Session 31 – Out of the Woods

The sun filtered weakly through the tangled forest canopy as the party made preparations to head southeast, away from the Drow capital, taking a longer route toward the mysterious Shrine of the Woods. They moved cautiously, guiding the rescued children along the narrow, root-choked paths. Jack, running dangerously low on ammunition, salvaged a light crossbow from one of the slain Drow. It wasn’t magical, but it would serve.

Not long after they departed the ruined outpost, the forest grew quieter, unnaturally so. As they picked their way through a dense patch of ferns, Tiv’s eyes caught something: eight glistening legs moving in the brush. Spiders—giant ones—descended from the trees around them, followed closely by dark figures slipping between the trunks. Drow warriors had set an ambush.

Tiv reacted first, striking one of the spiders while Ceangal loosed arrows from his shortbow, finding their mark. A spider lunged from the underbrush and sank its fangs deep into Jack. Poison surged through his veins, but he stayed standing, bloodied but not broken. Murchad fired a poisoned bolt into one of the spiders, paralyzing it.

The battle quickly grew chaotic. Dwårfy swung a hammer and charged one of the beasts, while Vedica fired arrows with deadly precision. Vegvisir, ever the unpredictable mage, fumbled with his sling before finally dashing forward and burying a dagger into one of the spiders, killing it. Magic crackled through the air as Ceangal called forth a barrage of glowing missiles, striking a Drow and nearly felling him.

Then came fire.

A Drow mage stepped forward and cast a spell. Flame exploded among the party. Several were scorched and sent reeling. Ceangal collapsed, unconscious and smoldering. The children screamed and scattered, hiding behind roots and trees.

But the tide turned.

Tiv reached for a shimmering vial—the potion Lily’s had given her in the Swamp of Ineffable Gloom—and drank. Light washed over her, restoring not only her strength but the divine power she had spent in the battle.  While the party had used some of Lily’s potions before, none of the casters had, so no one knew until this moment that it provided a full restoration of not only hit points but spells as well! Moments later, Vegvisir poured another of the same elixirs down Ceangal’s throat. The elf’s eyes snapped open. He rose, renewed, his magic at full strength.

The party surged forward.

Vedica drove an arrow deep into a spider’s abdomen, felling it. Jack charged and cleaved through another with his sword. Dwårfy, battered and grumbling, finally brought down the spider he’d been fighting. Ceangal, glowing with arcane fury, raised a hand and fired magic missiles at the Drow captain just as the figure took to the air to escape.

As the Drow rose, Vedica fired a flaming arrow that sizzled past his head. Jack and Dwårfy followed with crossbow bolts, but it was Ceangal’s second barrage of magic missiles that struck true. The captain fell from the sky like a stone, disappearing into the trees below.

The forest grew still again. The bodies of spiders and Drow alike lay scattered among the roots and leaves. The children huddled together, shaken but unharmed. The party gathered what they could: chainmail, crossbows, poison bolts—and a finely crafted rapier that gleamed faintly with enchantment.

They tended to their wounds, applied poultices, and uncorked healing draughts. Slowly, their strength returned.

As the forest gave way to murky lowlands, the ground became soggy underfoot. Trees stood like sentinels above black pools, their roots twisting in unnatural patterns. Fog clung to the water.  The party opted to travel through the swamp on purpose, as it would take them out of Drow territory for a time.

They stepped into the swamp—and into danger.

Dark shapes stirred in the water. Voices—low and guttural—echoed between the trees. They didn’t have to worry about the Drow here, but the fen was not free from danger.  Suddenly, nets flew from the mist, catching several party members and children in their grasp. Bog folk emerged from the gloom, primitive and hostile. At the heart of the clearing, a stone altar sat, vines draped like ritual garlands. The chieftain among them let out a roar, and the children screamed.

Jack responded swiftly. He raised the Horn of Blasting and unleashed a thunderous wave, knocking several foes off their feet. Vedica and Ceangal kept firing arrows, while Dwårfy waded forward into hand-to-hand combat. Tiv and Vegvisir, unnerved by the chieftain’s roar, fled instinctively into the trees, followed by the terrified children.

Amid the chaos, one of the bogfolk seized a child and began dragging them toward the altar, and then so did another. The chieftain pulled a curved bone dagger from his sash. Ritual sacrifice was imminent.

