The Timberlands Session Twelve

Session Twelve: Bad Seeds

An untamed frontier. Dark cults. Fickle fey gods. Ravenous fiends. Nothing black powder and sorcery won't fix... . Timberlands Campaign Diary

Their respite interrupted by the sudden transformation of the party’s horses into a Corpseshoes, the heroes immediately engaged the undead-like steeds. This time, however, they didn’t get a drop of the sinister creatures and suffered under their hooves. Still, the pair of equine horrors were not enough to overcome the party. The incident did punctuate, however, that they were in very hostile territory and couldn’t drop their guard even for a moment. Why their horses turned against them, though, remained a mystery. The civilians they traveled with were forced to abandon their carts and travel on foot. The goblin brewer Niq, the high-elf soothsayer Ruven, and the wood-elf runesmith Arvantel vowed to help how they could, but none measured up as an adventurer.

After a short debate between traveling to Nightveil Tower to catch up with the mercenaries and wizards there or moving directly for the Convent of Quite Grace the latter won out. They decided to use the main road running through the valley and as they neared the fey forces, sneak off to the secret passage Sister Ristea told them of. Along the way, the champions witnessed that the usually vibrant farming community was as silent and still as a grave. Houses were dark and empty. Fields were half-harvested or completely gone to rot. Clusters of Bubonic Drifters floated across the countryside and the tell-tale glow of direfly nests dotted the land like a sea of fallen stars.

A few hours into their nighttime travel, the party heard a wet and unearthly series of cries in the cloudy sky. They suspected another shrieker, but their bilge cat companion, Berichul, panicked and demanded they get into cover before they were spotted. Not all of the heroes managed to get off of the road before a flight of Hagfishers came warbling from the sky. Spattered with noxious goo, the party fought with the eel-like terrors. Gwaedd, the bard, used hypnotic pattern to keep most of the anathemas occupied until they diced every last one. It was too late, though, Berichul said. ‘She’ knew they were here now.

Berichul went on to explain that the hagfishers belonged to Ailesvintha the Bent, the Rookery Crone in charge of the fey forces. The hag-like fey was a living nest for the flying abominations and could see their eyes. The heroes decided to get off of the road and track through the fields to the Convent of Quite Grace instead.

Upon arrival, they drank in the entirety of the fey host. At least six dozenLesionnairesand half-as-many Bilge Cat camped outside the convent’s keep-like walls. Amid the army was a crooked pavilion surrounded by hagfishers and with a bubbling Cauldron in front of it. Wild, the ranger, even spotted what might be a treant in the nearby treeline. This was a force the heroes could not tackle on their own. Instead of heading directly into the convent, the party decided to circumvent nearby hills to check on the convent’s famed apple orchards. Eshkar, the nature cleric, had been tasked with ascertaining the status of the orchard’s dryad, Whitebark, on behalf of the dryad’s grandmother, Old Elery.

As with the rest of Hillsbrook Valley, the apple orchard was blighted. Its once-grand trees were infested with direflies. Worse yet, several of them had also animated as Lesser Deadwoods. Using a bit of magic, the heroes snuck their way through the orchard toward its core. The further they went, the worse the corruption grew. The direflies were so thick it was hard to get through, the stream feeding the orchard choked with fetid spores. At the orchard’s heart, Whitebark awaited them in a chair crafted from a living tree. Alas, the dryad was closer to something undead.

Infested, Whitebark had become a Deadwood Dryad. Her mouth hung open, dribbling blood honey and her head cracked open with a hive. Eshkar made his way over to her, while the other hidden heroes kept watch. It became apparent to the cleric that Whitebark was compromised both in mind and soul. Her rambling answers broke into a need to grow new trees from the bones and flesh of the living before she vomited a stream of blood honey on Eshkar.

The heroes proceeded to put the orchard to the torch, in the wizard Siegfried’s case quite literally. His fireball and scorching rays made short work of the lesser deadwoods. Eshkar cordoned off part of the battlefield with a wall of thorns. Riley the dervish and Gwaedd tackled the incoming Swarms of Direflies. Whitebark tree-strode away to direct the battle from a different position but Sykes the rogue was able to keep her occupied until the rest of the champions could pile on and take her down.

Catching their breath, the heroes considered their next move. To tackle this full-blown assault by the waning court they were going to need help. The small handful of allies they traveled with weren’t battle-hardened enough to cut it either.