January 15th – 18th, 974
Session 33 Recap
Awakening beneath Briarfell Forest after General Sherman had subdued them, three US Forest Rangers, and a four person Crown patrol, the party discovered they were far from alone. Not only were the Forest Rangers and Crown patrol with them, there were also previously captured druids of the Circle of Second Growth, tribal orcs, Laveleen, the operative that the Crown patrol had been searching for, and two apparent merchants named Heward and Sister Elira. Every prisoner told essentially the same story: each had encountered the ancient tree, been battered into consciousness, and awakened within an oddly comfortable prison maintained by silent creatures the captives had come to call Root Tenders.
As stories were exchanged, the prisoners gradually pieced together the extent of Briarfell’s misfortune. Awakened trees had scattered the Circle of the Second Growth, devastated the isolated Orc settlement, and driven survivors into the forest where many had simply vanished. The Crown patrol likewise discovered why its seemingly straightforward mission to recover a missing operative had become unexpectedly complicated—that operative had herself fallen victim to General Sherman.
The Crown’s questions concerning Mukden—who was obviously neither an enslaved nor a “feral” orc—produced remarkably few satisfactory answers, while Heward’s quiet revelation that open war had broken out between the Crown and the Orcs of the Reclamation during everyone’s captivity served only to deepen the patrol’s suspicions. Although the party successfully postponed further discussion in favor of the more immediate problem of escape, the atmosphere within the cavern became noticeably more guarded.
The earlier prisoners also shared everything they had learned about their unusual captivity. The Root Tenders quietly cared for their prisoners but calmly thwarted every previous attempt at escape. Oakbeard and Mossyrock recounted the increasingly cryptic words spoken by General Sherman, leading Merrythought to suggest that the ancient tree seemed to be struggling between two competing voices. Cassyndra’s magical investigations then revealed a wall of necrotic roots unlike anything else within the cavern. When Wolfgang briefly drove back the corruption with healing magic, Zborch proposed observing the direction from which it returned. By the following morning, the druids had reached a startling conclusion.
Whatever poisoned Briarfell lay beyond the necrotic roots… and deeper
beneath the forest.
Armed with Cassyndra’s Move Earth spell, the expedition accomplished in minutes what might otherwise have required days of labor. While the party excavated a tunnel toward the source of the corruption, the various other factions quietly pursued agendas of their own. Helen held repeated private conversations with Heward, the apparent merchants circulated among the other captives with quiet efficiency, and the Crown even attempted to recruit the stranded Forest Rangers into royal service. Curiously, despite the passage of more than a day, the Root Tenders never appeared to interfere with the excavation.
The tunnels beneath Briarfell proved far more hazardous than the prison above. A freezing underground river concealed two giant cave sharks that nearly claimed Merrythought before Wolfgang’s increasingly imaginative engineering solutions—and Chorizo’s transformation into a giant spider—allowed the expedition to swing safely across. Beyond the river, a peaceful colony of Myconids confirmed that the corruption lay still farther ahead before allowing the travelers to continue unmolested.
Ant’s Devil’s Sight then revealed two corrupted awakened trees waiting in the darkness beyond the Myconid cavern. Recognizing the value of surprise, the party carefully prepared every available fire spell and improvised resource before launching a devastating ambush. Although the corrupted guardians fought ferociously, the adventurers’ meticulous planning and mastery of fire eventually brought both trees crashing to the cavern floor.
Only then did the heroes begin to appreciate just how much had happened behind their backs while they had been solving the expedition’s practical problems. Helen, Heward, Sister Elira, and the other factions had spent the journey quietly negotiating, recruiting, gathering information, and improvising weapons while the party fought monsters and dug tunnels. Even then, however, no one fully grasped the significance of those whispered conversations.
Ahead, Merrythought glimpsed a vast chamber dominated by a grotesque mass of living roots and six floating spheres of corruption—the very heart of the blight poisoning Briarfell.
The expedition gathered at the chamber’s entrance. Behind them stood uncertain allies. Ahead lay the source of the corruption.
And somewhere above, General Sherman still struggled against an enemy he had never been able to find.
The Root Nexus
From the entrance, the party carefully surveyed the enormous natural cavern before them. Unlike the chambers they had already traversed, this one bore little resemblance to an ordinary cave. Foul, necrotic roots carpeted the floor, climbed the walls, and disappeared into the ceiling, all converging toward the center where the source of Briarfell’s corruption finally revealed itself.
Suspended some fifteen feet above the ground floated a brilliant sphere of sickly green light wrapped within a tangled lattice of almost otherworldly roots. Six smaller root spheres drifted nearby, each three or four feet in diameter and hovering only a few feet above the cavern floor. Unlike the central sphere, these emitted no light and appeared solid enough to be struck with ordinary weapons.