Ceangal did not hesitate.

He raised his hand, whispered a word, and the chieftain vanished, mid-run. A moment later, the chieftain appeared far across the swamp, teleported away from the altar and into the muck. Confused and snarling, the creature struggled to regain his bearings.

Jack sprinted across the battlefield, leaping roots and dodging spears to reach the altar. He placed himself between the would-be sacrificers and their victims.

The chieftain, enraged, charged back toward the altar. He landed a single glancing blow on Jack before Ceangal, Vedica, and Dwårfy closed in. Crossbow bolts and arrows rained upon the bog folk, one by one cutting them down.

One of the bogfolk priests tied the last of the children to the altar and called to the chieftain. Jack stepped in front of him. The others followed. Swords flashed. Magic roared.

By the end of the battle, the chieftain lay slain. The altar was secured. The children were safe.

Breathing heavily, the party regrouped. Tiv tended to wounds with prayer and salves. Dwårfy grunted as Vegvisir handed him another potion. They rested amid the fog and ruined altar, watching the last ripples vanish into the black water.

The children clung to them.

The forest was behind them now.

The Shrine of the Woods lay ahead, but there was more dangerous forest to pass through before crossing the Alu Lhorb and making it back to the territory of the Qu’ellar Elves and the shrine.

After the bogfolk ritual was disrupted and the children saved, the party rounded Lake Lolth and re-entered the far southern edge of the Drow's forest domain. Strange, twisted plants and sinister shadows crept across the grove. Then came the rustling.

The party spotted spiders having surrounded the, but the tree under which they were sheltering turned out to be a corrupted treant. The treant seized one of the children in its gnarled limbs. Simultaneously, four giant spiders descended from the trees, surrounding the group. The attack was sudden and disorienting.

Combat erupted.

Tiv, exasperated, declared, “I have had it with these spiders like twenty encounters ago,” before smashing one with her mace for solid damage. Vedica tried to free the captured child from the treant’s grip but failed to overpower its strength.

Dwårfy struck a spider, and Ceangal sliced into another with the Sword of Lightning.  Vegvisir tried to aid from range but missed with his sling.  Murchad moved to attack the treant but couldn’t penetrate its bark-like hide.

The spiders struck back. One landed a venomous bite on Jack, but he resisted the poison again. Another struck Vedica, but she, too, resisted the effects. The treant battered Murchad with its massive limbs.

The corrupted tree cast a magical darkness around itself. A dome of pitch-black shadow enveloped the party’s center, hiding the treant, its captive, and two spiders. Jack tried to fire a bolt high into the tree canopy to avoid the child—he missed. Dwårfy, undeterred, attacked by memory and instinct, landing a hit. Ceangal struck again.

The treant was slowly moving away, carrying with it the child and the darkness.

Vegvisir unleashed a Magic Missile, allocating part of it to slay a spider and the rest to injure the treant. The tide began to turn.

Then, Tiv stepped into the darkness, lifting her enchanted mace alight. The magical shadow was banished instantly. The battlefield was revealed once more.

With the magical darkness gone, the party regrouped.

Vedica, loosing a fire arrow, struck the treant. Jack shot as well and landed a blow—just enough to bring the corrupted guardian crashing to the earth.  The child, tangled in its limbs, was shaken but unharmed.

All enemies had been vanquished. Only smoke, wounded party members, and frightened children remained.

With combat ended, the party regrouped for healing.

Vegvisir successfully applied first aid to Vedica.  Others took turns patching one another up. Potions were consumed.

As Tiv untangled the child from the branches, the child pointed to a hollow in the treant’s trunk: “What’s that?” Inside was a pouch containing 30 gold pieces and a vial of shadow essence, capable of creating a cloak of shadows. They stored it for later use or sale.

The party traveled the final stretch toward their goal. Following instructions from a High Elf ally, they performed the necessary ritual: sacrificing the Moonpetal. Arcane energies shimmered around them, and the party transitioned out of the Feywild.

They found themselves back in the Glen of Aherlow, in the world they knew.

From there, they made their way to Tipperary, returning the children to grateful parents and astonished villagers. The town had long believed them dead—lost in the Feywild. Nearly 180 days had passed in Hibernia. In that time, the party had become a sad, cautionary tale. Now that they have returned with the children, they have become legends.

