Path of Gnashing Teeth
Path of Gnashing Teeth
The mist clung to Cobblecrest like a shroud that morning, muffling the usual sounds of the Gilded Lily’s pre-dawn preparations. Inside, the common room was warm, smelling of pipeweed, old ale, and the lingering comfort of last night’s fire. Korrin Dovell, hunched over a brittle map under the low glow of a shielded candle, traced a route west with a careful finger. Opposite him, Revna Emberroot sharpened her greataxe with rhythmic, grating strokes, the sound a counterpoint to the soft crackle of the hearth. Marinell Seldryn hummed a tune just below hearing, her fingers idly plucking silent chords on her lute, while Thazrin Velkas, his bronze scales catching the firelight, murmured a quiet prayer to Bahamut, his hand resting on the pommel of his longsword.
Their relative peace was interrupted by the hurried entry of Gregor Daleson, his usual merchant’s composure frayed. His coat was damp, his face drawn.
"Adventurers," he began, his voice tight, "I have need of your skills. Urgent need."
Korrin looked up, pushing his spectacles higher on his nose. "Gregor. Trouble finds you early today."
Gregor nodded, pulling up a stool. "My cousin, Marna. She was leading a caravan—saffron, barkroot, valuable stock—to Torsch. Took the old fringe trail through the Chondalwood, the one that skirts the Whispering Hollow. She’s never late." He produced a small, tightly rolled scroll, stained dark at the edges. "This came by raven this morning. It’s blood-smeared, panicked."
He unrolled it. A single, hastily scrawled word was visible: Teeth.
"Fifty gold pieces each," Gregor said, his eyes scanning their faces. "And a bounty on whatever… things… caused this. Find her. Bring her back. And deal with the threat."
Revna stopped sharpening her axe. "The Chondalwood grows restless. My kin felt it." Her knuckles were white where she gripped the haft.
Thazrin nodded slowly, his reptilian eyes narrowed. "A shadow lingers near the wood's edge. Protecting the innocent is its own reward, merchant, but your coin ensures we are equipped for the task."
Marinell’s humming ceased. "Whispering Hollow… they say the wind carries voices there. Perhaps it carried hers."
Korrin rolled up his map. "Lead the way, Gregor. Or point us. Time is clearly of the essence."
The edge of the Chondalwood greeted them not with birdsong, but with an oppressive silence. Mist, thicker here than in Cobblecrest, curled around their boots like grasping fingers, cold and damp. The air hung heavy, tasting of mildew, wet earth, and the faint, cloying sweetness of saffron – a scent that spoke of spilled wealth. Ahead, through the shifting grey veil, the merchant camp lay in ruins.
Canvas tents were shredded, flapping like pale ghosts in the non-existent breeze. A heavy transport wagon lay on its side, its sturdy timbers cracked open like a ribcage, spilling its precious cargo onto the sodden ground. Sacks of vibrant spices lay torn, their colours a garish stain against the muted greens and browns of the forest floor. A single wagon wheel, detached and leaning drunkenly against a shattered crate, spun with an agonizingly slow, rhythmic creak – the only sound in the clearing, like a final, dying breath.
Revna moved forward first, her axe held low, her booted feet making surprisingly little noise on the damp earth. She knelt, examining the ground near the overturned wagon. "Tracks," she grunted, her voice a low rumble. "Massive. Clawed. Three-toed." She pointed deeper into the woods, where the trail vanished into the mist. "Headed that way. Dragging something."
Korrin approached the wagon, his scholarly eyes scanning the wreckage. He stooped, picking something from the splintered wood. It was a fang, thick as a man’s thumb, jagged and greenish-grey, unnaturally dense. He turned it over in his fingers. "Not natural," he murmured, adjusting his spectacles. "There's a warmth to it still. And… residue. Necrotic?" He sniffed cautiously. "And something fungal."
Thazrin moved with a Paladin’s deliberate grace, his hand resting near his sword. He scanned the perimeter, his gaze lingering on the treeline. "The air feels… wrong. Desecrated. As if a sickness has taken root here." He paused, tilting his head. "There. Movement."
