The journey begins - Into the Haunted Woods

The Travelers Stop Inn stands just off the main trade route on the fringe of the Arthfell Forest. While it does not lie within any particular community, it often becomes a small settlement in its own right when large caravans stop by and attract locals from the surrounding area to view the available wares. As such an important trade site, it falls within the jurisdiction of the nearby Shire of Elberwick and is policed by that district’s sheriff to ensure the peace is maintained and taxes are collected.

Despite the Travelers Stop Inn’s long tenure in the area, locals tell of an even older inn deeper in the Arthfell Forest that once served a now-abandoned trade route from the north. Nothing has been heard of that inn or its occupants for several years.

Najare the Huntress of Catapesh, Belton the Blessed Inquisitor of Desna and Sif Amarth, shieldmaiden of the Ironbound Archipelago ride forth from Olfden. The Arthfell Forest looms just to the north of the trade route, an ominous wall of unbroken green and shadow. 

Not far ahead is the famous Travelers Stop Inn, the only safe refuge in the area. Rounding a bend in the road, they encounter trio of mangy wolves playing a gruesome tug-of-war with some sort of humanoid corpse against a great and terrible Worg. Their snarls and barks break the silence of the otherwise calm afternoon. 

Wolves

The Great and Terrible Worg

Sif breaks from the treeline and approachs the Worg, applying the ancient wisdom of her Wild Empathy to calm the fearsome Worg. But the monster is no mere beast and cannot be cowed by her advances of comeraderie and friendship. With a voice, dark with threat and malice it venomously dismisses her entreaty and paces forward to tear out her throat. Like lighting the crossbow of Belton unleases a volley of bolts, biting deep into the chest of the fiendish wolf, followed in flight by the tomahawk of Najare. But the Worg is feral and wary after the deadly lesson of Beltons crossbow and it leaps aside from Najares flashing axe only the turn and face deadly execution at the hand of the mighty valkyrie of the north. Sif's well-hone battle axe crashes in the the Worg's skull dashing it's brains to bloody ruin and instantly ending it's foul life.

In the meantime the three hungry wolves have drug the HobGoblin's corpse almost into the wood. With deadeye aim, Sif lobs a Tanglefoot Bag at the trio and binds the lot of them to the trees and ground. Investigating the scene, Belton espies a shining blade embedded in a tree near where the entangled wolves struggle to free themselves from the Tanglefoot's ropy grip. Retrieving the dagger it si instantly clear that this is an item of eldritch power. The pommel and center of the blade appear to be made of liquid flame and yellow-orange light shines from  it, warning of its power. Belton, well versed in many tongues, translates the Draconic script etched into it's blade, "Brightflame". The blade is supernaturally sharp, it's edge keen and hungry. He tucks it away in his belt. An excellent trophy of their battle with the Worg and wolves. The companions drage the Hob's carcass into the clearing and begin an investigation of it's murder. while the body has allready been partially eaten by the wolves, it is plain to see that the goblinoid was truly killed by two sword slashes to the chest, which tore through it's crude, hide armor and laid open it's vitals. The body is still limber, a telltale sign that it's death was not too long ago, perhaps 7-8 hours by the condition of the blood. Sif, a wise survivalist, plys her Ranger's craft on the area, revealing the tracks of a human warrior, an Elven maiden, a heavy human with footwear unbecoming a warrior, perhaps a Wizard or Cleric, and not far off, the small, and poorly constructed boots of a Goblin. An unusual companion to such as the others of the party are clear to be. 

Now the party bears witness to the skill and power of Najare's feral senses. crouching over the dead Hobgoblin she waves in the scents of the scene to her keen snout, sussing-out the hidden among the clues apparent to the eye. The human warrior was wearing leather armor, he was of Taldan stock, and from the abundance of blade oil scent hanging in the air, he wielded not one, but two steel weapons. The Elven maiden has poison on her blades, the acrid stench of the deadly 'coward's advantage' dancing among scents where she had stood. Also the smell of incense, a Cleric by trade perhaps, or a Rogue. Worse yet, the possibility of a Cleric of a dark deity. Some god of evil that would allow it's worshiper to poison the foes of it's faith. In the footsteps of the fat man, crumbs are sniffed out, traveler's bread from common Olfden-market trail rations, by the scent. And something else...

Najare catches the scent of a new human. Not old like the lingering scent of this battlefield, but fresh on the wind. Someone is watching them. She warns the others.

Out of the brush, Sif's sometime friend Quick Jim Barleycorn, a knave of the alleys and local character of Olfden steps, into he clearing and bounces into a patois-laden dialog that wanders the gamut from business proposition to breathless excuse to random observation all in a single breath. Najare bristles at this intrusion at first but Sif allows that this is a friend. A familiar companion of the city. Belton greets the newcomer halo ablaze and celestial wings rustling, his blindingly handsome smile, perfect teeth, otherworldly golden eyes and perfect physical stature dazzling the glade. Jim Barleycorn dismisses the holy man with a friendly quip and sweeps over to glad-hand Sif and nod amicably to the wary catfolk huntress. An never-ending stream of winding patter pouring forth in an ofttimes bewildering sweep of disjointed observations, offers and declarations of good intent. 

Najare accepts Sif's vouchsafing the goodness of this smelly, seemingly transient man, and Belton coolly regards, but i the spirit of good, accepts this strange addition to their party. The four head back out onto the road and talk pleasantly on the walk through the woods to the Traveler's Stop Inn. 

A well-built inn painted in cheerful colors is tucked beneath the eaves of the forest. A stable stands nearby. A hitching post at the front of the inn has several mounts, and more than one farm wagon sits in the yard. A large red sign above the door proclaims in gilt letters, “Travelers Stop Inn.” Above this sign and stretching across the front of the building is a banner with artistic lettering stating “The Traveling Exhibition of Doctor Phineus Krane, Professor of Antiquities and Master of Shroud Artistry.” A number of colorful tents have been set up at the rear of the inn yard, apparently for this exhibition. Evening is drawing on as the party arrives, and several curators are securing the tents for the night and locking up their wares in large trunks. The patrons of the exhibit are either dispersing to their homes or heading to the taproom for dinner and drinks. Approaching the Inn the travelers meet a red-caped commoner girl carrying a heavy basket of gathered berries. Belton and Sif turn on the charm and dazzle the girl with their good looks and adventurous lifestyles, the girl is enthralled and willingly hands the basket over to Belton who offers to help her carry it in. 

