celebration! Tea just won't do!"
The companions and Erstod exchanged wary glances but eventually followed Hal inside his home. The interior was as unassuming as the exterior and was surprisingly neat and tidy despite Hal's bachelor lifestyle. The man bustled about, fetching tankards, and retrieved a wine jug. He poured generously, his hands steady and demeanor genial.
"To our valiant saviors!" Hal exclaimed, raising his mug when they had all gathered around the kitchen table. Again, the companions hesitated, but they did not want to arouse the man's suspicion just yet. Perhaps a mug or two of ale would help to loosen his lips. Thus, they raised their mugs and drank but were surprised to find a sweet wine in their cups rather than the ale initially promised to them.
"I could be mistaken, but I thought you offered us ale," Zelyra said.
"Apologies, I changed my mind," the man claimed. "I hope you all don't mind."
"It's a fine wine," Arlathan said as she took another experimental drink. "Almost as good as the mead brewed at home."
"Ah, yes, I procured it from some dwarves down south. It's a rare wine, indeed!" Hal boasted. "Cost me a fair bit of coin, but I think they were glad to be rid of it in the end…"
"I don't see why," the moon elf replied.
Hal smiled mysteriously over the rim of his goblet.
He was noticeably drinking very little, if at all.
As Arlathan took another sip, Varan eyed her sharply. "As Krom stated earlier, it's a bit early to be drinking, so…maybe, take it easy…" he hissed in warning. The ranger then locked eyes with the aforementioned barbarian. Krom swiftly lowered his tankard and set it aside.
Arlathan waved a hand and proclaimed, "Oh, Varan! You know I can hold my drink!"
"Not what I'm afraid of," the ranger muttered.
The druid then fixed him with a surprisingly sober expression. "Then trust that I know my drink, as well," she hissed as she, too, sat her goblet on the table and did not touch it again. Zelyra and Erstod promptly did the same. Something about the wine was just a little too sweet…
The group chatted for a while longer as the four companions detailed their gripping battle against the Gol'Goroth. Hal played his part well, feigning astonishment and admiration. Eventually, Zelyra broached the subject of their reward. "Mayor Neelow, we did as you asked. We defeated the Gol'Goroth and brought peace back to Goldleaf. So, about the reward you promised us…"
Hal waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes, of course. I will see that you get your gold, but let's finish our discussion first. No need to rush. There's still plenty of wine."
"There was a magic sword mentioned as well," Krom cut in.
"Yes, yes, three hundred gold, the magic sword, and I believe I also promised the eternal thanks of our people," the man said airily.
Varan's attention fell to his sword belt, where that very weapon was now sheathed. His blue eyes then flicked back to Hal's and narrowed. The man was a brilliant liar…
Thankfully, Hal thought nothing of the exchange. "I have not forgotten your reward. It will come in due time. But I feel like there is more to your story! I want to hear it all!" he claimed. "Tell me more!"
And so, they did, but a strange unease had settled over the group. More time went by as they continued their cordial discussion. And then suddenly, their guts began to churn as waves of nausea swept over them. Arlathan clutched her stomach, her face paling. It felt all too familiar. It was almost like…
"Something's not right," the moon elf muttered as she swayed dangerously on her stool. Fighting his own bout of nausea, Erstod reached out and steadied her before she fell off the stool completely. Not a moment later, the moon elf leaned over and began retching violently. Everyone's eyes immediately shot to Hal, who watched the spectacle with feigned concern.
"Oh dear, it seems she can't hold her drink after all," the man said.
"No—you've poisoned us," Varan accused.
At once, the mayor's mask of innocence slipped and was replaced by a cruel sneer. "Tried to! I had hoped to delay you long enough to find a way out of this mess… You were not supposed to return. But clearly, I was wrong on both fronts," he muttered to himself, almost as an afterthought.
Perhaps Spiderblood wine was not as potent as the drow elves claimed. [1]
"You snake!" Zelyra shrieked.
Hal abruptly shot to his feet and tried to make a break for the door.
Krom responded by chucking a goblet of the poisoned wine at him.
The heavy ceramic mug struck the fleeing man square in the temple. He stumbled, crying out in pain, and the barbarian used the diversion to catch up to him. Krom roughly grabbed the swindler by the collar of his pajamas, lifting him off the ground.