Patrolling the chamber ahead of them were two corrupted awakened trees which the party recognized immediately – these were the same horrifying guardians they had encountered in the chamber immediately prior—towering trees capable of hurling devastating storms of razor-sharp bark splinters. Fortunately, neither had yet detected the expedition.
For several minutes the adventurers quietly studied the battlefield. The cavern measured roughly one hundred feet across and nearly two hundred feet in length, with a ceiling forty to sixty feet overhead. The central Root Nexus floated well beyond the reach of melee weapons while the six lesser root spheres appeared considerably more accessible.
Before the battle plans could fully consume everyone’s attention, Merrythought found herself still pondering a question that had been nagging at her since the expedition first assembled.
Turning toward Heward, she casually asked him to describe the merchant caravan in which he claimed to have been traveling when General Sherman captured him.
The response came only after the briefest hesitation.
Heward described wagons, guards, and fellow merchants in sufficient detail to satisfy anyone listening casually, though his account wandered uncertainly through places where genuine memory ought to have come effortlessly. Merrythought simply listened without interruption.
“Interesting,” she said at last. “I was only trying to see whether General Sherman had been choosing his prisoners according to some pattern.”
Heward nodded with visible relief, evidently believing he had weathered an awkward line of questioning.
Merrythought allowed the matter to drop.
She had not believed a word of it.
Years spent reading audiences, negotiating taverns, and separating truth from performance had taught her to recognize an invented story when she heard one. She chose neither to expose Heward nor even to warn her companions. With the Root Nexus waiting only a few yards away, there would be time enough to untangle the apparent merchant’s deceptions later.
There would not, however, be another opportunity to prepare for the battle before them.
The discussion then turned toward tactics interrupted when, without warning, Laveleen straightened abruptly and tilted her head, listening intently to a voice audible only to herself. Her expression shifted from mild curiosity to complete certainty. “I must go.”
Without offering the slightest explanation, she calmly turned and began walking back the way the expedition had come.
The adventurers exchanged puzzled glances before looking toward Mukden.
After a brief discussion, they reached a practical compromise. Whatever had summoned Laveleen, she would not face it alone. The five surviving members of the isolated Orc tribe quietly accompanied her, both to keep her safe and to remove these nonprofessional combatants from the dangerous battle that everyone believed was about to begin.
As the small group disappeared into the darkness behind them, another familiar figure appeared. A Root Tender emerged silently from the living wall and unlike its previous visits, it carried neither food nor water.
Ignoring everyone present, it walked directly to the edge of the chamber and regarded the Root Nexus in complete silence. Its body seemed almost to tremble. After several long moments it turned toward the assembled expedition. Then, with deliberate formality… it bowed.
Without another gesture, the strange creature stepped backward into the living roots and vanished. Moments later, a deep rumble echoed faintly through the surrounding rock. The sound was distant… but unmistakably growing louder.
The party resumed its tactical discussion, weighing targets, positioning, and the obvious vulnerability of the awakened trees to fire. Cassyndra, however, eventually reached a different conclusion.
Enough planning.
Before anyone else could suggest another refinement, she stepped forward, extended a hand toward one of the six lesser root spheres, and conjured a Create Bonfire beneath it.
Flames erupted.
The Root Nexus had been challenged.
The party surged into the chamber, accompanied by the four Crown soldiers. Behind them, Helen, Heward, Sister Elira, and the three Forest Rangers remained near the entrance tunnel, intending to rush forward should anyone fall.
The battle had begun.
The Battle Beneath Briarfell
The battle began not with a shouted command… but with a campfire.
Cassyndra’s Create Bonfire blossomed beneath one of the subsidiary root spheres and, in an instant, the entire chamber erupted into motion.
The corrupted awakened trees immediately lurched toward the intruders while the six subsidiary root spheres answered with bursts of malignant magic. The four Crown soldiers surged into the cavern beside the adventurers, displaying precisely the sort of discipline one might expect from a carefully selected special operations detachment. Moving as a single unit, they concentrated their assault upon one awakened tree with such efficiency that Merrythought could not help murmuring in admiration,
“They’re really showing us how it’s done.”
The battle rapidly spread across the cavern.
Recognizing the awakened trees’ familiar vulnerability to fire, the party concentrated its attacks upon both the nearest tree and the burning subsidiary root sphere. The flames proved just as effective as before. Wood blackened, bark split, and corrupted roots recoiled violently from every burst of magical fire.
