Meetings in the dark, secrets, feywild… all this is somewhat strange and mystifying.
But saving a cursed graveyard from desecration is something I can get behind. The strangers at this meeting are all of the same mind and agree to help this Palleus fellow with his cleaning job.
The first hurdle we face is a clearing with half-obscured pits. Three bodies of women lie there. I’m about to rush to help when a cackling harpy surprises me and the bodies begin to move — they aren’t dead after all. I try a couple of times to throw them into the pits. The harpy is much better at it, throwing my newfound friends into the pits instead. I try to tie up the witches while those with ranged talents take care of the flying harpy, but they are very disrespectful to my mark.
Dispite this trouble, we bring them all down. The harpy dies messily, the others go down quickly after that. The harpy’s nest is nearby and we find a small magical die that the ranger holds onto.
After a bit a turn in our path takes us from the mundane world to the feywild. Shortly after a small bridge is in site, and just as we approach the hills around us erupt with a cyclops ambush. Many of them fall quickly, but one in particular is difficult, again trying to disrespect the mark, so I Treacherous Ice him to keep him close, and the avenger slides up and makes it even harder for him to escape. Between us we pummel him to bits.
We recover briefly and continue our trek deeper into the feywild. We come upon a cave with a partially engraved entranceway, the words are easy to make out… their meaning not quite so.
Count you the shadows, watch the sun,
The wise know where they stand;
While knowing not the time to shun
The fools must find themselves undone.
Like lustful swain or panicked child
Who beg another’s gentle hand,
The fool delves heedless through the wild.
The wise are not so soon beguiled.
When darkness falls and dreams portend
The rising of a fearsome foe,
The fool, swift-striking, meets his end,
The wise know foe from friend.
Let art and image point the way,
Abandon all you think you know.
For common sense leads fool astray.
The key is simply this: Obey.
The wise must ever strategize;
They never play, unless to win.
They see the harm in comfort’s lies,
And seek to open weary eyes
You’ve fought your way, you’ve risked demise,
To view the ivy heart within.
Now as the soul within you dies,
This knowledge is your only prize:
You’d never have come, were you truly wise.