"You're not going anywhere, pal," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
"I suppose you might have thought we wouldn't return as you expected us to be the next round of sacrifices!" Zelyra cried as she shot up from her chair. The druid pushed past her own nausea and produced the letters they had found in the lair. "You might recognize these. We know all about your treachery— H.N.," she hissed.
Hal's cunning facade crumbled. His eyes darted nervously, and sweat beaded on his forehead. "I—I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered. The man weakly struggled in Krom's grip, but the half-giant's hold was unyielding. "Let me go!" he screamed, his voice shrill with rising panic. "You don't understand!"
"Oh, I think we understand perfectly," Krom replied darkly.
Hal's face turned ashen. "No! Please, please, you don't. I was only trying to protect the town! The Gol'Goroth promised power, security…"
" Protect the town—" Zelyra echoed in outrage. "By turning its people over for experimentation? For sacrifice?!"
"Yes?" the mayor whimpered uncertainly.
"ENOUGH!" Krom raged.
The half-giant unceremoniously dragged Hal by the scruff out of his home and into the street. In the ensuing struggle, the mayor lost his ridiculous nightcap. The other four followed, their expressions grim. The few villagers who dared to peek through their shutters watched it all unfold in disbelief.
"PEOPLE OF GOLDLEAF, YOUR LEADER HAS DECEIVED YOU!" Krom bellowed, his voice echoing through the empty streets. "COME OUT AND HEAR THE TRUTH!"
There was a long, tense moment of silence, and then, slowly, one by one, the villagers began to emerge from their homes. They stepped cautiously into the morning light, their faces filled with fear and curiosity. As the people filled the town square, they were met with very strange tidings—two half-elves, a queasy-looking moon elf, the missing town wizard, and their pajama-clad mayor was being held aloft by a half-giant!
No one knew what to think.
Erstod spoke to the crowd first as he was familiar with them. His expression was earnest and filled with remorse. "People of Goldleaf, the Gol'Goroth has been defeated by the heroes you see standing before you! The terror that has plagued our town for months is no more! I witnessed its death throws with my own eyes." he announced. "So, please, lend an ear and listen closely to what they have to say. They have faced great peril and…lost a dear friend…in their efforts to bring peace back to this town."
A murmur of disbelief rippled through the crowd. The villagers looked at each other, unsure whether to believe what they were hearing.
Zelyra raised her hand, holding up the letters they had found in the lair. "These letters," she said, her voice clear and steady, "are proof of your mayor's betrayal. Hal Neelow has been working with the cult of the Gol'Goroth, needlessly sacrificing your friends and family in exchange for a promise of power. And when that was not enough, he then went to the dwarves in Gauntlgrym with a false plea for aid and sought to draw them into this dark plot as well."
The companions took turns sharing the rest of their grim tale, making sure to leave nothing out, revealing all that they had learned during their time in the lair of the Gol'Goroth. As they went on, the crowd's uncertain murmurs turned to outright gasps of shock and anger. The villagers' eyes turned to Mayor Neelow, who paled and trembled in Krom's unrelenting grasp.
" And then he tried to poison us," Arlathan said irritably, clutching her still queasy stomach, "to shut us up and keep the truth from you."
"We fought to end the Gol'Goroth's reign and to bring peace back to Goldleaf," Zelyra declared, her eyes blazing with righteous fury. "But peace cannot be achieved while betrayal still festers within."
Krom's voice then rang out, demanding justice. "What will the people do with this traitor?" he asked them.
The crowd began shouting and crying out. Hal, realizing his fate, tried to plead with them. "Please, I did it for you! For all of you!" But his words fell on deaf ears. Fueled by their ire, the villagers surged forward, ready to deliver their own form of justice. Krom abruptly released Hal. The man fell face first on the ground, his pleas for mercy drowned out by the furious cries of the crowd.
"Hang him from the rafters!"
"Quarter him, I say!"
"Tar and feathers are only fitting!"
The companions exchanged alarmed glances. The town had already witnessed so much violence and death. Surely, there was another solution. One that would justly punish Hal without adding to the death count of the town.
"Imprison him!" Zelyra suddenly shouted as an idea came to her. "Deep in the dark, where he will reap what he has sewn."