Business is brisk as the long shadows of evening slant through the taproom’s open windows. A bald, red-faced man wearing an apron works behind the bar and several young girls carry platters of food and drinks to various tables. Most of the crowd seems to be local farmers and traveling merchants, although clustered around one table sits a rough-looking group of mercenaries, one of whom is a short, black-cloaked figure who might be a goblin. They huddle over their drinks in quiet conversation, occasionally raising a head to eye the crowd. At a table nearby, a bespectacled scholarly looking fellow discusses a piece of decorated linen spread across the tabletop with a small group of onlookers. In the taproom, the PCs find a modest crowd but can claim a table or two to pull together for a place to sit. Currently in the taproom are Ostler Merinwaite, three serving girls, the Company of the Black Banner, Sheriff Cage Blunnde, Doctor Phineus Krane and seven Merchant and Farmer customers.

Najare slips as quietly through the room as the regions only catfolk traveler for several hundred miles can. Eyed warily, curiously or cautiously by the patrons. Quick Jim Barleycorn cuts a beeline for the two pots of simmering stew over the great and expansive hearth where two large cauldrons of Travelers Strew and merchants Stew boil, giving off delicious, mouth-watering smells. He plunks his goblet right into the Merchant Stew and is caught red-handed making away with the un-paid-for victuals. The watchful Ostler accosts him from behind the bar and quick as a wink, Jim is weaving a tale of how he is a friend of Phineas and to put it on his tab. His reasoned and well presented claim suits the Ostler fine and he goes back to his work but Professor Crane hears this outlandish claim and counters Quick Jim's hobo-dodge with accusations of the truth. But Sif steps deftly in and explaines that Jim is 'Simple' and to pay his talk no mind and Jim immediately backs her play with some nonsense about a birthday cake and the worried Professor, placated for the moment, goes back to his pedantry about the burial shrouds with his curious onlookers. Jim angles for a Table nearby to the Company of the Black banner. Them fitting the description of those who were earlier at the scene of the Hobgoblin's death. Listening for anything he can glean of their goings-on. Najare takes a quiet spot in the corner, keeping an eye on the proceedings. Belton passes by the table of the mercenaries, observing them in person and confirming that it was they who slew the Hobgoblin ( not a crime in Andoran as a result of the Goblinblood Wars 11 years ago in 4697 ). Sif, tired of all this positioning and careful subterfuge pulls up an empty chair right to the table of the Company of the Black Banner and offers to sell them the Worg hide she stripped from their kill that day, as they look like folks with money and a possible interest in trade. This, they are not. And she is met coldly as they start to get a little ugly, clearly involved in conversations that they would like to remain among only themselves. Jim, coming to Sif's aid in response to her quick save of his gaff mere minutes before approaches the table loudly offering a shine-and-a-line about a card trick he hopes to perform for them for tips as he is a traveling prestidigitator or some such tomfoolery. He fakes a trip and sprays his Varisian Harrow Deck all over the assembly and their table colliding with Nirashi Sylvanmede, a thin and pale elven woman with nearly white hair worn long and loose, pickpocketing her vial of Unholy Water blessed by Urgathoa, the Pallid Princess, A dark and evil Goddess. The Elf unleashes a stream of vitriolic cursing as Jim untangles himself from her. 

Nirashi Sylvanmede

But Grelm Hammerlock, wearing all black, including his scale mail and cloak, has a volatile temper that compels him to come to his companions immediate aid with a flurry of haymaker punches, his face red with bulging veins, rage consuming him. Jim skips backward to avoid that savage beating as from the rafters a wicked blur and resounding, cracking thud heralds the sudden arrival of Najare's throwing axe. Missing Grelm by scant inched and embedding itself in the floor. 

Grelm Hammerlock

From the side, Sherrif Blundde steps forth, sweeping aside his worn travelling cloak and revealing his badge and announcing him as the Sheriff of the Shire of Elberwick. His voice booms out, powered by some sort of mystical energies to command the room the stop. All obey and the grim lawman strides into the middle of the suddenly still fray. Immediately Quick Jim regales him with accusations and explanations and supplications in a drawling low class banter, as Belton sidles up next to the Sheriff, relying on his Inquisitor profession to nudge him into the Sheriff's good graces.

Sheriff Blundde

Sheriff Blundde orders Najare down out of the rafters and listens to both party's claims. Grelm contests that the magic dagger, "Brightflame" was part of the gear of the HobGoblin that he killed in the forest on the road to the inn and that it is his to claim by right of victory and it being legitimate spoils of victory. Our heroes contest that possession is a recognized part of the law. Sheriff Blundde confiscates the dagger and after further accusations are thrown about by the two parties, advises the party that he is going to sleep on it and award the object , one way or another, in the morning. Quick Jim insist that he and Grelm shake on this and deftly plants the vial of Unholy Water, cursed by Urgathoa on his person even while under the watchful eye of the sheriff and the room. 

As the two aggrieved parties warily return to their tables Jim grabs a passing serving girl and pays her to slip a note to Nirashi Sylvanmede. He quickly pens a message warning her not to trust her allies on a scrap of paper, folds it and gives it to the woman who, in a somewhat impressive display of secret note-passing skill slips it to Nirashi who surreptitiously looks it over when her fellows are distracted. Jim's seeds of discontent are sown.

Belton approached the Sheriff after he sits down and the common room of the Inn goes back to its usual hubbub and they speak for some time about a number of things. The sheriff revealing himself to be a cautious individual who actively seeks the upholding of the law and the common good. He has a few more drinks and then turns in for the night.

Map Of Andoran

Click on the Map for a larger view

That night at the Inn...

Undeterred by the Order of the Black Banner's  seeming return to their own tight-lipped scheming, our heroes split into groups and continue to keep a sharp eye on the mercenaries from several vantage points in the Common Room. Knu the secretive Goblin cohort of the mercenary band keeps himself hooded, wrapped in his cloak and as innocuous as is possible. 

Knu

The fat wizard seems to be quiet and unobtrusive. Despite his outlandishly foreign and dangerously Chelaxian-styled clothing. It's like the eye just passes him over. Possibly the effect of a mis-directive spell active on his person. He remains through the night, just hard to pay attention to. 

"Pudge" Whartley

The Black Banner Mercenaries continue to keep to themselves and do nothing but talk quietly and drink modestly. None of them make any false moves or do anything more suspicious than obviously keep a sharp eye out for eavesdroppers as they plot together. Eventually they all rise and go off to their rooms. 

Quick Jim is already in action, creeping around outside and spying in windows on the Black Banners while Sif slips into the hall the mercenaries disappear down and listens in on their conversations at the door. Soon joined by Najare. Sif overhears conversation between Grelm and the hateful elven cleric where it becomes clear that though he is the leader of the mercenary band openly, they share a relationship in which she is truly the one in control in private.