All eyes snapped towards a dense patch of brambles near the edge of the clearing. Marinell, her hand hovering over her lute, took a step back. A low rustling sound came from within the thorns, then silence. Was it just a squirrel? Revna had seen one earlier, perched on a bush, trembling uncontrollably, its tiny body rigid with fear as it stared, unblinking, into that same bramble patch.
"Marna?" Marinell called out softly, her voice a gentle probe into the silence.
A weak voice answered from beneath the ruined cart. "Here… gods, stay quiet…"
They found her huddled in the cramped space, her merchant’s attire torn and stained with mud and blood. Marna Whitshade looked older than her late thirties, her face bruised, one arm held at an unnatural angle. But her eyes, though wide with fear, held a spark of the gritty practicality Korrin knew from her cousin.
"Don’t move too loud," she whispered, wincing as Thazrin gently examined her arm. "They’re… they’re still out there. Near."
Marinell offered her waterskin. "Who? Bandits?"
Marna shook her head, her breath catching in a sob. "No bandits. Monsters. Tall as trees, but hunched. Arms like limbs, bark for skin… pulsing green light under it. And teeth…" She shuddered, gesturing vaguely at the ruined cart. "Jaws that could crush oak. The guards… Jorim and Kael… they screamed. Then… silence. Just… wet sounds." She swallowed hard. "I ran when it started chewing through the cart. Hid."
Korrin frowned. "Pulsing green light? Fungal growth?" He exchanged a look with Thazrin. This sounded worse than simple trolls.
"Did they speak?" Thazrin asked gently, his voice a low baritone meant to soothe.
Marna nodded, trembling. "One… one whispered. A wet, rasping sound. It knew my name. Said… said 'The Hollow Blight hungers for marrow…'" Her eyes darted nervously towards the oppressive woods.
As Thazrin finished binding Marna’s arm, a shape detached itself from the mist-shrouded treeline fifty yards away. Tall, impossibly thin, yet broad-shouldered, its silhouette was wreathed in the clinging fog. It moved with an unnatural lurching gait before melting back into the grey obscurity.
"Trollspawn," Revna breathed, her grip tightening on her axe. "Corrupted."
Korrin adjusted his spectacles again, his mind racing. "The fang, the tracks, the whispering… this points to something more organized than simple beasts. Druidic corruption, perhaps?"
"We must press on," Thazrin declared, helping Marna to her feet. "But carefully. This path has teeth." He looked towards the direction the creature had vanished. "And they seem to be waiting."
The trail narrowed quickly, plunging them into the Chondalwood's deeper embrace. The oppressive humidity intensified under the thick canopy, where sunlight struggled to pierce the dense foliage, dappling the path in eerie, shifting patterns of green and grey. The air grew heavy, thick with the smell of decay and something else, something sharp and acidic. Trees leaned inward like silent, moss-draped watchers, their branches dripping a viscous, black sap. Roots, thick as pythons, snaked across the path, slick with unnatural moisture, creating treacherous footing. Thorn-covered brambles, twisted into grotesque shapes, clawed at their cloaks, seeming to reach for them.
The silence was profound, broken only by the rhythmic drip of sap and the soft squelch of their boots on the muddy trail. Marinell instinctively drew closer to Revna, her hand resting on the dwarf’s sturdy shoulder. Korrin muttered incantations under his breath, faint blue light coalescing around him – his Arcane Ward shimmering into existence. Thazrin walked with his shield raised slightly, his eyes constantly scanning the dense undergrowth, his faith a palpable presence against the encroaching gloom.
Crack.
The sound was sharp, like a bone snapping. It echoed unnaturally in the stillness. From the dense underbrush to their left, two monstrous shapes erupted. They were easily eight feet tall, even hunched over, their bodies a grotesque fusion of gnarled bark, pulsing fungal growths that glowed with a faint, sickly green light, and what looked disturbingly like stretched humanoid flesh. Bowed legs propelled them forward with surprising speed, their long arms ending in thick, rending claws. Rotting flesh hung in strips from their frames, revealing glimpses of blackened bone beneath. Their eyes, pinpricks of emerald malice, fixed on the adventurers.