Both the crowd and the druid's companions looked to her for further explanation.
"The pit," she suggested, her idea clear now. "Imprison this traitor in the pit that only the Keymaster knows the riddle to solve…"
"I like it," Krom said with a wry grin.
Erstod tapped the side of his nose. "Well, the riddle must be changed…and the key placed elsewhere. But otherwise, I think that's a fine idea. That is, if the village would trust me to keep such a secret after what I've done…" he trailed off, addressing the crowd. To his immense surprise, the people readily nodded in agreement.
Varan placed a hand on the wizard's arm, and in Elvish, he said, " Despite their fear of your magic, you still sought the town's approval. If I had to take a guess, Hal Neelow tricked you into investigating the disappearances, and in your desperation to prove yourself, you let your guard down. The cult took advantage of that. How is any of that your fault? You alone could not defeat them."
The wizard smiled sadly. " You may have the look of your father, but you certainly have the steadfastness of your mother… You sound just like her," the old man replied in flawless Elvish, for he had learned the language many years before from the same friend he now spoke of.
A woman finally mustered the courage to step forward and address the strange adventurers. She held a squalling young babe in her arms, the future of Goldleaf. "Who do we have to thank for saving us?" she asked, her voice shaking with emotion.
The party began to introduce themselves.
"Arlathan Addar, apprentice druid of the Circle of Swords."
"Zelyra Erenaeth, also an apprentice of the Circle of Swords."
"Krom, guardian of Neverwinter Wood."
"And you?" another villager called, pointing to Varan, who remained silent. "Who are you?"
When it became evident that the ranger would not speak up, Zelyra spoke for him. "This is Varan Fenhirel, senior sentry of the Circle of Swords," she announced proudly.
"Fenhirel?" a man in the crowd repeated, his eyes widening. "As in Roderic Fenhirel?"
"Aye, he looks like him," another murmured. "His son, perhaps? He and the elf had a baby, if you recall…"
Varan's expression remained unreadable. He simply nodded, acknowledging their recognition, but offered no further explanation. Arlathan and Zelyra exchanged stunned glances while Krom whistled awkwardly. When it was clear that the ranger would say no more, the villagers swiftly turned their attention back to Neelow. A tense debate was had, but it was eventually decided that he would be held within the church until proper modifications could be made to the pit.
As a group of men led the traitor away, Erstod addressed the crowd again. "I, too, have much to atone for," he said, his voice filled with remorse. "But I promise to use my magic to heal this town and make amends for my actions."
The villagers nodded their agreement, their trust in the wizard beginning to mend.
And so, the four companions watched as the town came together to clean up. After a brief rest, the party offered their service as well. A full day's work lay ahead of them. There was much to be done, and the grisly task of removing the dead livestock from the streets was a somber reminder of the recent horror that plagued the small town.
Varan, Zelyra, Arlathan, and Krom moved through the town, lending their strength and skills wherever needed. It's funny how attitudes can change over the years… Varan now worked alongside the villagers who had shunned him over a decade before to clear debris and fallen animals, his strong arms lifting the carcasses with grim determination. He exchanged very few words with his former neighbors, but it seemed that the half-elf's presence now provided reassurance to the shaken townspeople rather than suspicion.
Zelyra, with her knowledge of healing and nature, tended to those who had been injured or had fallen ill during the raids and did not have access to proper medicine. She moved from house to house, offering soothing herbs and comforting words. Her gentle touch and calm demeanor brought peace to those she cared for.
Arlathan, still quietly grieving for Hayth, channeled her sorrow into the earth. She used her druidic magic to cleanse the town's food stores and purify any water sources that might have been tainted by the cult's dark rituals. The moon elf then went around to any remaining livestock and used the animal handling skills she typically reserved for the wolves of the Wood to check for illness and restore pecking order.
Krom, ever the warrior, took charge of the more physically demanding tasks. His immense strength was invaluable in clearing the rubble and fortifying the village's broken defenses. Despite his imposing size and fierce demeanor, his actions spoke of a deep compassion and a commitment to protecting those who could not defend themselves.
Erstod, too, sought to make amends for his part in the town's suffering. He used his magic to repair damaged buildings and to help clear the remaining traces of the Gol'Goroth's influence. The wizard's presence, once a source of fear, now brought hope as he worked tirelessly alongside the companions and the villagers.
