Date of Entry: 8/13/2024

Before us lies even more trees, gnarled and covered in vines. There are clusters of large mushrooms. There is little sunlight as the trees are choking out the sunlight. There is no more path on the other side of the gorge.

As Hargle sits and meditates in the aura of the magic surrounding the party there is a strange essence of the fae-wild. It is another dimension similar to ours and chock full of yummy magic. Old yummy magic, even. This is what is pulsing through the air and the woods around us.

Zoning back in, we feel a pair of eyes on us. Hargle isn't sure where it is coming from, but just knows it is something lurking in obscurity.

The party goes forth into the trees, there is a spongey flooring of dead plant matter underfoot. As they go further, the feeling of unease becomes nearly unbearable. Heywood gets a wicked headache trying to fight off the sensation. Hargle feels the sensation as well but it does little to dislocate his already-rotten mind.

“Ah my gawd my head is fooked up” Heywood makes note.

Heywood helps Martyr over a tree

There is a profound silence and gentle breeze in a spot of the forest, not quite a clearing. The trees have plenty of space in between.

All immediately stop walking.

There is glint of an arrow peaking from the trees. The missile lets loose loudly and strikes at the party's feet.

COMBAT BEGINS

From the leaves of the tree, a shining arrow lets loose and hits Heywood squarely on the thigh, ripping the flesh and causing significant damage.

Heywood, in shock, grabs a javelin and attempts to throw one at the unknown adversaries, though it hits nothing. He then closes in on one of the trees and manages to scale it about fifteen feet high, improving visibility. He sees the left leg of one of the enemies in another tree.

Ratfink, leaping from the backpack onto the forest floor, springs to action and begins to cast [Summon Shadowspawn], creating a demonic black sludge beast marked with hatred.

*ratfink really hates being woken up*

Ratfink wills the beast to run toward the tree with enemies within, and compells it to shriek a hellish outcry. Heywood and Hargle are frightened by this sight, and two enemies seem to run away.

[disadvantage on attack and defense]

Hargle spores, casts [Blindess/Deafness] and blinds the remaining enemy. There is a sound of cursing as Hargle feels the eyesight be claimed from the enemy. Satisfied, Hargle does literally nothing else.

Martyr spots the remaining enemy and attempts to hit it with sacred flame, though it isn't clear if it does anything.

There is a strange light emitting from the location of the remaining enemy, heywood is immediately drowsy, along with the others, except hargle who is just too wired.

The enemy loudly attempts to climb out of the tree but crashes through the branches, barely catching himself.

Hargle attempts to infest him with bugs, but fails.

The enemy pulls a bowstring back, and hits Hargle in the shoulder with an arrow. There is a sensation of something spreading through his body, but the rot is quickly turned back by Hargle's own biology. The arrow still tears off a chunk of the spores as it is removed, leaving few remaining.

[Chill Touch - 4dmg]

Hargle attempts to climb the tree but, once again, fatly falls down. The enemy wills him to fall asleep like the others.

END COMBAT

Hargle can vaguely see the three beings, around six and a half feet tall, vaguely elven, but they have large and long canines that jut from the mouth while braided hair comes from the head. Large sharp nails.

The magic keeps them asleep as they are being carried off by the beastly humanoids.

Waking up, they are bound up by cordage and with plant matter shoved in each ones mouth. The buildings are made of wood that seems grown into architectural form.

Heywood takes a deep breath and attempts to pry the cordage apart, but the binding only appears to be tighter. Hargle seems to do the exact same.

A tall figure enters the room of living wood. They are covered in luxurious pelts of fur, and the elf has ears that are somewhat smaller and more round than expected. Two more elves flank the more dominant one that is in front. She begins to bark orders to the other elves.

Hargle can understand some of the words that are being spoken and recognizes it as being elvish. A couple words seem to be “prisoner” and “intruder”.

Hargle struggles to try and speak, one of the guards removes the clump of moss from his mouth and notices it is covered in rotten sludge, and makes a face.

The leader speaks “Ground dweller, speak for yourself.”

Hargle asks for some better moss to chew on, the guards look at each other in disgust before shoving the moss back in his mouth.

*they don't particularly understand him*

Hargle can make out that they are discussing what to do with the party. There is a much finer dressed male elf that enters the room, and he is wearing shoes, he's got a leather necklace with a small wooden carving upon it that seems to be a raven. The women's expression seems to soften when they see him. He converses in a similar tongue with the others, though slightly stilted.

Hargle can understand him far better, and picks out something about “Help”, “Coerce”, and “Test”. There are some other words exchanged, the word “Trust” being one. The guards have spears of grown wood and release the party, the spear cuts through the cording like butter and the party is escorted. the moss tastes a little bit like elderberry.

There are many huts grown from the trees outside, nearly all of the residents of the tree village seem to be female.

There is a larger hut that the group is being led toward, and the male elf tells the party in confidence, “Just follow along, you might survive, but just play along.” A female elf sweetly grabs his hand and he walks away with her.

The fall to the ground is around 70 feet and would be quite painful. It is already night.

As we are led to the large hut and pushed inside, inside there is a lot going on, there are ladders that seem to lead to sleeping areas, and on the floor level there are stations for cooking and apothecary all around. There is a carefully contained fire in the center of the room. Many pelts and cool knick-knacks are all around.

The moss is plucked from each members mouth by the male elf, Martyr and ratfink are awake but a bit groggy and traumatized.

He goes back to the leader elf, who puts her claws upon his shoulder as a queue to speak.

“Well, apologies for the rude introductions, I hope you are feeling well. Would you happen to be adventurers seeking to help those in need? …. Possibly?” The male elf says with some obvious guidance toward the correct answer.