Quick Jim slips around the backside of the Inn, searching for Sheriff Blundde's room, finding it on the second floor southeast corner of the building. He creeps up the walls and works to case the room and silently open the window, seeing the magical dagger Brightflame resting on the nightstand near the Sheriff's sleeping head. Jim eases open the window only to see a silently gliding Owl swoop in over his head and immediately creep up to the pillow and gently tug out the real Brightflame from beneath the pillow as the illusory duplicate vanishes in a cloud of arcane symbols and motes of eldritch energy.

Peeved by the pilfering perch-loafer, Jim smashes a window waking the sheriff as the Owl speeds out of the window. Jim drops to the ground and disappears into the shadows, watching the window for what will happen, the Sheriff, cursing the bird, wedges a shield into the sill of the window blocking the broken frame. Quick Jim makes his way back around to check on the inhabitants of the inns ground floor rooms through their windows again. This time espying the Gnomish merchant creeping out to the Barn near the Inn.

Meanwhile indoors, Belton, Sif and Najare have established a watch. Najare sees a tiny figure creep through the darkness to the front door of the Inn during the middle watch and rouses Belton. Sif goes up to the sheriff's room to wake him and the three heroes get ready to inform the Sheriff in the common room of the Inn. 

As this is happening, Quick Jim creeps in through the window of Knu and Pudge's room and is caught by Knu the crafty goblin. He grabs up the wily little knave and drags him out to the common room, loudly proclaiming how he just caught the little blighter creeping around outside as the Sheriff descends from his room. 

A bit of a whodunnit argument ensues as Jim tries to pin the theft of the dagger on the Goblin. The Gnome creeps back into his room through the window, and the Sheriff eventually releases the Goblin to his room. At which point Knu casts obscuring mist and steals away into the night with the rest of the Black Banner crew. 

Somehow during all this, Jim has stolen Brightflame for himself and hidden it in the woods ( I could use your help remembering how that happened, Jamison ) and as the Inn wakes at dawn he argues with Sheriff Blundde about his obvious distrust of them and his fair and equal treatment of the obviously nefarious Order of the Black Banner mercenaries. Who clearly are wicked rogues and villains ( in Jim's opinion ). Also at some point during all this, Jim offers to sell the Gnome merchant the stolen Brightflame dagger and a deal is struck for 250 gold. Najare catches wind of the surreptitious sale and follows the duo into the woods, witnessing the dark deal but saying nothing. 

Returning to the Inn, Sheriff Blundde introduces the party to Johann-Karl, a ranger native to these parts and as laconic a scout as ever tread the loneliest paths of the forest.

Johann-Karl takes them overland in to the deep recesses of the woods, passing into the eldest growth of the Arthfell Forest. 

They are led through the dark wood, redolent with amber and emerald light sifting down through the canopy, heads nearly swimming with the loamy scents and perfumes of forgotten pollen and ancient ferns among the centuried undergrowth. Finally a diminutive berm rises before them and an primeval elderwood tree rich with mystic holly, the holy plant of the Green Faith, looms superior into the farthest rises of the wood. It's mighty roots, entangled with woody vines the thickness of a man's arm conceal a cleverly crafted opening into the hillside. through which hobbles an ancient elf with the air of millenia about him, moving slowly with the aid of a shining staff bearing a blessed leaf, suspended in sylvan lambent energies. 

He greets the party in a deceptively youthful voice, smooth and rich with elven accents, and advises them of his need of their help. Stopping to casually prophecy their immediate fates and destinies, warning them of coming trials they must face. Then inviting them in to his simple home beneath the woods. To take rest amid the ancient roots and gain strength for the coming challenges. 

In Quest of the Panoply of Nárven the Druid King

Staying a while and listening to the wisdom of Barael the ancient druid, our heroes learn of his long lain-aside blade, from Barael's deep-memory dredged Elven song. The wild ranger Najáre triggers the ancient's memory, asking about what the Elder can tell them that would help them on their journey. Reaching through centuries of memory he sings an Elvish afterward to be translated by the Half-Elven warrior-maiden, Sif Amarth to the party as they trek through the woods: 

forged by the crow-mage from shards of darkness 

honed by the halfbreed to vorpal sharpness 

behold!the bastard's blade 

bane of the demon lord 

slayer of the spider-priests 

spiller of the silver blood 

fragments of bone bringer of woe and weal 

a warrior's hand and a Sage's mind to wield 

killer of Lor, avenging those accursed 

the Bastard's Blade, Hammer of The First 

(This sword is so cool it has it's own theme Heavy Metal theme song. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GjmljShU3JM&feature=kp. I did change the lyrics just a little for our game version ) 

 This Sylvan Scimitar, a legendary weapon of the Druids and ancient elves, should, if the song sings true, be crafted of the bone of a holy animal of the Green Faith from their remains. The blades are often constructed of bone or the horns of large elks. They can also be constructed of Wyroot, though in Andoran, some have been made of the indigenous Darkwood, which grows in the ancient forests of that nation. In any case the final shape of the weapon is enchanted with the Ironwood spell. It is also possible that with Barael's primordial Elven heritage though, that this artifact will contain storied and forgotten Tree Gold, called Cranor in the elven tongue. A material whose secrets have never been shared with non-elves in the history of Golarion. 

The passage in the song about 'shards of darkness' may refer to Obsidian, a rare weapon-material that Druids, the caretakers of ancient lithic traditions still know the secrets of. This would explain how the weapon could be honed to a near or vorpal sharpness. Though the 'Shards of Darkness' in its creation may possibly have been ancient Smoke-steel, called Láên in the language of the Elementals. If this were true this would be a rare and valuable weapon indeed, as Smokesteel has not been seen in Avistan since the days of the Thassilonian Empire. The druids are known to be friendly to the elemental forces and could bargain for such otherworldly material.

Putting aside the suspicions about Barael's ancient blade though, while in the ancient's house, Quick Jim Barleycorn tastes and critiques his woodland stew that is served along with his pagan cakes and ale. Jim, an aficionado of stews of many cultures, offers to create for the old elf, a truly superlative stew and with Barael's blessing, crafts an astoundingly fantastic stew which is of such grandeur and subtle richness that it imparts additional health and well-being to all the heroes who partake of it. Barael is so transported to ancient memory of excellent Elven food that he recalls an ancient memory of Newlife Soup, an eldritch meal traditional among his people. He must travel back though in his ancient vault of memories to recall the art and craft of its creation, however. He promises Quick Jim that if he should return, he will gift him with some and teach him the way of its creation, a secret usually only shared among his people.