Later in the afternoon, Erstod, Krom, and Varan led a group of townsfolk to the Gol'Goroth's former lair. They brought wheelbarrows and shovels with them and began the gruesome task of recovering the dead—both victim and cultist—and properly buried them. Hayth's body, however, was brought back into town, along with the contents of the vault. The villagers were relieved to have their valuables returned, but more importantly, they offered to bury Hayth with honor in the town cemetery.
The wolf's sacrifice would not be forgotten by the people of Goldleaf.
"I feel like we should do more," Arlathan said when she stood over the plain dirt mound. Only she and Zelyra remained after the local minister performed a quick service. The others left the druids to their own devices, sensing they needed a moment.
"But what more can we do?" Zelyra asked.
The other druid sighed. "I dunno, I suppose if I were more powerful, I would conjure a stone headstone and wreath it in ivy, forget-me-nots, gladioli…"
"And maybe some wildflowers," Zelyra finished. "They are pretty, are they not?"
"Yes, they are," Arlathan agreed. The druid's eyes then turned to the rest of the cemetery, which had seen better days. The elderly caretaker had, unfortunately, fallen victim to the cult. "The other stones could use some tending to. I think it's been a while since anyone has been out here," she commented.
Zelyra pushed up her sleeves. "Well, we're already here. Might as well do what we can while there is still light," she said.
Arlathan smiled, and the two set to work.
The companions did not reconvene until after well after night fell. A small fire was lit in the town square, and after their meal was taken, Krom pulled out his giant lute for the first time in days and began to play. Though thoroughly exhausted, the villagers and the companions came together around the warmth of the flames to listen to the half-giant's music, share stories, sing songs, and support one another. It was a poignant moment. Once fractured by fear and betrayal, the people's sense of community was beginning to mend.
Varan stood apart from the group for a time, his tired eyes reflecting the flickering firelight. The ranger felt Zelyra's presence before he saw her and turned to find her standing beside him, her expression soft and understanding.
"We've done some good here," the druid said quietly, her gaze sweeping over the gathered villagers. "They needed this."
Varan nodded. "We did what we could," he replied. "And we'll continue to do so."
As the night wore on, the companions found a few hours to finally rest. They took refuge in the home of one of the grateful villagers, who offered them more food and a place to crash for the evening. The five-day journey back to Taras Aldar awaited them in the morning, but for now, they had more than earned the right to sleep.
. . .
16 Elient (The Fading) 1484 DR / Day 8
Goldleaf village, northeastern Neverwinter Wood
Dawn broke over Goldleaf, and the companions rose early, ready to begin their journey home. They readied their packs, restocked their supplies, and accepted a warm breakfast from their gracious host. But before they could get much further than that, Varan spoke up, his voice quiet but firm. "There is a place I need to go first," he said, not looking any of them in the eye.
"Do you want us to come with you?" Zelyra asked gently.
The ranger shook his head. "I need to do this alone."
His companions exchanged knowing glances. Varan hadn't expressly shared his past with anyone besides Krom, but by now, Zelyra and Arlathan understood the weight of what he left unspoken. Goldleaf had once been his home. The villagers had confirmed it the day before.
"Okay, well, if you're sure…" Zelyra replied, worrying on her lip.
"I am," Varan insisted.
Krom offered the ranger a brief nod of encouragement, and then Varan set off alone, disappearing into the forest that fringed the village. Though overgrown and wild from years of neglect, the path through the woods was familiar. Each step brought back memories of his childhood—laughter, tears, moments shared with his mother… The underbrush rustled with the sounds of small animals, and the scent of pine filled the air, but Varan barely noticed. His mind was consumed by the past.
At last, the ranger found himself before the ruins of a small shack. The door creaked softly as he pushed it open. Varan took a deep breath and then stepped inside. Dust motes danced in the early morning light; the air was thick with must and forgotten memories. As he stood in the middle of the room, the ranger's gaze swept over the remnants of his youth. A tattered blanket was draped over a broken chair in the corner. Shelves lined the walls, but their contents were long since scattered and lost.
The place felt haunted, not by ghosts, but by the weight of what once was.