Simultaneously, the forest itself seemed to attack. From the branches above, thick, ropy vines descended like vipers, lashing out towards them. More vines erupted from the tangled roots at the edge of the path, seeking to ensnare their legs.
"Ambush!" Revna roared, the cry swallowed by the damp air. She charged the nearest Trollspawn Brute, her greataxe a blur of ancestral fury. The runes etched on her arms flared with inner light as her battle rage took hold.
Korrin reacted instantly, thrusting his staff forward. "Cave Curationem!" A shimmering shield of force expanded around Marinell just as a lashing vine sought to entangle her lute.
Thazrin met the second Brute's charge head-on, his shield absorbing the impact of a massive, slamming blow that would have pulverised stone. "By Bahamut's scales!" he bellowed, his warhammer crashing down, wreathed in divine light. The Brute roared, staggering back, the impact leaving a smoking scorch mark on its corrupted hide.
The Vine Blights proved insidious. One slithered down a tree trunk like a green serpent, attempting to constrict Korrin from behind. He twisted away, firing off a Ray of Frost that left a rime of ice on the grasping tendrils, slowing it momentarily. Another Blight, perched high in the canopy, rained down thorny projectiles.
Marinell, protected by Korrin’s ward, found her voice. Not a song of beauty this time, but a sharp, discordant chord – Vicious Mockery aimed at the Brute engaging Revna. “Lumbering oaf, clumsier than a drunken hill giant!” The creature flinched, its next swing going wide as psychic barbs pricked its rudimentary mind.
The ground beneath them proved treacherous. Revna, driving her axe deep into the Trollspawn’s shoulder, felt the earth give way. A patch of slick moss sent her stumbling towards a yawning pit hidden beneath decaying leaves, lined with wickedly sharp thorns. She roared in frustration, catching herself at the last moment, her dwarven resilience keeping her upright. Thazrin wasn’t so lucky. Dodging a sweeping blow, he slipped on a similar patch, tumbling into another thorn pit with a startled oath.
"Thazrin!" Marinell cried, her focus shifting.
The Paladin landed hard, thorns tearing at his armour and flesh. He grunted, pushing himself up, already assessing his predicament. The brambles clung to him, sharp and strong.
The battle devolved into a chaotic melee. Revna, enraged, fought with renewed ferocity, driving her Trollspawn back step by step. Korrin alternated between defensive wards and blasts of arcane energy, trying to keep the Vine Blights at bay and provide cover for Thazrin. Marinell used her magic to confuse and hinder, her sharp words finding surprising purchase on the Brutes’ simple minds, while occasionally weaving notes of mending towards Thazrin’s predicament.
Thazrin, meanwhile, fought a different battle. Restrained by the grasping thorns, he hacked furiously with his warhammer, trying to clear enough space to climb out, while fending off lashing vines from above. He managed to sever one thick bramble, but another immediately snaked around his leg.
Suddenly, the Trollspawn battling Revna let out a gurgling roar. As her axe bit deep again, nearly severing an arm, its fungal patches pulsed violently, releasing a cloud of sickly green spores. Revna coughed, recoiling, a wave of nausea washing over her. The poisoned air burned her lungs, but her dwarven constitution fought off the worst of it.
Seeing Thazrin struggling, Korrin took a calculated risk. Ignoring the Vine Blight menacing him, he focused his will, chanting words of Abjuration. A shimmering rope of force snaked down towards the Paladin. "Grab hold!"
Thazrin seized the magical tether. With a grunt of effort, Korrin hauled him upwards, thorns tearing free as the Paladin scrambled onto solid ground, albeit bruised and bleeding.