With bellies full and the warmth of good blessings and cheer buoying their spirits, the party sets off in to the wild woods, Barael's birch-bark map guiding them. They approach the first sacred glen of the Green Faith cautiously. creeping through the trees and scouting the clearing first for dangers. And their care is rewarded, they witness the attack of the terrible Assassin Vine guardian of the glen, seeing it wring the life out of a full-grown wolf as it dares to approach the ancient dolmen. 

They form a plan, spotting a large overhanging branch that will allow then to creep through the forest canopy, over the vine-guarded altar of the Druids and retrieve the Breastplate of Sacred Fire, an artifact crafted of GreenWood, and fitted with straps and fasteners of Darkleaf Cloth, with a mystic fiery heart embedded in the center of the chest that glows and burns with a heat-less radiance, warming the heart and bolstering the morale of it's wearer and those who bask in its wearer's glow.

Belton flies low with his Angel's wings and witnesses the grasping hate of the guardian vine as it strives and curls into the air like a cobra, trying to grasp and crush him. He takes care to avoid its grasp and hovers near the sacrificial table, ready to assist his comrades. Najáre slips through the trees and races up the trunk of the elder oak who bough stretches over the altar, followed by Sif Amarth who, with the sure feet of a warrior bred to the mountain cliffs of the frozen lands of the Linnorm Kings, steps out onto the massive branch and readies ropes to help the She-cat dare the deadly table below. 

Ever the clever jack, Quick Jim dowses a hempen rope from the party's gear with lamp-oil and casts it out among the vines whipping it back and forth and distracting the murderous plant with motion and weight. When the sylvan menace grasps and holds fast to the rope, Jim sets it alight and the fire races down it's length, terrifying the simple creature into releasing the rope, allowing Jim to wave it back and forth, clearing a path through the vine-threatened glen to the altar. 

Najáre leaps like a panther down to the table-top and snatches up the mystic armor quick as a viper. Racing back up the rope assisted by Mighty Sif's hauling into the trees with speed. Thwarting the distracted guardian vine of the holy circle. The team reforms off in the woods away from the vines reach to view their reward, wondering at its strange and mystical materials and construction. Belton, a master of many languages, including Sylvan, the tongue of the natural wilds, soars back to the standing stones of the glen to read their inscriptions. He returns and reports the riddles contained thereon to his companions.

The inscriptions on the outside of the stones contain two riddles. The first riddle says, “Two miles toward the sun’s first fire, the earth’s embrace will still its ire.” This may refer to the Wand of Earth’s Ire. 

The second riddle states, “A league to the south in sacred mother’s home, the royal water is returned to its own.” Possibly, this clue might lead to the Vial of Pure Water. A strange object of the panoply.

The inner faces of the monoliths hold three rhyming hints. The first declares, “Southeast four miles the image flies, atop forest giant in azure skies.” it is hard to guess at its true meaning but this may lead to the storied Codex of the Firmament. 

The second says, “Lofty stone reaching higher, holds in its grasp the sacred fire.” This must be a reference to this very glen and the Breastplate of Sacred Fire which they have won. 

Finally, the third states, “Six miles and some at forest’s heart, where name and namesake no longer part.” This could refer to the Spirit-Staff of Nárven, namesake symbol of his majesty's power. The map shows  it at least  twelve miles to the north. 

After an appropriate rest and good meal. The brave band continues into the forest after the second piece of the Panoply, opting for the closest grove to the east as marked on Barael's Map. Where the Earth's embrace will still the things ire. Travelling through the forest they reach the region of the grove and carefully approach seeing a wholly different site centered around a sacred and time-haunted tree of prodigious size, ringed by stones raised in time-immemorial to the animistic and near-forgotten faiths of the first savage men who worshiped these places of natural beauty and power. Clearly, later Druids placed rough-hewn flagstones of the naturally-occurring shale of the Darkmoon Vale region where the great plateau splits the land not far to the south.  Here too, lies an ancient stone table, partially sunken into the earth with the passage of eons and neglect. Once an altar for ancient rites and rituals, this naturally circular stone has been carved by subsequent cultures with words in Druidic referring to it's holy connection to the earth. The entire grove is overseen by what must be more recent sentinels, strange woman-shaped trees grown up from under and partially rooted into the pre-historic standing stone monoliths in the great trees shade. They bear unmistakably, the beauteous shapes of maidens in their growth. 

A reconnoiter of the grove reveals that the backside of the tree has an opening down into the earth a large opening easily big enough for elves or men to enter with arm-room to spare. this bores between the massive roots of the sacred tree down into darkness and from the black embrace, a warning stench emits, that of deep earth and the rot of meat left dead.

Carefully the team approaches and the keen animal senses of Najáre the Huntress, discover the presence of bear-scent. This cave is the den of a bear, and a large and powerful one at that. The fearsome Grizzle Bear of the deep woods. A huge and deadly foe whose powerful claws can tear the limbs of warriors from their bodies, and whose powerful jaws can crush a skull right through a cured leather helmet as a man might crush a walnut. With wary trepidation the group descends into the deep. 

An ancient chamber lies below the elder tree, a natural cave unhewn by mortal hands but worn pay the passage of countless rains. Dagger-like Stalagmites rise from the uneven, carcass-strewn floor. Threatening Stalagtites droop from the earth and stony ceiling, dripping with niterous waters and calcium dust. The sickly odor of mouldering, half-eaten creatures befouls the air, feeding the fertile downwash of the rains and giving rise to an unwholesome luminous lichen and mould that glows blue-green in the pale twilight of the forest gloom that filters down through the single opening in to this chamber. 

At the farthest back-reaches of the chamber, a hand-dug alcove in the wall reveals an ornate wooden box in which a moldering pillow beard the indention of what was once a wand but now is empty air. The artifact is gone. 

A shadow deepens the gloom as the group search the Den. The terrible Grizzly Bear has returned from foraging only to find a meal has come to him. Trespassing in his marked territory. The bear will not stand for this invasion. He will kill these interlopers and feed on their flesh as it cools for days to come. 

Sif  Amarth, a warrior bred to a land rife with dangerous bears and men who dare their claws and jaws often, races forward to do battle. On her heels, Najáre sprints into action her Tomahawk and saber seemingly leaping to her hands. Belton draws and fires his repeating crossbow in a flash and scores a hit, enraging the beast. Sif strikes true with her axe and brings round her Nordic shield to counter the monster's claws as the Huntress Najáre sweeps in around her and darts past the beasts' gard to employ her saber and axe with terrible, deadly efficiency, carving great gashes in the shoulders and neck of the bear. 