Attempts to strike directly at the great Root Nexus itself proved far less encouraging. Although spells reached the hovering sphere of light without difficulty, they appeared to accomplish remarkably little. The Nexus simply absorbed the punishment while continuing to pulse with quiet malevolence high above the battlefield.
Cassyndra, meanwhile, quietly reshaped the battlefield itself. Using Move Earth, she excavated a shallow fighting position before piling the displaced soil into a protective berm facing the nearest awakened tree. The improvised earthworks would later prove invaluable, shielding her from the very attack the party feared most.
Wolfgang attempted a more direct approach. Believing Chorizo’s spider form might reach the otherwise inaccessible Root Nexus, he ordered his faithful companion to climb the cavern wall, descend upon a silken thread, and strike the hovering sphere directly.
The experiment lasted only moments as the instant Chorizo touched the Nexus, the great spider vanished in a flash of destructive magical energy and the sickening smell of roasted arachnid. The lesson proved immediate and unmistakable. No one else attempted to touch the Root Nexus.
As the battle wore on, another pattern emerged. The subsidiary root spheres could project their corrupting magic no farther than roughly twenty feet. Once the party recognized this limitation, the character of the battle changed. Rather than exposing themselves unnecessarily, they remained beyond the spheres’ reach while concentrating on the awakened trees.
Victory seemed increasingly attainable.
Then the awakened trees began to vibrate and everyone in the cavern knew exactly what that meant. The adventurers redoubled their assault, desperately trying to destroy at least one tree before it could unleash another devastating storm of bark splinters.
The Crown, however, reached a different conclusion. Without hesitation, the four soldiers abandoned their aggressive forward positions and withdrew to safer ground. Helen, Heward, Sister Elira, and the three Forest Rangers likewise fell back into the entrance passage.
Mukden saw only one chance. If the vibrating tree could be brought down before it burst, the deadly shower of splinters might never come. Calling upon every reserve of strength, the orc hurled himself into a final assault, driving his spear deep into the blackened trunk again and again. The tree swayed… but remained standing.
Beside him Gareth refused to yield the ground. Already battered by repeated blows, he met each attack with stubborn determination, drawing the corrupted tree’s fury upon himself while the others continued their assault. Even grievously wounded, he simply steadied his stance and fought on.
Moments later… the cavern exploded.
Thousands of razor-sharp bark splinters swept across the battlefield with terrifying force. Mukden, still standing beside the tree he had tried so desperately to destroy, disappeared beneath the storm without uttering a word. George, shielding those in the entrance passage, died as well while Gareth, Calder, Oakbeard, and Mossyrock were all struck down.
Even amid the chaos, the party fought desperately to save those they could. Healing magic restored Calder to consciousness only for him to be struck down again moments later. Gareth likewise staggered back to his feet and resumed holding the line despite his terrible wounds. Again and again he refused to retreat, surviving only through grim endurance, until the remaining awakened tree finally overwhelmed him and, with brutal finality, delivered the killing blow.
Later, when asked what he remembered of his repeated glimpses into the afterlife, Calder’s answer proved wonderfully concise.
“An angry branch… then blackness. And then… the same thing again. It was kind of monotonous, to be honest.”
Meanwhile, Helen, Heward, Sister Elira, Tom, and Judy rushed through the debris of splintered bark to drag the unconscious druids toward the shelter of the entrance tunnel.
The battle continued to turn.
One awakened tree finally crashed to the cavern floor before it could inflict more harm. Moments later, the burning subsidiary root sphere that had opened the battle collapsed into lifeless ash.
Then… from somewhere within the entrance passage… came unmistakable sounds of struggle. Shouts. Blows. Voices raised in anger. The party scarcely had time to wonder what had happened before the truth became horrifyingly clear.
Oakbeard and Mossyrock had indeed been rescued and stabilized. But they had also been bound. When Tom and Judy attempted to intervene, they too had been subdued and restrained. As the adventurers struggled toward the tunnel to free their allies, the four remaining Crown soldiers calmly stepped into their path, weapons ready.
The battle beneath Briarfell had become something altogether different.
The Root Nexus still lived, the remaining awakened tree still raged. And now… the Crown—and the two apparent merchants—had become enemies as well.
The Fall of the Root Nexus
The battle had become a desperate contest on two fronts. Ahead, the Root Nexus and its remaining servants continued to fight with relentless determination. Behind them, the Crown soldiers calmly barred the entrance passage while Helen, Heward, and Sister Elira secured the prisoners they had so recently appeared to rescue.