Varan's chest tightened as he looked around. This was where his mother had died… But it was also where he had spent his first years of life. It was where he took his first steps, learned to read by firelight in the evenings, where he had fletched an arrow for the first time…
The memories were both beautiful and painful, a testament to a life filled with love and loss. Varan then thought of Arlathan, or more specifically, Hayth. The brave wolf's memory would now forever be intertwined with—not necessarily this specific place—but Goldleaf as well.
He thought it funny how the threads of fate could so seamlessly connect.
Hayth had been there on that dark, dark day to spare a terrified young boy who had fled from an orc raid only to be cornered in the forest by a pack of wolves. And that terrified boy had been there in return to spare the young wolf from the strange elven warriors who had inexplicitly come to his rescue.
A decade later, the pair found themselves in forced company once more. They had fought and bled together, but only one of them had come through the battle unscathed. Varan reckoned Arlathan didn't know that part of Hayth's past—didn't really want her to know it. It was something that the ranger would very likely take to his grave.
Hayth had been a rare soul amongst wolves; that was all that Varan could say.
As he contemplated that thought, the ranger didn't hear soft footsteps approaching him from behind. So, naturally, he was startled when hands gently slid around his waist and a face pressed into his shoulder. For a moment, he stiffened, but then the herbal scent of lavender and rosemary reached him, and he relaxed.
Zelyra's presence was a comfort Varan hadn't known he might need. The druid herself said nothing, instead offering her silent support as she held him. Her embrace was warm and steady, grounding the ranger in the present even as his mind errantly drifted through the past. Varan closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. He wasn't angry that she had followed him, nor did he push her away. Instead, he did the opposite. He leaned into her, relishing the comfort and understanding she freely offered.
They stood there together in the dusty, forgotten shack, saying nothing. Words were unnecessary. Instead, the silence itself spoke volumes, for Zelyra, too, knew the pain of loss, the burden of memories that never faded.
After some time, Varan took another deep breath and turned to face her. He gave the druid a shy smile and reached out to grasp her hand. Zelyra returned the expression as their fingers intertwined, and another silent understanding passed between them. In this intimate moment, surrounded by the painful remnants of his past, Varan had finally found a sense of peace he'd never felt before. The memories were still there, the pain still present, but with Zelyra by his side, it somehow felt more bearable.
He was ready to finally put this chapter behind him.
"Zelyra—"
"You don't have to tell me," she whispered.
"I know. I will though," he promised. "Just not yet."
Hand in hand, the ranger and the druid stepped out of the past and back into the present. It was time to rejoin their companions and journey home.
When the pair met back up with Krom and Arlathan, they found that many of the villagers had risen early and were gathered in the town square to see them off. Their faces reflected a mixture of gratitude and sorrow at seeing their saviors leave so soon. Erstod was also among the crowd, and though the companions had not known him long, it was still an emotional parting. Krom and Varan took turns shaking the wizard's hand. Zelyra gave him a hug, but Arlathan went a step further and pressed a kiss on the old man's weathered cheek. Erstod blushed and stuttered at the unexpected attention.
"Thank you, all of you," the old man told them. "Your bravery and kindness have given us a chance to rebuild."
Varan nodded, his eyes meeting those of the villagers. "Take care of each other," he said. "If the Circle allows it, Krom and I will return in a few weeks to check on you."
Unbeknownst to him, the ranger's promise lightened the hearts of the townsfolk and eased the pain of the heroes' parting.
As the four companions made their way out of the town and found themselves walking through the golden apple orchards once more, Zelyra glanced back at the still waving crowd, a smile on her lips. "They're stronger than they know," she said softly.
Krom grunted in agreement. "We've given them a fighting chance and offered the chance to start over. That's all we can do," he said.
Arlathan nodded. "But we'll be ready to help again if they need us."
A few moments of pleasant silence passed before Zelyra found her smile faltering. A terrible thought had suddenly occurred to her. "You know, in all this mess, we never did find out exactly what the Gol'Goroth was nor how it got here…" she said.
"Some kind of demon," the other druid answered.
"But—"
"I think that is a question that we might never know the answer to, Z," Varan interrupted gently, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "All that matters is that it's over."
"I certainly hope so."
. . .