Hargle gives a thumbs up in the wrong direction, and the elven leader sighs in disappointment. The boy elf continues, “Well, my name Enym Amthistle, I was part of the previous party and am the lone survivor. Thanks to these women, ” he gestures to the glowing visages of his saviors, “They pulled me from the jaws of a strange beast” he says showing his scars.

“These wonderful ladies that saved me seem to be ancestors of mine, a progenitor to my elven brethren. Anyway, listen to her now,”

The elven leader, in pristine elvish, says “A great beast has descended upon a sacred place to us tree folk, it is necessary to our very existence. This beast must be slain.”

Enym continues, “The spring is connected to a sort of hole that seems to be connected to the Fae-wild…”

Hargle utters the question, “Is this beast from the fae-wild?”

Enym answers, “I saw a flash of white, but nothing else…”

The leader seems to understand the speech, and barks at Enym. He cowers and looks remorsefully at the party, “Although, before you may assist in this hunt you must pass a trial of combat. A warrior will be chosen from the wild ones.”

“Do we choose a warrior of our own?”

The leader laughs at this question, and answers that they will all need to fight together for any chance of victory.

She swiftly vaults up to the sleeping area, and the guards guide the party outside of the hut.

The party is weaved between each house and along trails until they seem to arrive at the outskirts of the village. There is a worn-out and disheveled hut that will serve as the party's home. The opening unwinds on its own, and grows nearly shut once the party is within.

There is a bit of food that is upon the floor of the dwelling, it is not very good but it decent enough to serve as a meal.

Enym takes the party to the far-end of the hut and seems to beg of the party, “You. Must. Help me escape this gods-damned place. I cannot believe that my people are descended from these savage she-folk who understand nothing of the finer things. I have been enslaved as breeding stock and for their perverse whims. After you take care of this beasty, please dear god get me from this place! I want fine wine, food, and women, these women eat only nuts and berries and they are fucking rancid. Holy shit. You wouldn't believe what I've been through. If only we hadn't tried investigating that gods-damned village!” He immediately takes out a fat purse of gold, “I've scraped together everything myself and my comrades had, I can make this worth your while.”

The party introduces themselves to Enym.

Heywood asks, “Do you know anything of the champion, what do we need to win this?”

Enym responds, “Lyak is the most likely. She is the strongest in the forest and deadly good with a bow, that is merely a guess.”

Heywood asks if there is a chance for a resupply, but Enym says no.

Hargle attempts to speak in archaic elven if there is a weakness to these sorts of elves, Enym barely understands him but says that melee is the only thing that might possible falter.

Hargle deduces that it will be necessary to get very close and beat the elf with a stick.

Enym leaves, leaving the guards blushing, and Hargle takes a close look at the door as it grows shut. It is ironwood, and usually grows very slowly.

Without much more to do, Hargle sits on a bedmat and munches on one of the Kings Crown mushrooms, his muscles seize for a moment, and gradually releases as hargle sighs and goes to sleep.

Martyr prays a little to Tyr.

Ratfink fiends for spaghetters.

Heywood sleeps hard as shit.

LONG REST

They are awakened by several of the female guards early in the morning, which is no problem for the seasoned grind-a-holics. The guards don't seem to say anything and don't seem to speak the common tongue.

Enym comes forward and says “Alright, it is time to prove yourselves.”

The party is led to a sort of fighting ring at a lower level of the canopy, the surface is the exposed end of a tree, though rather than being hewn it seems it has been forced to stop growing upward.

There seems to be a great number of tree-folk that have gathered to watch the fight from every angle. The scene is epic.

As the party is ushered forward there is a branch that seems to swing on its own toward the party. There is a woman upon the branch, very tall, and with very long braided auburn hair, she is also wearing very nice shoes. She has a large longbow with a wicked curve to it. She wears no quiver.

The branch takes her to the surface of the tree, there is an excitement of the crowd that becomes silent as she steps.

The lady speaks in ancient elvish to the crowd, “We are gonna kill these dudes,”

She then turns to the party and steadies her gaze upon them.

The leader elf explains that the party must bring the fighter down in order to be granted the mission. Knocking her off the tree or somehow disabling her ability to fight is sufficient to prove their mettle.

A staff is cracked against the ground, “BEGIN!”

BEGIN COMBAT

Martyr grabs his holy symbol, praying to tyr, and slaps Heywood with a protective invocation, boosting his defense. He then casts sacred flames at Lyak, smiting her from a distance.

Heywood runs up to Lyak, drawing his mace, and swings it toward the brawny elf, smacking it against her side and taking her by surprise to be struck so swiftly. Heywood keeps the momentum of the strike to spin into a kick to her head, grazing her chin, and attempts a second kick which the elf was prepared at this point and deflects.

Hargle wiffs both the spores and the chill touch, and ultimately flames the scimitar again.

Ratfink makes a faint shrieking sound and flaps his tendril of spaghetti toward the elf [hold person], the abyssal powers of his carb cabron has seized the elf and prevents her movement.

The elf fails to resist against the pasta prison, but it is futile.

Martyr tries to smack her with another sacred flame but it's basically just a shitty flashlight and deals no damage.

Heywood, in a moment of divine intervention, grasps his mace and crushes it against the body of the elf [nat20], and follows it up with a solid punch to the ribs. The crowd is absolutely bewildered, and Enym is evidently amused by the overwhelming success of the gang.

Hargle closes in to melee distance, [15 hits], [18dmg], and absolutely lacerates her with the flaming scimitar. The champion falls to the ground, unresponsive.

The elder has a complex look on her face, multiple members of the elven audience drag the champion away and begin the healing process. The crowd is generally dissatisfied with the result of the fight, they fizzle out.

The branches form a staircase for the elder to approach the party, Enym close behind. The elder speaks in stilted common, “Wow you won congrats :)”