Roaring in rage and pain the Grizzly lashes out in blind fury at Najáre and in a trice, bears her to the ground with deadly swipes from both of it's deadly, razor sharp claws and a crushing bite from its massive jaws that opens up the throat of the Huntress, splintering her clavicle and sending a stream of blood down her chest. She is born down to the rocky floor amid the debris and her consciousness is crushed out of her by the grabbing claws of the Bear. She swoons and gives up the fight, passing into coma and blessed, painless oblivion. Her breath raggedly growing fainter as moment pass.

The holy inquisitor, seeing he companion's distress, reaches forth with the power of his celestial heritage and stays her wounds. Stopping the flowing tide of her blood and perhaps, saving her very life with a bust of holy positive energy that weaves her flesh closed. 

Quick Jim, creeping like a shadow through the darkness of the cave, readies himself to ambush the hulking monster and deal deadly blows with his steely knives to it's vital organs. Taking a moment to lure it forward into the darkness with a Shuriken cast into its thin-skinned face near it's eye. 

Sif, undaunted and resilient in the face of the deadly predator, redoubles her efforts and swings with all of her might crashing her heavy, north-forged steel axe into the bears skull and neck, driving it down to the cave floor, dropping its dead and lifeless weight onto Najáre, bereft of the ability to fight on. She finishes the unconscious beast off with a few more quick blows of her axe and rolls the filthy bloodied corpse off of her friend.

Everyone gathers around fallen Najáre, anxious for her health. Her wonds are grim indeed and given by filthy, possible diseased claws. Belton summons up with faith and prays to blessed and gentle Desna, the holy maiden of starlight and waves of golden prannic light course from his hands, sealing the parted flesh and returning the flow of blood ot its rightful channels. Though even his blessings cannot return her ot full health. She needs safety and rest. plenty of good rest with hearty food to replenish her lost blood. They heroes carry their fallen comrade to the camp in the forest and lay her down to recover offering the meager succor that this wilderness can provide and standing sentinel over the camp ensuring her unmolested safety. The scent of blood travels far in the woods and many things seek it. Their vigilance is necessary.

Confronting the Order of the Black Banner

Laying Najáre upon a bower of leaves and bedrolls to recover back at camp. Our heroes consider their next move. Quick Jim is fascinated by the strangely but obviously female shaped trees in the Grove. His thoughts keep going back to the trees there. When Sif announces she’s going out to hunt for some fresh provisions for the party, Quick Jim advises Belton that he’s going to go back to the grove to give those trees another look-over. Belton at first considers accompanying him but then recognizes that his duty is to his wounded charge, Najáre and opts ot stay and guard her against wandering monsters in her weakened state. While Sif combs the wilderness for big game, putting her survival skills to the test in the deep woods, Quick Jim makes his way back to the Grove. He speaks respectufully of his service to Barael and the cause of protecting the woods to the open air of the clearing, directing his entreaty to the guardian trees. Saying his peace, he feels a surge of magical powers wash over him. He chooses a tree-maiden and wrapping his cloak about him and pulling his false beard up over his eyes for shade, he sit among the toadstools with his back agains the trunk and begins to doze off.

Alone.

In the wild woods of the Arthfell Forest.

In the middle of the day when predators skulk about seeking flesh.

As he begins to settle in and doze, he feels a strange compelling attraction to the other tree he passed by. It’s maidenly form returning to mind again and it’s natural beauty filling his attention. Before he even know it, he finds himself on his feet and shuffling over to the enticing tree. Settling down to rest at its roots. He falls immediately into a black and dreamless slumber as his conscious mind just catches the voices of women affirming that they intend to keep this one and another voice of admonishment gently asserting that it is not to be.

Meanwhile, back at camp, Najáre has laid down to recover from her grievous, deadly wounds. Belton summons forth holy healing energies through supplication and prayer to Desna and helps her torn and ragged flesh to knit back together and her splintered clavical bone to bind and heal. She creeps toward wellness slowly but the throbbing pain of the bear’s ripping and tearing claws is still with her and she is still a long way off from being fully combat-ready again. While Belton scans the forest with his keen eyes, seeking threats and danger to head off before it can menace hos weakened companion, Najáre spots a vague and vaporous figure slipping through the trees nearby, low and shadowy in the forest gloom. This figure approaches and partially materializes in the form a strange and other-worldy cat. 

Belton, wise in the knowledge of the Planes and the treatises of his religion, recognizes this being as an ascended soul, risen to the Nirvana of neutral-good celestial heavens, a place bewildering to Belton for its seeming boringness and pointless lack of direction, He being firmly in support of freedom and the chaos of free will in the realm of goodness. Recognizing it as a Silvanshee Agathion, He watches along with Najáre as the thing approaches her and sits in the bright sunlight of the camp’s clearing, staring with luminous intensity. The Cait-Sìth (sometimes called a Cath Sidhe) speaks to Najare in Truespeech, perfectly accented Katapeshi flowing like honey from it’s tongue. It greets Najáre and speaks to her of a destiny soon to unfold for her in vague hints and subtle mysterious clues, its oblique speech frustrating the forthright rectitude to which she is accustomed. She tolerates the Celestial’s purring dialog in laconic silence for the most part, stoically listening for useful clues among the ephemera. 

It becomes apparent that some momentous event impacting her fate will occur soon in a blighted and dire place. The rumored Giant of the Forest will loom in the presence of this turning point. The Cath Sidhe turns Najáre’s attention to the strange scent on the wind. A singular smell, easy to track and find for it is unlike any other odor in the forest. This scent-trail marks the path to this place. Najáre locks the memory of the scent I her mind. Then the creature pads forward on its partially ethereal feet and begins to knead Najáres chakra point in her stomach, healing positive energies flowing inter her ans further closing her sore and tender wounds. With a start the Agathion turns and peers into the forest, warns Belton that something is coming and then summons a tiny dimension door and leaps into nothingness, disappearing from the camp.

Belton, mindful of the advantage of surprise and higher ground flies quickly into the trees and prepares his heavy crossbow for battle. From the dark of the deep woods emerges Sif Amarth hefting a weighty wild boarling on her brawny shoulders, slain by her axe. She begins to butcher and dress the pig, preparing a good and hearty meal for her wounded fellow-ranger. As they set the meat to spit over a clean fire of dry wood and leaves, they note that even after more than an hour, Quick Jim Barleycorn is gone in the woods. Belton advises that Quick Jim said that he meant to return to the sacred grove and the three rise and make way to the Druid’s Circle.