The companions set out from Goldleaf with a sense of accomplishment but also lingering unease. The return journey to Taras Aldar would take approximately five days, and they were still weary from their battles. As before, they skirted the Wood for a day and a half before finding themselves back in familiar territory. As they traveled through dense forest and rugged terrain, the memory of their confrontation with the Gol'Goroth and the betrayal of Hal Neelow remained fresh in their minds. The report they would deliver to the Masters of the Wood would be grim indeed.
Each day brought its own trials, but the four companions faced them together. Varan led the way, his keen eyes and instincts cautiously guiding them through the wilderness. Krom's strength and endurance ensured they were well-protected, while Zelyra and Arlathan's magic provided comfort and healing when needed. They took turns keeping watch at night, ever wary of the dangers that typically lurked within Neverwinter Wood—giant spiders, meenlocks, and other malevolent fey. Thanks to their ranger's constant vigilance and meager store of magic, they quietly slipped by any enemy they might have otherwise had to face.
But the fourth night of their return trek was marked by a stillness that seemed to swallow sound and magnify every creak and rustle in the dark. Since they had reentered the Neverwinter Wood, black, ancient trees loomed overhead, their branches interwoven like the fingers of some great, slumbering giant that blotted out nearly all the light of the sun. But on this night, the companions made camp in a small clearing, a patch of ground where the canopy parted just enough to reveal a slice of starry sky above. A faint breeze rustled the dead leaves, carrying with it the strong scent of earth and pine, but that was all. It felt as if the forest itself was holding its breath.
Zelyra agreed to take the first watch.
They risked a low fire that night as autumn reared its head and temperatures rapidly fell. The flames crackled softly, casting flickering shadows that danced among the trees. Zelyra sat near, her senses attuned to the sounds of the forest. The others had fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep, their breathing even and slow.
As the hours wore on, her gaze began to wander, her thoughts drifting like the smoke from the fire. But then, out of the corner of her eye, the druid thought she noticed something strange—a faint glow in the distance, just beyond the edge of the clearing. At first, Zelyra figured it might be a trick of the light, but as she focused on it, the glow became more defined, more real.
Curiosity tugged at her, and without waking her companions, the druid rose silently and slipped through the trees, following the strange glow. The light seemed to pulse rhythmically, like the slow, steady beat of a heart, and as she drew closer, she could see that it was emanating from a swirling, ethereal portal embedded within the sprawling roots of a large tree.
The tree itself was a gnarled, grotesque figure, its bark charred and cracked as though it had been struck by lightning and left to wither in its agony. The branches above were barren, reaching out like skeletal fingers toward the sky, devoid of any leaves or signs of life.
As Zelyra approached, she noticed a strange, viscous substance seeping from the tree's roots. It was unlike anything she had ever seen—inky and oily, with an almost unnatural sheen that reflected the faint moonlight filtering through the canopy above. And it emitted a faint, acrid odor that stung her nostrils, a smell that carried hints of decay and something far more sinister, like the scent of a long-forgotten grave. The substance clung to the roots and bark of the tree, giving it an even more ominous appearance, as though the tree itself was bleeding darkness.
"What is that," she whispered in disbelief.
Nothing like it had ever been reported in the Wood before.
The portal itself twisted and coiled like a living thing. Its edges crackled with arcs of bright, electric energy that sent out tiny sparks whenever they touched the surrounding foliage. The colors within were a chaotic blend of deep purples, blues, and pinks, shifting and swirling like a stormy sea. The center was darker, almost black, but it was shot through with streaks of glowing white light that flickered and danced like lightning trapped in a bottle.
The strange object hummed with a low, almost imperceptible vibration, a sound that resonated deep within her bones. It was as if the portal was alive, a sentient force aware of her presence. The glow intensified the longer she stared at it, the colors within it swirling faster, more chaotically. It almost seemed to call out to her, beckoning her closer with a whisper the druid couldn't quite hear but felt deep within her soul.
Her hand moved of its own accord, fingers inching toward the portal, but then she hesitated. She nervously glanced back toward the camp and saw that her companions were still soundly sleeping. Worry churned in her gut. She knew precisely what Varan would say—
Don't tamper with it.
But the pull of intrigue was too much for her to bear.
Zelyra reached out and brushed her fingers against the swirling surface.