With no hope of reclaiming their captured allies immediately, the adventurers split their attacks between the Crown and the Root Nexus’ remaining servants. Their dilemma was unexpectedly resolved when the surviving awakened tree turned its attention toward the Crown detachment. Faced with an enraged tree and the need to keep prisoners from escaping, Helen ordered an immediate withdrawal. The soldiers, Heward, Sister Elira, and their captives disappeared into the entrance passage, leaving the adventurers alone with the corruption.
The second awakened tree finally crashed to the cavern floor, its corruption consumed by fire and, moments later, the subsidiary root sphere that Cassyndra had ignited at the very beginning of the battle likewise disintegrated. The party then turned its attention to the remaining subsidiary spheres. By now they had recognized that each possessed an effective range of only about twenty feet. By remaining safely beyond that radius, they could systematically destroy the hovering spheres with long-range cantrips. The process would be slow, but no longer especially dangerous.
Then, from somewhere beyond the entrance passage, Helen’s voice echoed through the cavern. “Lay down your arms and surrender.”
The reply from the battered adventurers was immediate, heartfelt… and entirely unsuitable for reproduction here.
Only then did the party grasp what their opponents were planning. They had not retreated. They had simply paused. Their intention suddenly became obvious. The surviving soldiers remained relatively fresh while, the adventurers, by contrast, had exhausted much of their strength against the awakened trees. If the party continued its struggle against the Root Nexus while the Crown finished regrouped beyond the passage, nothing prevented Helen from returning a short time later to overwhelm whichever side survived.
Cassyndra had no intention of giving them that opportunity.
Calling once more upon Move Earth, she collapsed the entrance passage beneath tons of earth and stone, sealing the party behind an improvised barricade from the Crown soldiers, Helen, Heward, and Sister Elira.
Shouts echoed briefly as the barrier was constructed and then… silence. From somewhere beyond the cavern walls, however, the distant rumbling continued unabated.
The party put it out of mind, doing what they could against the Root Nexus by systematically destroying the subsidiary spheres. The enterprise took about ten minutes during which time the rumbling grew ever nearer and louder.
Until eventually it seemed to come from directly overhead.
For one long moment the cavern stood motionless and the next instant, the ceiling exploded. An enormous root, many feet in diameter, burst through solid rock in a shower of shattered stone before driving directly into the chamber and wrapping itself around the hovering Root Nexus. More colossal roots followed, punching through the walls and ceiling as though the mountain itself had suddenly come alive.
General Sherman had arrived.
The ancient guardian spoke only once with his voice resonating through every living root in the chamber.
“The roots… do not… drink… willingly.”
Then he devoted himself entirely to the battle. The immense roots constricted around the Root Nexus as corruption visibly raced upward into General Sherman’s vast root system. Healthy bark blackened. Great roots shuddered beneath the strain. The party was a helpless witness to the titanic struggle as one by one, General Sherman’s roots darkened.
At last the Root Nexus convulsed violently. The sickly light at its heart flickered, collapsed inward upon itself, and vanished.
Almost simultaneously, the immense roots imprisoning it split, cracked, and began to crumble into lifeless wood.
The two great enemies had destroyed one another.
For several long moments, no one spoke.
Then the party became aware of something extraordinarily difficult to describe. Throughout their entire journey beneath Briarfell, an unseen pressure had rested quietly upon every mind. It had become so constant, so familiar, that none of them had consciously noticed it.
Until now.
The weight had vanished.
The corruption was gone.
But General Sherman… was gone as well.
Only after the battle did the adventurers discuss what had almost happened – the Crown’s first priority had been the party and Mukden. They had never planned to primarily fight the Nexus; instead, they intended to allow the party to exhaust themselves against it then swoop in and capture them once they were weakened. They would then deal with the Nexus themselves or, more likely, return to their headquarters and return with reinforcements. Cassyndra’s decision to collapse the entrance passage had made that plan impossible.
Had the Crown remained free to return to the cavern, the exhausted party would almost certainly have faced a second battle before the subsidiary root spheres could be destroyed. General Sherman, confronting a fully empowered Root Nexus alone, would likely have perished without bringing down his ancient enemy.
The hastily raised wall of earth had done more than delay the Crown.
It had purchased the precious minutes required for the destruction of the Root Nexus itself.
Briarfell had been saved but at a terrible cost. General Sherman had won the battle he had been fighting alone but he had not lived to see his victory.
The Aftermath
Victory brought little satisfaction.
The corruption had been destroyed, but the price of that victory surrounded the party on every side. Mukden lay dead beside Gareth. General Sherman, whose cryptic warnings had puzzled the expedition from the beginning, had at last found the enemy he had sought for so long—and perished destroying it.