Finding Quick Jim asleep at the base of a Tree-Maiden and partially overgrown with root tendrils and flowering vines and half sunk into the trunk of the tree as though he had been in place there for days or months, Sif quickly pulls him free of the loose foliage and dusts away the natural debris. Shaking and slapping him awake with a start. Jim roars into consciousness quickly spewing excuses and noise before collecting his wits and thanking his comrades. They tell him of the good provender that Sif has cooking back at camp and the band starts to make it’s way to the camp when a creak snap groan and crack sound behind them from the Tree-Maiden. Spinning and freeing her battleaxe, Sif crouches into a ready position to do battle with some new threat from the forest, Najáre too drawing saber and tomahawk to stand and deliver. The heroes see a beautiful and shapely figure of wood and leaves pull itself forth from the Tree-Maiden, full and supple of figure with sultry grace and an otherworldly allure. 

“Return to me, Mortal” it supplicates, it’s smooth and comely arms raised toward Quick Jim in a come-hither beckon that tears at his heart, filling him with a longing for her leafy embrace. With a surge and effort of will he resists her charm and bids her a gentlemanly and gracious farewell. As they part she speaks and with a voice redolent with eldritch power she commands, “Come back to me sometime, Mortal” her powerful Fey suggestion working into his mind and bending his will. He knows that he will return to this Tree-Wife and be her beloved and he yearns to do so soon. Reluctantly the four leave the grove as the Dryad passes back in to the Tree and disappears.

After a full and delicious meal the team rests slightly longer and gains strength for a push through the forest into the evening. Returning the bear den cave entrance they pick up the trail of the Order of the Black Banner, obviously the thieves who stole the Wand of the Earth’s Ire and they head off into the woods in pursuit. Tracking for 8 hours they finally reach nightfall and Belton flies into the night sky under the cover of darkness to see if he can espy the enemy’s camp. It turns out to be child’s play. The camp is illuminated with magical light and visible from a mile and a half away through the tree canopy.

Creeping through the benighted woods through the shadowy leaves, the group surronds the Black Banner’s encampment, seeing that the Wizard Whartley is already asleep and Knu the wicked goblin is set to sentry duty. Grelm, a former soldier is seeing to the care and maintenance of his equipment and is unarmored as he works oils into his black leather armor, his sword set aside near a whetstone. Nirashi the heretical cleric of Urgathoa the Pallid Princess, a goddess of murder and evil, sits in dark and blasphemous prayer, her black and keenly honed scythe close at hand and ready to slice and maim.

Signaling across the camp with silent gestures, Quick Jim motions that he will creep up behind Grelm Hammerlocke and slit his throat in silence. And that Sif should cast one of her powerful Thunderstones into the camp when he has to deafen the spellcasters and hamper their casting ability. Belton slip in quietly and readies himself to pounce on Knu and capture the small creatue. Meanwhile Sif creeps through the underbrush to a tree overhanging the camp and climbs deftly up its trunk, her mountain upbringing and sure feet serving her well as she scales the tree with ease. Taking care to move as silently as possible to as not to alert the Camp to the ambush. But luck is fickle and faithless. A limb supporting Sif’s foot snaps suddenly and her stealthy approach is ruined as the branch heavily crashes to the forrest floor smashing into several other branches loudly on the way down.

Quick Jim flies into action materializing out of the shadows behind Grelm and driving gis quarterstaff ito the base of his skull, knocking him senseless, shattering his vertebrae and breaking his neck. Grelm slumps to the forest floor, dead to the world, eyes rolling in his head as he expires silently. Knu, cursing his ill luck, see the way that the tide is turning as Sif’s deftly thrown thunderstone hurtles to the ground at the center of the camp and deafens the Wizard and the Cleric instantly. He slips off into the forest using his rogue skills of Stealth and nearly escaping Belton. Najáre, courses like a lioness through the forest toward the evil Cleric drawing saber and hatchet picking up murderous speed as Sif drops from the trees and narrowly misses the deftly dodging priestess of Urgathoa. Quick Jim acts fast as Nirashi begins casting Magic Weapon on her scythe and hurls a fist-sized stone from the edge of the clearing sending it crashing into the face of the beautiful elf, disrupting her casting and sending her eldritch energies dissipating impotently into the night. Belton pounds away into the trees after the quickly receding Goblin and is infuriated to see the little blighter cast Obscuring Mist and disappear into the billowing cloud. Undaunted, the Angel-born Inquisitor speeds into the fogbank in pursuit muttering the arcane syllables that evoke his TrueStrike spell, which will ensure he can cut down the nasty little imp even despite his total concealment. From out of the mist a vast wave of fire roars, narrowly missing Belton as he dodges to the side, homing in on the lowly-creeping Goblin and raising his heavy crossbow to impale the sneak on a heavy iron bolt.

Meanwhile Najáre leaps like a jungle cat from the trees and sends her Saber and axe crashing down into Pudge the Wizard’s unarmored head and chest nearly killing him on the spot and driving him to the ground unconscious. Sif takes please in finishing off the half-breed hating elf, sweeping her head clear from her graceful shoulders, sending it rolling through the dirty leaves. In triumph, she hacks off a straight branch from a nearby tree and in the way of her harsh northern people sharpens one end like a pungi-stick and mounts the bloody head of the Elven priestess upon it as a warning to her enemies. Stripping the body of it's clothes so that Valhalla will know that her spirit died in shame and defeat and deny her succor in it's hero's mead-halls. 

Jim loots the corpse of the Captain of the Black Banners and calls into the night for the foolish Goblin to surrender, the rest of his evil gang having been already dispatched to hell’s dark embrace. The trifling fiend is no fool and recognizing a lost battle yields and begs for quarter and mercy. Belton, a champion of justice, takes him prisoner on the spot and marches him roughly back to camp.

The rest of our heroes strip the dead of their gear and Jim and Belton interrogate Knu. Demanding first the location of the Wand of the Earth’s Ire, which the Goblin produces immediately, having had it all along and having used it to blast flame at Belton moments earlier. Then they question him cruelly about how they knew of the artifact’s whereabouts and Knu reveals that an ancient treasure map had been bought from the Olfden Thieves Guild “The Whispering Death”. Quick Jim, moving the dead, corpse-head's mouth of Nirashi like a horrifying ventriloquist's dummy along with the questions asked, further interrogates the Goblin sorcerer. With terrible finality, Quick Jim Barleycorn asks the nasty imp why they should leave him alive and find his answer wanting. The creature claims that he know the location of the staff, his entreaty pregnant with hidden revelations, Jim, unmoved by his plea as he is in possession of the Birch-bark map of Barael, judges Knu unworthy and orders his execution which Belton delivers in a trice, skewering the knave on his masterwork swordbreaker dagger. Killing him instantly. A shiver runs through Belton at this borderline act of cruelty that dances on the edge of evil but his deep convictions of personal free will shake off his trepidation at his guilt I this act and he clears his head of doubt, trusting in the surety of his souls dedication to the greater good. A niggling doubt moves back into the shadows of his mind to sulk amid the forgotten.