They were welcomed as heroes. A massive celebration was thrown in their honor. Each adventurer was asked again and again to recount their journey—though some tales were shared more freely than others. “Definitely no mention of the lake,” someone joked, and Baba Yaga was left out of most stories.

And yet, one dark thought lingered: the nail. The magical nail, hidden in the Shadowweave pouch, had come with them back to Earth.

As the festivities wound down and twilight had long since given way to night, Lily appeared. Though she smiled, there was a shadow behind her eyes. She warned the party:

“You’ve achieved a great victory. But don’t think this ends the issue. Moloch—who you now know is the demon—is not going to give up. And he is not alone. He has a consort.”

She looked at Tiv, noting that the map Tiv had been gifted in a vision would be their key to defeating both foes. Tiv finally told the rest of the party about the vision and the map. The map, once unrolled, revealed a series of locations across Europe forming the shape of a sword. These would be sacred sites to visit—each tied to a greater mystery.

“Moloch you can confront here,” Lily said. “But for his consort… you’ll need to cross the Western Ocean.”

The group made plans to chart a path through Europe, beginning with a site in Hibernia. Talk of ships and maps began, with Jack wanting to buy or have built a ship for the party. Murchad agreed that it seemed like a wise idea and within the party's financial means. Murchad, with his cartography skill, could identify each location on Tiv's map. Tiv, with her religious expertise, knew of a sacred relic associated with each place.

Before they left, Lily gifted them each another restorative potion—a full healing and spell-restoration elixir.  She cautioned them that they are not part of an inexhaustible supply: “These are hard to make,” she said with a wry smile. “Even for me.”

That night, charged with residual energy from the Shrine of the Woods, each member of the party had an unsettling dream…

These are the locations and relics Murchad and Tiv were able to identify:

Skellig Michael, off the western coast of Hibernia (your nearest location), an ancient monastery of beehive huts, abandoned about 150 years ago. It is reputed to have housed a sacred pendant, which is the pommel of the Sword of St. Michael.

St. Michael’s Mount, a tidal island in southwest Britannia with a medieval church and castle. It is reputed to house the quillions of the sword.

Mont Saint Michel, a tidal island with abbey in northwestern Gaul. It is reputed to house a short blade that was claimed to be the spearpoint of the lance from the crucifixion.

Sacra di San Michele, an ancient abbey perched on Mount Pirchiriano near Turin in Genoese territory. This is reputed to house a flat-tipped blade with tang that, legend has it, was the sword of one of the angels set to guard the entrance of the Garden of Eden.

Sanctuary of Monte Sant’Angelo is a grotto in Italia, near Foggia. There, people frequently take “St. Michael Stones” as minor relics. The true St. Michael Stone, however, is found deep within. 

Panormitis Monastery, which is located on the serene island of Symi.  According to legend, the monastery possesses a piece of wood that is said to be of the True Cross, but which actually might be the grip of St. Michael’s Sword, instead.

Stella Maris Monastery, located just south of Acre in the Kingdom of Jerusalem. This monastery is reputed to hold the Star of the Sea sapphire as a sacred relic.

  Tiv also related the following tale:

The Legend of St. Patrick and the Pommel  

Long ago, when the forces of darkness threatened the lands of Hibernia, St. Patrick, the great patron saint, was entrusted with a sacred task. The archangel Michael appeared to him in a vision, bearing the Sword of St. Michael, a divine weapon forged to vanquish evil. However, the sword was incomplete, missing its pommel—a piece that would grant its wielder the strength to resist the darkest of magics.

St. Patrick, knowing the importance of the sword and the dangers it could attract, took the pommel and journeyed to the remote and treacherous island of Skellig Michael. There, on that windswept rock, he hid the pommel in a secret chamber, sealing it with a series of divine puzzles and protections. He knew that only those with pure hearts and strong faith would be able to retrieve it.

According to the legend, St. Patrick left clues to the pommel's location within the ancient structures of the monastery on Skellig Michael. These clues were embedded in the island's natural features and the monastic practices of the early Christian monks who lived there.

This is the map that Tiv showed to everyone, which she claimed was provided to her by her patron, St. Michael, in a vision shortly before they had their second contact with the water elemental in the Feywild: