IC: Guardians of the Bladesong Grove [5E]

[DragonEyeSeeker]

GUARDIANS OF THE BLADESONG GROVE

Nestled deep within the mystical tapestry of the Feywild, where the very essence of light and shadow converge, lies the enigmatic Dreaming Timberland. Here, the boundaries between the vibrant Feywild and the ghostly Shadowfell blur and intertwine, creating a realm of breathtaking beauty and ominous darkness—a realm teeming with untold wonders and perils alike.

At the heart of this enchanting wilderness reigns the enigmatic Frostbough King, a figure of immense power and ancient wisdom. His dominion extends over the Dreaming Timberland, where he presides over the ethereal dance of life and death that permeates the land.

Central to the Frostbough King's sacred duty is the guardianship of the illustrious Lucent—powerful nature spirits that serve as the custodians of the natural balance on the Material Plane. When these majestic beings reach the end of their earthly existence, their souls find solace in the warm embrace of the Moonlit Seeds, where the Lucent undergo a transcendental metamorphosis, emerging as radiant entities ready to be returned to the material plane and begin their duty anew.

Spanning across an expanse that defies comprehension, the Dreaming Timberland sprawls in all directions, its vastness matched only by the complexity of its ecosystems. Only the Frostbough King, with his unfathomable power and ancient wisdom, can hope to navigate such intricate domains. Yet, even he finds himself challenged by the enormity of his sacred duty.

To aid him in his noble endeavors, the Frostbough King turns to the illustrious Gloomwild Court—a coalition of stalwart defenders, meticulous stewards, and jovial jesters. The Court serves as the linchpin of governance within the Dreaming Timberland. Under their watchful eyes, the day-to-day affairs of the forest are meticulously managed, allowing the Frostbough King to dedicate himself fully to his sacred charge as the guardian of the realm's sanctity.

As a denizen of the wondrous Dreaming Timberland, your allegiance lies with none other than the illustrious Frostbough King, sovereign ruler of this ethereal realm. Regardless of your talents or capabilities, your paramount duty is to strive tirelessly to enhance the splendor of the Dreaming Timberland, fulfilling the solemn mandate of your noble monarch.

✦ ✧✦ ✧ CHAPTER ONE ✦ ✧✦ ✧

You find yourselves at The Giant Elf Pub, so named because - as local legend holds - it was constructed inside the foot print of a Winter Elf who used long-forgotten magicks to grow to the size of an ancient treent! The wooden building has a vaguely similar shape as an elven foot, complete with five massive toes, that now serve as private booths. Half of the booths are occupied by satyrs and centaurs, while the long tables that line the arch of the foot are peopled by faeries and satyrs. The pub is quite busy, with many enjoying fine food and a few drinks.

The bar is located at the heel of the foot. The bar keeper is a satyr named Ghup. He is tall, as far as satyrs go, with buff and black furry legs and skin that is the color of half-rotten a treebark. He greets the party warmly, "Blessings of the Frostbough King upon you."

The man looks the party over and smiles, "How was the ride from the town of Joren? Not too long, I would hope... But looking at your haggard expressions and parched lips, I would say it was not pleasant."

He pulls out several glasses and fills them with a blue liquid, "The finest sinn, made with fresh seele, harvested from the recent soulrain. It is quite delicious."

The mead has a pungent cheese odor. It is thick and frothy, like watery tapioca pudding. It has a taste not too dissimilar to blueberry mixed with honey. You may not be a connoisseur (or even a fan) of sinn but the composition and texture is of the highest quality.

"I heard old Birchgrowl has been working you lot hard, protecting his caravans up and down the Toadmoor. Can't be too cautious these days, what with the knights and Kobolds skulking around out there in the wilds!"

An elderly centaur, resting in one of the "toe" booths raises his glass and proclaims, "Death to those Sunglow bastards!"

Ghup nods and calls back, "May their bowels be strewn across the Timberlands by a flock of rampaging Panthereagles!"

The centaur scoffs, "That'd be too good of a death for them lot!"

The satyr barkeep nods in agreement, then turns his attention back to the party, "Birchgrowl has to attend his great-granddaughter's wedding in a few days time, which means you caravan guards have a few days of peace and quiet. If you are looking for work, I have heard a few people in town might be looking for some help...

The barkeep is cut off as a blonde haired, sharp-eared eladrin steps into the bar. The whole pub goes quiet as everyone turns to gawk at the uncommon sight. The eladrin wears the finest silks, imbued with gold filigree. He effortlessly glides across the ground, as if levitating. He is flanked by two guards wearing gleaming golden full plate armor and wielding large shields and thick, serrated falchions. The eladrin stops several feet from the bar and loudly states, "I am Ambassador Sarn Mendi of the League of Eladria. You budreddi should know, my son - Prince Mar Mendi - was assaulted in the woods. You carthion know that this is illegal under the terms of the Treaty of Springrise. The culprit will be found! Once we find the curr, I will personally rip their head off with my bare hands - as is my RIGHT under the terms of the treaty. If any of you are harboring the villain... Know my wrath is endless and my memory infinite."

At this point several people at the tables rouse to their feet and look like they want to start a fight.

Ghup holds up his hands, "Wait, wait! Don't do anything stupid. No violence in the bar, especially not against an Ambassador."

He looks over to the party with pleading eyes to help calm the situation.

Spoiler: Connected Threads

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CONNECTED THREADS
In Character	1
Out of Character	1
Recruitment	1

[Infernally Clay]

Tyrbas Tallhorn Way of the Astral Self Satyr Monk 3 AC: 16 | HP: 24/24 Initiative: +3 | Speed: 45ft Ki Points: 3/3 Active Effects: None Conditions: None

“A wise and magnanimous ambassador such as yourself would know the importance of… diplomacy,” Tyr says in a way that is hard to tell if he’s being courteous or just curt, drinking deeply from his cup, “I am quite good with my hands and ripping heads off with them is thirsty work, so why don’t you sit down, have a drink and tell us what you know of this violent and vexing villain so we can narrow them down?”

[Darius Vibrtrar]

Tempist stands and spins a pair of fingers in a circle.

"GHUP!, a round for our very calm and understanding patrons who have witnessed our ambassadors grief over the assault on his kin, we ourselves would react the same one of our own was injured, remember our dear fawn who was recently slain by a pantheagle, we all feel the fangs of anxiety when injury comes our folk."

Tempist even volunteers to pass out the round to ensure the patrons do not physically respond to the ambassador.

[ProudGrognard]

Aldebaran

Aldebaran had been enjoying small sips of sinn while smoking his pipe. It was good to sit and enjoy the rest, after the recent journey. To Ghup's chatter, Aldebaran smiles and nods, looking somewhat over his shoulder. At times, he contributes small phrases like "With the Elder Ascendant that would be tough" and "A few days time is just the right time for the orgonic ley energy to pool, for sure".

But then his distant kin arrives. Aldebaran is caught flat-footed by the vehemence of the man. He almost pats the man in the shoulder before Ghul nods him off, and his hand remains on the air for a bit. But then he collects himself and gets ready to take notes.

"Tell us where, Ambassador. We may be able to help. And perhaps how was it that the prince found himself in the woods, hmm?"

As if he just thought about it, Aldebaran adds

"And then we can see what we can do about the curr' s head. "

Spoiler: OOC

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If Perception or Insight can be helpful (1d20+5)[16]

[Vegan Squirrel]

Lexydeia, satyr paladin/warlock
AC 18 | HP 24/24 | PP 12 | Init +1 | Speed 35
Slots: 2/2 LR, 1/1 SR | HD: 2/2 d10, 1/1 d8

Lex quietly takes in the chatter, with the politics of it all going a bit over her head, but she's eager to enjoy the sinn.

With the ambassador's arrival, though, she sees the prospect of a valiant adventure. Lex curties to the ambassador, slightly bowing her head but carefully keeping from directing her horns at him (a terrible faux pas), as she joins in with her comrades' offer of assistance. "Lexydeia, at your service. This is a most distressing loss, and we are at the ready to aid you in this investigation."