The instant she made contact, the druid was violently thrust into a vision. The clearing, the portal, her companions—all of it fell away, only to be replaced by a searing flash of light. She was no longer in the forest but in a vast, empty expanse, a grey void that stretched out endlessly in all directions.
Before her stood two opposing figures, their forms starkly contrasted against the colorless void.
The first was tall and radiant, bathed in a blinding light that seemed to emanate from within. They wielded a sword of fire, its blade blazing with an intense, golden light that cut through the darkness. Their face was obscured, but there was an unmistakable aura of strength and righteousness about them.
" My champion," a maternal voice lamented into the void.
The second figure was dark and twisted, a shadowy silhouette that mourned something lost. Their form was hunched, weighed down by their unbearable burden, and thick, oppressive darkness swirled around it like a cloak… Grief, the likes unimaginable, emanated from them. It was a sadness that permeated the very air and threatened to consume every living thing it touched.
" No one must ever be allowed to steal his gift," the same voice uttered. " But her pain is misplaced."
"Who are they?" Zelyra called out into the void.
No answer came.
The vision lasted only a moment, but in that brief instant, Zelyra felt the weight of the two opposing forces, their conflict playing out on some plane of existence far beyond her understanding. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the vision ended in another searing flash of light, leaving the druid gasping for breath and her heart pounding in her chest. The portal then surged violently before her, its colors growing more intense, more chaotic. The pull she had felt before was now a force that threatened to drag her in, to tear her from the Wood and thrust her into the dark unknown—the nether, the void!
Panic surged through her.
"NO!" she cried out.
In that moment of desperation, Zelyra did the only thing she could think of—she summoned her magic and released it in a wild, uncontrolled blast toward the portal. The spell collided with the swirling energy, and the portal seemed to falter for a brief second. But then, with a deafening crack, the energy backfired, and the force of the explosion sent Zelyra flying backward. She hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from her lungs, and stars exploded behind her eyes.
Her consciousness flickered and then went dark.
[1] I first mentioned Spiderblood wine in chapter 23 of The Grey Warriors—a mushroom wine crafted by the drow that includes a substantial dose of venom from poisonous spiders. Its taste is remarkable and unlike anything encountered on the surface world. Anyone not used to drinking such a wine (usually a non-drow) must make a successful Constitution save (DC 11) or be poisoned, in addition to making the secondary Constitution save against intoxication (DC 11). Those wishing to overcome this poisonous effect must drink one glass over several hours every day for three months. Drow will typically consume small amounts as children over months or years to build up an immunity to the poisonous effects of the wine. (I think this comes from the 3rd edition.)
As the companions and Erstod did not consume a copious amount, I ignored the intoxication roll. But Arlathan rolled exceptionally low against the initial CON save due to lingering effects from the blue ooze she consumed the afternoon before.
And if you were wondering how a human on the surface might acquire a drow wine… Gauntlgrym was occupied by drow wishing to build a sister city to Menzoberranzan from 1463DR until just before the events of Out of the Abyss, when the city was reclaimed by King Bruenor Battlehammer, an army of shield dwarves, and the Companions of the Hall. My assumption is that the drow elves would have left food stores behind during their retreat, the dwarves looted them, and then Hal bought the wine off the dwarves when he visited the city to "plead for help" earlier in the year.
—
Since we started playing Out of the Abyss in 2018, I thought the campaign took place in the year 1485DR. And so, when I began writing The Grey Warriors and later Origins, I based everything on that assumption. But when doing research for the above paragraph regarding Gauntlgrym, I discovered that the dwarven city was not taken back until 1486DR! And (without giving away spoilers) *the* event that directly triggers content for my OOTA story did not occur until 15th Nightal (December) 1486DR! So, if I wanted to be true to canon, the timeline of The Grey Warriors would take place in early 1487DR and Origins in late 1486DR.
I love to stick to canon when possible. But in this instance, I will acknowledge my mistake and keep things as is. Not only would it be a lot of work to change dates in nearly 50 chapters, but it would also complicate some seasonal events in future chapters that I don't want to change.
Sorry, rant over.
Due to my decision to split this chapter, Origins will now have a total of 12 chapters. They are finished and by spacing out their postings biweekly, I plan to use that buffer to hopefully get a few chapters prewritten for The Grey Warriors. :D