Looking back upon everything they had learned beneath Briarfell, the party gradually arrived at a melancholy conclusion. General Sherman had never truly been their enemy. His imprisonment of travelers, strange though it had seemed, had likely been a desperate attempt to keep them away from the corruption that was consuming both the forest and himself. The guardian had been fighting a lonely war and his own failing mind made it impossible to do so logically.
The adventurers themselves were scarcely in better condition.
Recognizing that pursuit was impossible in their exhausted state, they reluctantly accepted the necessity of rest. They remained in the shattered cavern and spent the next twenty-four hours recovering their strength while the collapsed entrance passage denied the Crown any opportunity to return.
Every hour that passed, however, allowed the Crown time to put their own plans, whatever they might be, into action. Therefore, when the party finally awoke, Cassyndra’s first concern was not the corruption.
It was the Crown.
Using Locate Object, she attempted to find the pouch carried by one of the Crown soldiers. The spell failed immediately, its target laying beyond the spell’s thousand-foot range.
The implication was unmistakable. Their antagonists had not lingered. Whatever future plans Helen had no longer involved the adventurers. More likely, she was already well on her way elsewhere with her prisoners—and whatever information she hoped to extract from them.
The realization transformed the party’s priorities. Vengeance, rescue, and pursuit now eclipsed every other concern. The corruption had been defeated and the race for the prisoners had begun.
Cassyndra reopened the collapsed entrance passage and the tunnel beyond stood empty. Helen, Heward, Sister Elira, the four surviving Crown soldiers, Oakbeard, Mossyrock, Tom, and Judy had vanished.
Retracing their own route through the caverns, the party slowly reconstructed the story of what had happened during their enforced rest. The chamber of the awakened trees remained exactly as they had left it, the two corrupted guardians lying where they had fallen.
The Myconid colony, by contrast, greeted them with the same quiet composure as before. Through their peculiar spore-borne communication, the fungal folk conveyed two reassuring pieces of news. The Crown had passed peacefully through the cavern without disturbing the colony. And, more importantly… the corruption was gone.
Farther on, the underground river offered another surprise.
The two giant cave sharks floated lifeless upon the current, their pale bellies turned upward as they drifted slowly downstream. Their bodies bore unmistakable signs of both blades and magic. Whether Laveleen and the surviving tribal Orcs had slain them on their way out, whether the Crown had done so while transporting its prisoners, or whether both groups had shared in the task, the party could not determine.
The spider-silk crossing that Chorizo had spun the previous day had been removed, but the giant spider obligingly replaced it, allowing the expedition to cross without incident.
Returning at last to the cavern that had once served as their prison, the party found that it too had changed. The living walls of intertwined roots had withered into lifeless wood and the strange Root Tenders were nowhere to be seen.
Most striking of all, a freshly excavated tunnel, some fifteen feet in length and two to three feet in diameter, now led upward through the soft earth toward daylight.
Whether it had been completed by Laveleen and the surviving Orcs before their capture, by the departing Crown, or through the efforts of both together, no one could say.
The answer scarcely mattered. For the first time since awakening beneath Briarfell… the party’s way to the surface stood open.
The Legacy of General Sherman
The ascent back to the surface proved mercifully unremarkable.
After so long beneath Briarfell, the first breath of fresh air felt almost unfamiliar. Cool forest air replaced the stagnant atmosphere of the caverns, while shafts of sunlight filtered through the towering canopy overhead. The forest itself seemed strangely quieter than before. The oppressive sense of wrongness that had accompanied every step beneath the trees had simply… vanished.
The corruption was truly gone.
Before anyone moved farther, Wolfgang knelt beside the churned earth outside the newly opened tunnel. The forest floor appeared a confusion of footprints left by fleeing soldiers, orcs, and humans, yet to the ranger the story remained remarkably clear. After several quiet minutes he rose with quiet certainty.
“Manchester,” he said simply.
The Crown had taken their prisoners toward the capital.
General Sherman’s final charge to the Root Nexus required little imagination to reconstruct. Massive rents scarred the forest floor where roots many yards in diameter had burst through the earth, carrying the ancient sequoia toward his final battle. Several ancient trees had been uprooted entirely while others leaned drunkenly where the ground beneath them had been displaced by the guardian’s desperate movement.
Following the trail of devastation, the adventurers eventually reached the place where General Sherman had fallen.
The ancient guardian would walk the forest no more.
His colossal trunk had split and collapsed beneath the strain of the corruption he had willingly drawn into himself. All of the once-living wood had blackened and there was no trace of living green. For several moments, no one spoke.
Whatever misunderstandings had existed between the party and the ancient guardian had died with him.
Patiently searching the immense remains, the adventurers recovered everything that General Sherman had taken from those he had imprisoned beneath Briarfell.
Foremost among the discoveries was the party’s own equipment, carefully preserved despite its lengthy absence. Weapons, armor, packs, spellbooks, holy symbols, and personal possessions were returned to their rightful owners with no small sense of relief. After the hardships of the previous two days, simply fastening a familiar sword belt or recovering a favorite spellcasting focus felt strangely comforting. None of the possessions appeared damaged or mistreated. Whatever else General Sherman had become, he had treated the belongings of those he imprisoned with the same care he had shown the prisoners themselves.
The remainder of the recovered equipment painted a quiet picture of those who had passed beneath Briarfell.
Among the effects were a traveler’s whistle fashioned from metal, which Cassyndra identified as a bardic spell focus, together with three druidic foci—presumably those of Oakbeard, Mossyrock, and one other druid, as yet unidentified. The ordinary equipment carried by the patrol’s fighter, barbarian, cleric, and rogue proved of little practical value to the party, although Calder noted with some interest that the fallen cleric appeared to have served Pelor, the same sun god whom he himself worshipped.
Conspicuously absent were any documents identifying the patrol’s individual members. Whoever these soldiers were, they had carried nothing that revealed their names, previous assignments, or personal histories. The sole exception was a sealed letter bearing the authority of the Crown, directing all loyal officials and subjects to render the bearers every reasonable assistance in the execution of Crown business. Rather than signatures, four thumbprints appeared beneath the order. The party recognized the practice immediately. Throughout Archea, important official correspondence was commonly authenticated by thumbprint so that anyone presented with such a letter could compare the bearer’s print against those impressed into the document itself, greatly reducing the risk that lost or stolen credentials might be misused. The letter revealed nothing about the identities of its bearers—but it confirmed beyond doubt that Helen’s detachment had been operating under direct royal authority.
The party spent a moment admiring the elegance of the system. They then spent several more discussing how they might circumvent it. Such behavior would become sufficiently characteristic of the expedition that future historians might reasonably consider it one of the defining features of the group.
One hundred and thirty gold pieces, together with several mundane rings, were likewise recovered.
The possessions of the Forest Rangers generated considerably greater curiosity.
Their curious “sending stones” were quickly recognized as the devices the Rangers had used to communicate with one another. Three hand-held “boomsticks,” each bearing mysterious inscriptions including the words Glock (a deity?) and 9 x 19 (surely some sort of activation phrase?), were handled with extreme caution. The party already understood that the dangerous end was the one pointed away from the wielder, having witnessed the Rangers fire the strange weapons at General Sherman only days before. Three similar devices bearing the inscription Tazer were treated with equal respect until their purpose could be determined.
Small laminated cards displaying each Ranger’s likeness and name proved equally mysterious, while several green pieces of parchment decorated with portraits of honored figures named Lincoln, Washington, and Jackson appeared to possess some unknown ceremonial significance. Particularly intriguing were repeated inscriptions proclaiming the United States of America, Federal Reserve System, and insisting that the parchment would serve as “Legal Tender”. Cassyndra quietly added the strange documents to the growing collection of mysteries she intended to investigate at a later date.
At last Merrythought noticed something resting among the shattered remains of the grove.
A massive sequoia cone.
She picked it up carefully.
No discussion followed and none was necessary.
Together they returned to General Sherman’s grove and prepared a birthplace for General Sherman’s successor. Cassyndra raised a broad mound of fresh earth at the center of the grove with Move Earth. Merrythought gently pressed the cone into the newly turned soil before Calder stepped forward to offer a quiet blessing.
As though in quiet acknowledgment, the clouds briefly parted.
A single shaft of sunlight descended through the canopy to illuminate the little mound.
Whether coincidence, divine favor, or Briarfell’s own farewell to its fallen guardian, no one could say.
No one felt inclined to question it.
General Sherman had fallen.
The guardian of Briarfell was gone.
Yet beneath the fresh earth… something new had been entrusted to the future.
Briarfell Reborn
The forest was not empty for long.
As the hours passed, scattered survivors gradually emerged from Briarfell. Druids cautiously returned from hiding, relieved to discover that the corruption had truly vanished. Before long, small groups of surviving Orcs likewise filtered back into the forest, searching for friends, family, and any sign of Laveleen or the warriors who had accompanied her from the caverns.
The news they received proved bittersweet.
The corruption had been destroyed.
General Sherman had fallen.
Laveleen, together with five members of the isolated tribe, had almost certainly been taken prisoner by the Crown.
Despite their losses, neither community showed the slightest inclination to abandon Briarfell.