Belton relieves Knu of his silver and a magical ring of protection. Then the party makes camp as Sif builds a Nordic bonfire and consigns the dead villains to Pharasma’s judgement.

The Evil Adversaries show their hand

Having dealt handily with the Order of the Black Banner, Quick Jim stops Sif in the middle of her tossing of the villain's bodies on the Nordic bonfire she has erected to send their souls off to their damnation. With the gleam of a scheme in his eye he argues, persuades and cajoles Belton into bringing back the hapless Wizard, Pudge Whartley, back from his coma with his divine power. Restored to consciousness from the very edge of Pharasma's Boneyard, the wizard, barely alive is promptly force-marched on a trail of tears back to the Traveler's Rest Inn and handed over into the custody of Sheriff Blundde. The groups sleeps a night in the comfort of the in, regaining strength and healing up for the next of the Arthfell Forest's Druidic challenges.

Rising and setting off into the forest with the morning's light, our heroes make their way back quickly and without incident to the former camp of the Black Banners, a mere half a mile through the treacherous woods from the Grove of the forest giant, hinted at on the standing stone of the first Druidic holy-site. Sif and Najáre discover hoofed tracks in the pathway leading into the grove. Sif notes their depth. and that they separate from each other. This is no Elk or Stag picking it's way through the forest. These are the footprints of two bipedal yet hoofed creatures. This wood being storied for its Fairy folk, the sturdy Satyr or slender and mischievous Faun might be near. They are Fey of the old world and should be approached with caution. Looking more closely, Najáre picks up the scent of sulfur, the word in the Common tongue that she uses to describe the strange odor of burning rock. Sif suspects that it might actually be the trace of Brimstone, the telltale sign of Abyssal or Infernal outsiders. Demons or Devils. But here? In a Holy place?

They move cautiously from here to the edge of the next grove. searching for its threats and constantly on their guard for perils. In short order they espy the heavily manacled and chained form of an Elven Aasimar bound cruelly to an ancient sacrificial disc-stone near submerged in the brackish, murky swamp marsh at the base of the dead, colossal tree that dominates this ancient place of fear and bloodshed. As Belton and Sif break left and right through the trees and creep into the clearing, Sif slips down to the water's edge creeping like a serpent through the tall reeds, unseen by all. She starts as she find the dark water of the mire to be full of soft and bloated corpses, some humanoid. She nearly treads on the gray, dead hand of a human girl, lifeless beneath the algae and scum, staring endless skyward but never to rise above the black pool that claimed her life. Sif thinks better of a waterborne approach and slips back through the reeds to the treeline to intercept her cohorts. Najáre and Quick Jim are gone.

Belton, tracking left blunders along the periphery of the clearing, unused to such dismal terrain and unable to hide his passing with the same easy skill as the Nordic ranger. Creeping to the leeward side of the tree he passes through a boneyard of fallen adventurers. Orcs, Humans, Goblins, worse, some days, some weeks and some clearly years long dead. Their arms and armor fallen into the entropy and decays that this place wallows in. His eyes settle on an overgrown corpse of a dwarven Cleric. all entangled with something like a moss or a mold. in it's jumble of leftover finger bones rests a fine and heavy Warhammer crafted in the way of his people. But as Belton pries it from the mud and leaves it's true worth is revealed! The hammer's head is of pure, otherworldly Adamantium. The Warhammer is crafted by a true Dwarven master, it's cunning workmanship inviolable to times terrible march. Brushed free of its coating of detritus, it is as ready for battle as ever. He hefts it in his hands, testing its swing and glad to have lucked-into such a magnificent find at so little cost. He casts about carefully now, searching again for the two hoofed beings that carried something into the grove. His vigilance is rewarded. A hulking shape moves about next to the roots of the great tree. A shape that defines itself into the form of a leathery, bat-winged succubus of unsettling comeliness and allure. Her dark charms tugging at his desires even as her abyssal nature is clear to see. small but sharp horns rise above her luxurious hair, black as the void and framing a flawless face which men look upon and despair. Ever to be the thralls of her impossible beauty, ever to see mortal women as pale shadows of true beauty incapable of inciting lust or desire having been so overshadowed.

Meanwhile Sif, finding no sign of Najáre or Jim Barleycorn, has moved to flank around the opposite shore from Belton. In so doing she catches sight of Jim, covered in mud and swamp vegetation, slipping up to the sunken altar-stone and working quickly and silently on the locks binding the Aasimar woman. Sif, with the sure feet of a warrior born to the wilderness, moves like a fox through the undergrowth only to nearly fall prey to a horrific trap from the black battlefields of the outer realms when Devils and Demons war endlessly with angels in a conflict that spans back impossibly through all time. A landmine forged in the black smithies of The Pit and designed with Fiendish cunning, it explodes outward with a tangle of hooked, spiked chains for yards in every direction, snaring and catching on nearly everything in it's path. Save for the viper-fast Sif, who has leaped to the forest floor, under the flashing iron chains and remained untouched. She witnesses in horror as the Pit-born chains snap taut after catching on various trees and rocks, then inexorably drag everything so struck back to the small portal to the Abyss that they sprang from puling the object down into the darkness and madness of the Outside Realms before snapping out of existence with a crack of foul black vapor that instantly rots the vegetation around it with it's vile poison.

Picking herself up, Sif has been spotted by the terrible Succubus. Events begin to unfold like an avalanche now as everyone springs into action. Quick Jim frees the beautiful Aasimar from her bonds and she springs into a crouch, working her wrists and limbering her fingers for casting. Jim slips through the reeds like a shadow staying below the rise of the tree-roots and out of site of the demon, creeping toward the other side to flank. Sif, never one to shy from battle but separated from her foe by a steep muddy bank, black waters of unknown depth and a tangled rise nearly 10 feet high of moss-covered slimy roots, taker her battleaxe in hand and like mighty Thor, hurls it across the intervening space with the accuracy of divine providence. It crashes into the Succubus' chest passing through her leather cuirass, cutting deep into her tough abyssal hide and splitting ribs as it sinks into her chest. 

