...yet not so far, an elf was talking to his reflection in the surface of a lake tucked in a silent grove full of spirits and spirit-lights. There was barely a ripple in the perlacious water - there was no wind to stir it. The elf, vested in black from head to toe, was gesticulating something fierce as if he was not merely conversing with the simulacrum on the other side of the water-mirror, but, rather, wrestling it. On occasion the elf would even shout, the echo of his roaring voice reverberating like thunder.
"You have done what you can, Huntmaster. You have found allies in the most unlikely places. Halflings. Orcs. Ghosts. Dragon-men. Mayhap among cannibals, too - your tribe."
"You're being judgmental, poet? That's interesting. Weren't you the one who drove a sword through your lover's heart?"
"Not premeditatedly."
"Doesn't change the fact that it was your hand that held the blade, does it, Zeraphil?"
"It does not. But I was under a malignant influence. You are not. Your mind is your own. As such, you only have yourself to hold accountable for your decisions."
"You disapprove of my decisions?"
"To answer your previous question: no, Huntmaster, I was not being judgmental. Therefore, I have no ethical opinion on your decisions."
"But you have an opinion nonetheless? Just not an ethical one?"
"I have an opinion on how you present yourself to the world. What you represent."
"And in your humble and non-conscientious opinion, what do I represent?"
"Vengeance. Loathing. Hatred. The list is long. You open your mouth, and an avalanche of bile pours out. You inspire dread among your enemies, but you inspire much the same among your allies. Perhaps it is a mannerism you should consider to modify?"
"Fuck you, poet."
"Case in point. Listen to me, Huntmaster, you no longer only answer to yourself and that meager streak you call conscience. You have become more. Much more. You are no longer a ripple in a pond; you are a wave. Your actions matter. Some call you the Unifier and the Hope-Bringer. You even wield my sword, Eteruna, an ultimate symbol of rectitude. It is high time you act the part of the ideals you are meant to represent."
"War doesn't go hand in hand with virtue, poet. I can't be some shining beacon of all that's good and civilised and noble and pure if my people are going to survive Poisonwood's terrors. They need me at my worst, not my noblest."
"To conquer an enemy, you do not have to emulate it."
"I'm not emulating those filths."
"Are you not? Do you not always fight fire with fire? Do you not repay death and grief in kind, and is your "good" not always brought about by violence and destruction? You tell yourself that you wear "the black" because it makes for good camouflage, but in truth, Huntmaster, you wear it because that is the colour of your heart. It is black. "The Black Elf," is that not what they call you behind your back?"
"They can call me whatever they like. I don't give a shit. But you're right, harp-fondler. I mete out death and destruction. Compassion, that's what made us nearly lose this war before it even began in earnest; compassion toward Poisonwood and toward kin who are as much kin to us as drow. If only I hadn't listened to compassion, not hearkened to mercy, I would have burned Poisonwood a lifetime ago. I would have spared my people all this suffering!"
"Do you not hear who you sound like?"
"I sound like justice!"
"You sound like your old, pitiful self. And you sound like any other voice in Poisonwood. Full of resent."
"And you're going to lecture me, are you? You're not even real! You're just a ghost inside my head."
"Perhaps that is exactly why you should heed what I say, Huntmaster. Mayhap I am but a spectre of delusion, or mayhap I am that last bastion of goodness and fairness left inside of you. Your enemies have deprived you of so much! Do not let them deprive you of me as well. Fight if you must. Fight because you must. But do not forget why you fight."
Registered Member #25436
Joined: 1:59:54 pm GMT 03/22/20
Posts: 58
Over time, the poison in Gringer's garden started to become contained within the enclosure, as evidenced by the dense green smog captured within. Upon observing this, Avaggdu became excited that now the next phase of the project could begin... but he would need help in carrying this out.
A few days later, Teron and Avaggdu happened upon each other at the crossroads. This was his opportunity- He told Teron of the project and asked him to spread word to any of those who might have a talent for staying in the shadows, for the next phase of the project would require them to pass through the posionwood undetected...
Registered Member #24064
Joined: 6:33:55 pm GMT 03/29/17
Posts: 131
"Ah, so the enemy has brought a reserve of celestial well to taint the summoning ground with. Tragic..."
After a split second of consideration, a cold smile creased the lips.
"... Perfect."
The righteous light has once more emerged, desperate in its dogmatic purge to foil a plot of distraction and breathe hope into the forces that have been sent to the southern gate. But it stood as mere opportunity to not only equalize the affair's status quo, but punish the worthy for their attempt and make them witness how their saving grace turns to ash, death and madness. The city needed to know fear. The soldiers needed to lose hope and leave the doors to the rulers opened.
The hexer knew that what she was about to do would instill sensations that she oft tried to subdue. Many would hate her for it, if they didin't by now, but the world needed to be rid of such obstacles so that it could finally embrace her.
She set to work, utilizing rift and song's caress to forge a peculiar weapon. The druids of poisonwood took care over her rampantly spreading emotions and drained vitality, bestowing the sting of verdant woods that soon turned to rejuvenating purpose.
Five shards of the rift were fashioned into threads, soaken with blood of Elisara's elite warriors and sages so that the abyssal greed would sample foe and refresh its hunger for it. The threads then nocked, tensed and set to join the array of a harp's strings, already imbued with unbridled elements and booming resonance. It now acquired five new notes of demonic persuasion.
The instrument of havoc was ready.
With final rites dedicated to the goddess of doom spoken, and her allies protected from both the worst and luckiest of possible outcomes, the hexer clad herself in darkness and moved through the enemy lines to reach the celestial crystals. As the foes were busy tackling numerous vines, elementals and living trees that Poisonwood has wrought to allow Rita a moment to perform, the harp was strummed and the song was sang.
Oh righteous light! Shall thy zeal be now trembling? Are the paths of thy plight now meandring, wending, fading? Be thy purity burning as I singeth to thee? Is it eaten away through a songtress' glee? Be it stricken by wrath, up above and below? Is thy heart feeleth cold like it's never before? Be a passionate note ringing haunting with pain? Now thy tint fanning out and becoming dismay? Oh, rigthous light, thou ought blink once with fear - I bestow many colours. Hark!' Thou doom is now here!
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Chaos struck, sending rift and celestial shard flying around, striking elves at random. Some would receive a sting of light's power. Others, a shrapnel of crimson leech to drain their essence and drive them insane. The hexer knew not what ill fate, or otherwise, befell whom or how many. None but her and few others have prayed to be spared.
She saw destruction ; smoke, crystals and potent resonance rampaging across the field and towards the gates of Elisara. She felt the preternatural force of opposite powers colliding and rending each other apart. She was sent flying with them, like a leaf blown through the caverns of Pandemonium, only to finally wake whilst carried away from the battlefield by Arakhor's gnarly arms.
"The crystal is gone, it is!"said the darkfey in treant's coating.
Registered Member #24916
Joined: 2:58:00 pm GMT 01/23/19
Posts: 610
Another day, another struggle for the hill. Once Greenvale's finest had fallen and his comrades went on to kill everyone they could land their eyes on, Elarion got an idea. Those up in the tower are far too comfortable up there.. Perhaps one could... smoke them out? He called forth a Balor to help him gather the bodies needed for his little bit of cruelty. All bodies served a purpose this day. Those of his own feeds their poison to the city, those of Greenvale? Well..
Registered Member #25300
Joined: 6:37:11 am GMT 06/04/19
Posts: 153
Was there ever a good day when it came to the war, but perhaps today was better than others. She healed the injured restored the fallen and set up an aid station away from the fighting for troops to be assessed before the were either able to be sent back into battle or transported for more serious care. She’d had help, people had come down from the north at her call, she offered a prayer of thanks, and help they did. First, they cleared the battlefield, she couldn’t help but feel a little bit of satisfaction when she had blown the Half Orc up, when he'd tried to attack her as she went about her work. His insides were now outsides and definitely worse for it. They’d doused fires and then they started on the places Poisonwood thought to claim their own, cutting a swathe through their troops, raiding their supplies and then destroying the poisonous plants before they could infect her precious bath house. Their intelligence was proving useful. And now she expected a steady supply of healing supplies from the north. That woman was truly an angel.
The druids she had spoken too had also offered their help, and offered their own interesting solutions, and more would follow she was sure, they needed to untwist what the Dark Fey and Poisonwood had twisted. She was well ahead with her plans, and now she had the help she needed to finalise and to make sure she had the enchantments and prayers right. Rita might even appreciate the nod to her work, she expelled a long sigh. It was such a long time ago that the events that poisonwood still cling to as a reason for their hate happened, what foolishness to create another generation of hate just like their own amongst the residents of Greenvale. She could not help but see the futility of this war.
Registered Member #25436
Joined: 1:59:54 pm GMT 03/22/20
Posts: 58
ShroudedSun wrote ...
Over time, the poison in Gringer's garden started to become contained within the enclosure, as evidenced by the dense green smog captured within. Upon observing this, Avaggdu became excited that now the next phase of the project could begin... but he would need help in carrying this out.
A few days later, Teron and Avaggdu happened upon each other at the crossroads. This was his opportunity- He told Teron of the project and asked him to spread word to any of those who might have a talent for staying in the shadows, for the next phase of the project would require them to pass through the posionwood undetected...
After discussing the plan further with Dele, Elissril ((spelling?)), and Castor, the time to carry out the next phase of the project moved closer. Soon they would mobilize.
Avaggdu began sending avian messengers to try and find various Druids of the called, asking them for them to help contribute their powers to a ritual after the trip to the Posionwood is completed.
((This post is basically to actually schedule a date to carry out this little event. It can be broken into two "parts" 1) Stealthy part where we are sneaking through the poisonwood- hence the need for stealthy characters; and 2) Ritual part with druids and maybe some clerics that are interested
Event time? Let me just throw out Wednesday 4/19 evening, starting anytime from 6:00-9:00 pm, GMT-5
Please feel free to message me on Discord or pm me here if you have preferred times and want to participate in this event.
Meeting place? That will be determined IG- participants will receive a message from Avaggdu with directions to the meeting place (for the first "part 1"). "Part 2" will simply take place in the Lumenshire.
Note: "Part 1" and "Part 2" do not necessarily have to take place on the same day, especially since they will probably involve different characters.
Duration? Shouldn't take more than 2 hours for both parts combined.
Please message me if you want to participate so I can get a rough head estimate!))
Registered Member #24041
Joined: 4:19:01 am GMT 01/24/17
Posts: 2213
Red Sails, Red Seas Part II
A single gunship lists back into the port of Sandburrow. Aboard, Captain Yarland scowls back across the sea. His black hat has tragically been lost in the sea, as has most of his fleet. Still, as they land in port, a ragged cry goes up from the sailors of the lone gunship- augmented now by the survivors of the other ships that they picked up on the way back to port. All in all, it had been a tough fight, but they had won. Only one ship had been allowed to dock at the Enclave; the rest had been sent to the bottom of the sea, along with the Thayans inside.
Still though, the lookout had reported a trio of troop transports making a run for the north. They were out of firing range quickly, and soon the hin had other things to worry about, as the massive flagship of the Thayans bore down on them. Ships had fired back and forth for hours and his own flagship was sunk nearly at the exact moment that the Thayan flagship met her own end as well. It was only a lucky bit of driftwood that had kept the captain alive, that and the keen eye of one of the elves that had boarded the ships to aid in the fighting.
He turns to the crew and joins in their ragged cheer though- it wouldn't do to let the men think he was brooding. They had won a victory today, though it was far closer than he would have liked. And with her fleet largely in ruins, Sandburrow's naval defenses would be lacking for a time. He would have to speak with the mayor soon, and try to convince him to speed along the construction of another fleet.
He takes a final glance back as the sun sets red in the sky. A grim smile spreads across his weathered face.
How the Last Bolt, a lateen-rigged warship, survived the Battle of Red Sails, was beyond anyone present on deck. Even centuries later, when historians would pour over what truly transpired in the naval battle between Sandburrow and Thay, they would come up short-handed. Everything about the Last Bolt had spelt disaster. One, its captain and first mate had never before fought a naval battle; indeed, it would not be remiss to say that between Renneleth and Saradoc, the pair had set foot on a boat a grand total of eight times, two of which Saradoc had promptly returned to solid ground, having contracted seasickness before the ship was even pushed off the docks. Two, for the majority of the Battle of Red Sails, the Last Bolt had been wedged between two friendly ships, a frigate and another galleass, and two enemy ships, also a frigate and a galleass. That is to say, for as long as the battle raged - and it raged long! - the Last Bolt was the epicentre of ballista bolts, arcane and divine bombardment, and floating dead bodies. The Last Bolt's safeguard against this madness of fire and death had not been a sturdy hull (the ship was an extensively retrofitted fisherman's boat) or savvy helmsmanship (during the entirety of the battle, Renneleth had not even hoisted anchor, and Saradoc was oblivious to the fact that ships had anchors at all); instead, it had been desperate superstition. Specifically, an inflated pig-bladder that the halflings on deck believed was an avatar - or the avatar's severed head - of Yondalla or Arvoreen, or both. Three, in charge of the Last Bolt's weapons was the scoundrel Saradoc, who was of the unwavering conviction that it was better to open fire with closed eyes than open, because, to quote said scoundrel: "One must trust that the blind know their way in the world, and trust in their ability to see with other senses than the optical." When the other sailors pointed out to Saradoc that he himself was not, in fact, a blind man, Saradoc had scoffed.
All the possible odds in the world stacked against the Last Bolt, it had somehow managed to not only tear a gaping hole (albeit by accident) in the hull of the Esteemed One, the Thayvian flagship, it had also sunk not one, but two troop carriers (also by accident) and one enemy galleass (less an accident). As the Battle of Red Sails progressed and the Sandburrow Navy suffered the loss of ship after ship, the surviving captains, lieutenants, sailors and sextant-polishers (henceforth known simply as Gram Masons) had all been rescued onboard the Last Bolt. By the time the battle was drawing to an appropriately dramatic finale, the Last Bolt boasted nine-hundred-forty-seven Boldfeet and fifteen wet adventurers. Also a golden dragon. Actually, considering that Anyndel, Brazik and Liekki counted for at least half a dragon each, the Last Bolt had carried several dragons in total. After the battle, when the Last Bolt had docked in Greenvale for crucial repairs, before it departed for Sandburrow, Renneleth had found Admiral Yarland among the sea-water-sodden sailors and waggled a finger at him. Renneleth may or may not have spoken these words: "Next time, we do things my way."
Registered Member #25436
Joined: 1:59:54 pm GMT 03/22/20
Posts: 58
Avaggdu looked out across the garden he’d prepared, which had now become more and more of an obsession, as the death toll and destruction of the Poisonwar increased. He started worrying about the security of the Lumenshire, which sits right on the edge of the Poisonwood. Even more worrisome to him was the knowledge that Arakhor knew about his plans. It must only be a matter of time before she would come to sabotage the garden…
Determined not to let this happen without some sort of contingency plan… without telling anyone, even his most trusted companions… Avaggdu placed a hefty portion of the prepared soil in a large sack, along with a few of the Hellshire truffles, and set out to find a place to prepare a backup garden. Somewhere, he thought, where no one would think to look.
He had been collecting extra celestial crystals from the strange cave below the kobold hall. He would basically set up the same thing on a smaller scale in a more hidden location. Avaggdu sees his work as apart from the outcome of the Poisonwar. Even if the Poisonwood was to win the war, perhaps he could still work in secret to develop the truffles, and if they were successful in remediating the poison essence from the trees, he could plant them in secret as well…
Registered Member #25343
Joined: 8:54:42 pm GMT 08/30/19
Posts: 125
Thoughts and Actions II
It had taken them a few days, but the second shipment was ready - as was the plan behind its delivery. Unlike the first, this one would require a far more delicate touch. Too much had reached their ears as of late, and they had taken steps to react accordingly. Rather than just hand them to the dragon-blooded and exchange a handful of smiles, they would place false crates in a public area of the Watch with a sapling protecting it. One they would enhance with the jewel Elarion had imbued to allow it to spot the stealthiest among their foes. The power of the gem would also make it more resilient as far as combat was concerned, but its abyssal nature implied that the treant’s lifespan would be considerably reduced. By the time they had their answer, the tree would be no more. A sacrifice it had willingly accepted.