The Circle of the Second Growth immediately turned its attention toward restoring the forest, while the surviving Orcs resolved to search for the scattered remnants of their people before deciding whether to remain in Briarfell or accept the invitation that Mukden had intended to deliver.
In Mukden’s absence, Merrythought undertook that duty herself.
She explained, as best she could, that Orcs now lived openly in Hollowmere and that they would welcome any peaceful survivors seeking refuge. She deliberately avoided discussing the wider political situation, explaining only that Laveleen knew the full story and would be able to answer their questions once she was rescued.
The druids accepted Laveleen’s remaining possessions into safekeeping until that day arrived.
The party likewise gathered Gareth’s belongings. His death deserved better than anonymity beneath Briarfell, and the adventurers quietly resolved that, when circumstances permitted, both his equipment and news of his sacrifice would be returned to his family in Gozneth.
Practical matters soon demanded attention.
The druids gladly offered horses to speed the pursuit of the Crown, although the corruption had scattered many of Briarfell’s animals during the previous weeks. It required nearly a full day to locate and gather enough mounts for the expedition to continue.
Cassyndra used that time to dispatch a critically important messenger.
Summoning Heka, she carefully composed a letter to Barin and Phineas in Dolven’s Hollow describing the Crown’s betrayal, the capture of their allies, and the prisoners’ likely destination. She urged them to delay the Crown by whatever means they considered prudent—through diplomacy, deception, sabotage, or open resistance—until the party could arrive.
The little owl accepted the message without complaint before launching silently into the evening sky.
For the first time since leaving Dolven’s Hollow, the party found themselves hoping that someone else might now be preparing the battlefield ahead of them.
However, while Briarfell had begun the long process of healing, the adventurers could not remain to witness it. Somewhere beyond the forest, Helen, Heward, Sister Elira, and the surviving Crown detachment continued their march toward Manchester.
The prisoners were still alive.
For the moment.
The chase had begun.
Wolfpine
By the following day, the party’s preparations were complete. Mounts had been gathered, Heka had departed for Dolven’s Hollow carrying Cassyndra’s warning, and Briarfell’s scattered survivors had begun the long process of rebuilding what remained of their forest.
There was nothing more the adventurers could accomplish by staying and Helen already possessed about two days’ advantage.
The pursuit began.
The journey to Wolfpine proved mercifully uneventful. There, refugees still passed southward in small, weary groups while increasing numbers of Crown soldiers marched north toward the widening war. Rumors flowed in both directions with equal enthusiasm and equal unreliability. Some claimed the Reclamation had already captured Harrowden. Others insisted the Crown had halted the advance and would soon drive the Orcs back. No two accounts seemed to agree for long.
The villagers themselves greeted the adventurers warmly before proudly announcing that they had solved the Horace Bell problem.
Horace remained mayor.
He had also been sentenced to hard labor.
Every morning, he could be found laboring under close supervision, hauling timber, digging drainage ditches, repairing fences, clearing fields, or performing whatever other unpleasant tasks the village happened to require. Come evening, however, the day’s punishment gave way to the day’s administration. Horace was secured in the village stocks where, despite his circumstances, he resumed his duties as mayor.
The arrangement functioned with surprising efficiency.
Villagers wandered up throughout the evening to ask where old tax records had been stored, whether repairs should begin with the eastern bridge or the western road, or whether old Mrs. Haversham’s complaint about her neighbor’s pigs possessed any legal merit. Horace answered each question with the patient resignation of a man who had accepted that municipal administration and penal servitude were now inseparable parts of his daily routine.
From time to time, a passing child punctuated the proceedings by throwing a rotten turnip.
The villagers regarded the entire arrangement as an admirable compromise between justice and good government.
The adventurers wisely refrained from suggesting improvements.
More important news soon followed.
The Crown had indeed passed through Wolfpine.
They had arrived escorting numerous prisoners, among them Oakbeard, Mossyrock, the two surviving Forest Rangers, Laveleen, and more than one orc. Recognizing that so many captives could not easily be transported on foot, Helen had requisitioned two wagons, fresh draft horses, supplies, and a detachment of Crown soldiers already marching north toward the front. The additional troops now served as an escort for both the prisoners and the Crown operative leading the expedition.
One point, however, remained surprisingly uncertain.
Some villagers insisted that the two apparent merchants—Heward and Sister Eliria—had departed alongside Helen and the enlarged Crown column in the direction of Manchester.
Others were equally certain that the pair had quietly separated from the soldiers shortly after leaving Wolfpine and taken a different road altogether.
No one seemed able to say with confidence which version was correct, and the party had neither the time nor the inclination to investigate further. Every hour the party delayed allowed the distance between hunter and quarry to grow.