Seeing the manxome foe so vigorously assaulted, the celestial inquisitor leaps from the far bank of the fen, his wings beating in powerful stokes as he hurtles toward the Demon, swinging back his hammer to bring it crashing into her while her attention is trained on the Viking Raideress. But this is a dire trick on the part of these hellish forces. As he reaches the middle point above the deepest waters, fiery iron chains slick with unnatural venom bust from the water's surface lashing with clear animated articulation and driven at hellish speeds, their barbed hooks pierce through the delicate skin of the half-angel's wings and bind fast, bearing him crashing to the ground as he struggles against the waves of nausea with each pulse of his heart, the black venom of the hooks spreading through his system. He pushes through the sickening effects of the deadly ichor and climbs to his feet, rising to face the demon as she turns. The exalting cry of another terrible foes sounds out through the marshlands from on high. High atop the Giant of the Forest, over 60 feet above the fray, the dark and malevolent form of an Erinyes she-devil passes from it's invisible state into vision, her astounding, otherworldly beauty also crushing to behold. Her eyes dance with infernal pleasure at the suffering of the half-angle below as she raises a crackling headsman's sword formed of the starry void over her head, a blaze of unholy fire roaring along its length and pluming into the iron-grey skies above her. Then she seems to tumble forward. With great sweeps of her black feathered wings she plummets like a meteor to the ground, a trail of vile, blasphemous fire streaming in her wake like a comet. 

Losing not a moment, the Aasimar maiden sprints to the angle to push him from the path of this terror but no mortal could cover the paces in time to halt the inevitable. as her graceful fingertips brush his broad shoulders the Erinyes crashes to the forest floor behind him. her sword having missed the awestruck soldier of faith. Or so it seems for a moment. After single heartbeat, the mighty Infernal chains of the water-trap snap taught and his beloved wings that set him free and separate him from the earthbound mortals, fly back in a spray of silver and crimson blood, so cleanly severed in such an instant that the cut didn't even upset his balance. Unable to comprehend what has happened in his pain, Belton goes into a kind of shock, thinking only to get out from in between this wicked Succubus and her diabolical Erinyes partner he totters , all out of balance after a lifetime of the weight of wings on his back, down the drop of the rise toward the water's edge, turning to face the accursed pair as his wings disappear below the black surface of the waters.

In horror at the blasphemy she has witnessed, the Aasimar maiden reaches out with her hand and Sif's sharp axe tears free of the Demon's shoulder and arcs lazily over to the charging Huntress and she scrambles up the incline clambering over the enormous roots of the Giant. Her hand flashes upward and snatches the axe from the air and without breaking the motion, she brings it swinging around again to bite into the Succubus' tough demonic flesh. Still the Beast stands. And her face twists in terrifying rage as she raises her hand to evoke some thaumaturgical torture from the lore of The Pit only to have her vengeance plucked from her fingertips as a blur of sleek, shining fur and razor-like ivory claws flashes between her and the Warrior Maiden, tearing four deep, ragged gouges out of her throat. Her vile curse dies in a gurgle of unintelligible choking as the power of her spell fades back in to the background of the universe from whence it came. The Demon collapses to her knees as a gout of black, dead, acidic, ichorous blood pours from her neck onto her chest and splatters to the ground.

Then the depth of what is truly wrong here is ultimately revealed, instead of gleeful cackling at the demise of an Abyssal foe, as Cosmic Law dictates should noe be coming from the Erinyes mouth, their arises a terrible, piteous, wailing shriek of love and loss and disbelief and rage and passion as the Fair Knight of Hell reveals her true love for her race's sworn enemy. These two were working together. These two shared an unholy, impossible bond of true love. It is the sound of Ultimate Suffering from a being who knows what it is to suffer eternally. So powerful is her despair that the very air of the Prime Material Plane around her begins to catch fire, burning with her poisonous rage and sorrow and dismay and destroying everything that it touches, instantly consuming all in it's absolute embrace. The heroes watch transfixed in horror and disbelief at this ever growing wave of mutilation that spreads from the Devils tortured form. 

Then comes a crack of thunder like firmament splitting asunder. a bolt of pure golden light smashes down from the sky, driving the fire of the Erinyes wrath into the sodden debris of the grotto's floor and crushing down the Demon and Devil alike slowly until their very faces are driven, worm-like into the dirt. On the beams of expanding, pure sunlight from the heights of the Seven Ascending heavens, descends a blinding, golden haloed, fiery form with wings like the sky itself. A being of pure light and love and limitless energy and power passes down from the clouds as they part far, affording a generous glimpse at the pure blue skies beyond. Then a voice like the origin of time falls down upon them. The tones of this Celestial, a Solar from the Celestial Choirs, the greatest of all Angels, pacify all in this spreading light. 

Belton's Father in his Terrestrial Manifestation

It speaks in the Celestial tongue owning the fact that because of their true love, he cannot destroy the evil outsiders where they stand. And that because of the balance of the cosmic truce on the Prime Material plane he may not deny them their fair-won prize of Belton's angelic wings. He bids them begone and they creep away to nurse the Succubus' wounds and they disappear in to the dark woods beyond the light with their bloody trophies in tow.

Turning it's attention to it's wayward son the Solar then speaks further in the TrueSpeech. Belton is admonished for his turning from his ancestral path of law and his courting of mad chaos in his heart. His father gently chides him to return to the one true path. The Inquisitor dares not speak against him. With his peace having been said and a warning that he may only intervene three times in Belton's lifetime, the Angel then turns a gentle and sorrowful hand toward the awful mutilation that has been done to his true-born son. rising to his full height and stature he unleashes a stream of the language of creation instantly deafening every mortal in earshot, for no mortal mind can withstand the power of such words. Then, coalescing into being above his kneeling son's back, there appears first one and then many swords. Sabers, scimitars, falchions dance into being, each made of the purest, skyforges steel of the Outer Celestial realms. Then kris-knives, Kukri and the curved blades of the holy knives of the clerics of ancient Garund form in place as well, the whole of them taking place in the form of flashing, ever-moving wings, constantly passing before and behind each other but always maintaining a winged silhouette outline. with a final phrase the Creation is done and the new wings dance on Belton's back. The Solar begins to ascend into the sky again. he raises aloft his radiant hands and beams of positive energy, the wellspring of life and creations flash down amidst the golden sunlight, healing all wounds among the party of heroes. Restoring their lost hearing. He is seen one final time, eclipsing the slowly closing portal into the Heavens as he takes a final look at his son. and the he is gone and the world is right once again, the clouds slowly reform into the gap created by this otherworldly intrusion. And the group stand in awed disbelief.

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