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While those that sought to sabotage the bond between poisoned elf and dragon focused on the decoy, the actual goods would be ferried to Nay-ritha's tower. Arakhor had been toying with portals ever since Seryn accidentally opened one, but she employed Thayan reagents to ensure that they had a stable foundation. It would not last more than a few hours, maybe a day, at most, but it would be more than enough. It would connect Ars’ and Inica’s tree with their secret hideout in the Watch and, from there, they would carry the goods directly to the Regent. A sound plan, or so thought all those involved.
Fortunately, it proved to be.
The journey across the sea had taken shorter than expected, with Cathalya exploiting a storm to have them sail at full speed. The recent battle between Thay and Sandburrow had left the endless blue overgorged on the blood of half-ling and man as well. Its thirst more than quenched, it had not sought theirs. Soon, the false supplies were in place and their lone protector swimming with volatile might. They had deposited them next to the market, a spot so exposed that, no matter the lengths one went to opt for subterfuge, any attempt at interfering with either the goods or their sentinel would be seen or heard. From there, the rumour that there were those in Dragon’s Watch that undermined the ties between the members of Thain’s true alliance would spread. In the event that nothing happened, the decoys would eventually be removed by their agents and none would be the wiser.
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They were not trying to do anything extraordinary, but success could mean that their alliance might be strengthened for it. They allowed others to see them together, to hear how they talked about the pacts between Poisonwood and the mighty Watch, but they did not overdo it. And then they scattered.
Magic allowed them to almost guarantee that they had not been seen as they made their way to the hideout. Once there, blood, dream and emotion were spilled to erect their end of the portal, connecting it with their home. Under cover of spell, they toiled to move the actual supplies to the tower, where only those the Regent trusted the most would know of them.
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Nay-ritha had not been able to receive them, but Arakhor would be patient. Elarion and Lucan, who had helped execute the plan, casually retired when the deed was done. With everything in place, she waited. The Lady had made it clear that she was not to offer something for nothing, and she would stay until the Regent was free. The fey settled on a chair that was far too large for her, her wings rolling up on themselves. Of all the things she dreaded the most, having a moment alone with her thoughts was one of them.
Seryn had been in a few battles in her short life, but she always limped her way through them. And nothing, nothing she ever experienced or dreamt could have prepared her for war. The blood on the streets, the bodies covering every stone and every corner. They had done their best not to cause harm to Elisara’s trees, for they were precious, but fire had still managed to spread across the city. The moans of the dying kept ringing in her ears and she could see bloodied hands reaching for her whenever she closed her eyes. She had tried to mend what wounded she could drag to the buildings they had conquered, but her heart cracked a little every day the war continued.
And there was still so much to do. Another two shipments to gather, enemies to defeat..
Of the long list that remained, the orcs in the Shire sprang to mind. They had bested them in battle, but they would need to deal with their camp once and for all. Though the orcs were alone and despised by all, they kept refusing their offers of friendship. And they had run out of time. Avaggdu was part of the problem as well, but after seeing the direction of his efforts, the solution might be much simpler than she had anticipated. He had used celestial magic in his plan to try and contain the poison. This meant that the dryad might not have to do much. Merely take a sample and hand it to those that could corrupt it. That way, the tool he was toiling so hard to create might be turned against him. Transformed into something that only the Abyss could conjure.
It was much easier to defile and destroy than to create, ultimately, dirty as the work might be. She did not like it, but her home came first.
Their foes would accept the poison into the new natural order or they would drown in it.
[ The Island of Thain ]
Poisonwar