The party mounted their horses and turned south with a clear immediate purpose – to recover their captured friends and to settle the account left unfinished beneath Briarfell.
Yet beyond the northern horizon, events were already unfolding on a scale far larger than any of their current concerns. Two armies were closing upon one another, and the decisions made in the coming weeks and months would reshape Archea for generations to come.
Where We Left Our Heroes
Briarfell had been saved.
The Root Nexus was destroyed, the corruption that had poisoned the forest was gone, and the surviving druids resolved to rebuild what remained. General Sherman—the ancient guardian whom the party had first known only as their captor—was dead. Yet upon a newly raised bed of earth above the ruined forest, a single sequoia cone now rested beneath the blessing of Calder Voss and an improbable shaft of sunlight.
Whether another General Sherman would someday rise from it was a question for a generation far beyond their own.
Other questions were considerably more immediate.
Mukden was dead.
With him had nearly died the mission that had brought him into Briarfell. Varnes did not yet know what had happened, and the tribal Orcs Mukden had hoped to reach remained scattered and leaderless. Before departing, Merrythought left word with the druids that any surviving tribal Orcs seeking safety should know that Orcs in Hollowmere would willingly receive and protect them. She deliberately said nothing of the Reclamation, Soulreaper, Varnes, or the political consequences of accepting that protection. Laveleen already knew the larger story. When she returned, the druids were told, the Orcs could ask her.
But Laveleen was now a prisoner of the Crown.
As were Oakbeard and Mossyrock, several tribal Orcs, and Tom and Judy, two strangers from another universe whose knowledge of their homeland might be worth more to the Crown than anyone in Wolfpine could possibly imagine.
George would never return home with them.
Nor would Gareth.
Among the possessions recovered from General Sherman were the final letters Gareth had written to his companions and to his family. For the moment they remained unopened, one last message from a man who had stood his ground beneath Briarfell until there was no ground left for him to give.
The party also carried stranger inheritances.
The possessions of the Forest Rangers—small mechanical devices, mysterious weapons, unfamiliar papers and other artifacts of an entirely different civilization—were now theirs. Some they could begin to understand. Others remained almost completely inexplicable. Their exact nature would become clearer soon enough.
There were mysteries closer to home as well. Among the Crown patrol’s possessions was evidence that one of its members had worshipped Pelor—the same god served by Calder Voss. The patrol itself had carried no names or identifying papers, but it had carried something potentially more useful: an official Crown letter commanding assistance to its four bearers, authenticated by their thumbprints. The system had been designed specifically to prevent stolen credentials from being used by someone else.
Naturally, the party had already begun thinking about how to defeat it.
And then there were Heward and Sister Eliria.
Merrythought knew that Heward had lied to her about the caravan with which he claimed to have traveled. She did not know why. Neither she nor anyone else in the party knew who the pair served or why they had entered Briarfell. Villagers in Wolfpine could not even agree whether the two had continued north with Helen or quietly gone their own way.
For the moment, they had simply disappeared into the confusion.
Helen’s destination, however, was considerably less mysterious.
Wolfgang had read the tracks outside Briarfell, and the reports from Wolfpine confirmed his conclusion. Helen and her Crown escort were heading southeast toward Manchester with their prisoners. She had requisitioned wagons, fresh horses, supplies, and additional Crown soldiers for the journey. She possessed nearly two days’ lead.
The adventurers were going after her.
And, for once, they were not their enemy’s only problem.
Heka was already on the wing.
Cassyndra’s owl familiar carried an urgent message ahead to Dolven’s Hollow, where Barin and Phineas and the Ebon Blades might be able to delay the Crown column, free its prisoners, poison its captors, attack it outright, or devise some still more imaginative form of assistance. Whether the message would arrive in time—and what the Ebon Blades would choose to do with it—remained unknown.
Beyond Dolven’s Hollow lay Manchester.
And beyond the party’s private war with Helen, a much larger war was gathering momentum.
Refugees were moving south. Crown soldiers were marching north. Rumors claimed that Harrowden had fallen to the Reclamation; other travelers insisted the Crown was already driving the Orcs back. Somewhere ahead, between contradictory reports and frightened travelers, two armies were engaged in a steadily deepening struggle that threatened to reshape Archea itself.
For the moment, the heroes rode away from all of it.
Behind them lay a dead guardian, a saved forest, and a newly planted seed.
Ahead lay their captured friends, Gareth’s final words, the mysteries of another universe, an enemy with a two-day head start, allies who did not yet know they had been summoned—and a war that was rapidly becoming impossible to avoid.