The tide turned. Freed, Thazrin rejoined the fray with righteous fury. Revna, shaking off the poison, landed a devastating blow, cleaving through the Trollspawn’s neck. It collapsed with a wet thud. Marinell’s hypnotic patterns momentarily dazed the remaining Brute, allowing Korrin to incinerate two Vine Blights with precise Fire Bolts. The last Brute, seeing its companion fall and facing four determined adventurers, turned, its regeneration already knitting its wounds, and crashed back into the undergrowth, fleeing deeper into the corrupted woods.
Silence descended again, broken only by heavy breathing and the sizzle of acid where Trollspawn blood had spattered. Revna spat, wiping ichor from her axe. "Filthy things."
Korrin examined the area where the second Brute had fled. "It leaves a trail. Acidic. Whatever corrupted these beasts taints the land itself." He picked up a piece of bone dropped by the fleeing creature. Runes, crudely carved yet undeniably druidic, marred its surface. "Desecration," he confirmed grimly. "This corruption is deliberate."
Marinell, checking on Thazrin, noticed something else. Near the edge of the fight, almost hidden by the roots of a gnarled oak, lay a damp leather pouch. Inside, amidst grime and dried leaves, were over a hundred gold coins and a small, tightly sealed vial. Korrin identified the vial’s contents with a sniff. "Alchemist's Fire. Useful against their regeneration, had we needed it."
Thazrin pointed upriver, where the trail seemed to lead. A foul-smelling stream bubbled nearby, its water black and viscous. On the muddy bank, massive claw marks, gouged deep, showed where something large had recently dragged itself. "Whatever that creature was," Thazrin said, his voice grim, "it headed towards the heart of this sickness. Towards the old glade."
The path opened into what should have been a place of serene beauty, but was now a festering wound upon the Chondalwood. The air in the glade was thick and stagnant, carrying the stench of decay, bile, and something else – a cloying sweetness like overripe fruit mixed with grave dirt. Trees, ancient oaks and shadowtops, bowed inward as if in pain, their bark blistered, weeping black, oily ichor. The ground was a carpet of sickly grey moss and pulsating, bioluminescent fungi that cast an eerie, shifting light.
In the center of the glade stood a circle of fat, glowing mushrooms, their caps swollen and veined with purple. They surrounded a cracked stone altar, its surface stained dark. Carvings that might once have depicted scenes of natural harmony – leaping stags, soaring eagles – were now twisted into grotesque, writhing shapes, like figures trapped in eternal torment. The very earth seemed to groan beneath their feet. A low, constant buzzing filled the air, emanating from a mound of bones piled haphazardly near the altar, crawling with fat, black flies that twitched with unnatural life. The wind, which had whispered fitfully on the trail, died completely here. The silence was heavy, suffocating.
Korrin raised a hand, gesturing for caution. He pointed towards the base of the altar, where four thick, gnarled root formations snaked out from the earth. Etched into each root was a rune, pulsing faintly with the same sickly green light as the mushrooms. Lines of this necrotic energy flowed visibly along the roots, converging on the altar stone, making it hum with barely contained power.
"Necrotic anchors," Korrin breathed, adjusting his spectacles. "They're feeding that... thing."
As if summoned by his words, something stirred in the deep shadow cast by the altar. It rose slowly, deliberately, a nightmare stitched from charnel-house scraps. It was roughly troll-shaped, but larger, its flesh a patchwork of mottled grey and bruised purple, held together with thick, black sinews that seemed to writhe independently. Fungal growths erupted from its hide like tumours. Its limbs were too long, ending in claws dripping with ichor. Its head was a malformed lump, dominated by a cavernous maw filled with rows of needle-sharp teeth. It let out a low, wet gasp, like air escaping a punctured lung, and fixed its milky, hate-filled eyes upon them.
"The Flesh Troll," Thazrin murmured, his hand tightening on his warhammer. "Spawn of the blight."
Beside the troll, two smaller figures stirred – Myconid Adults, their usually passive forms corrupted, their caps emitting the same unhealthy green glow as the runes. They turned their eyeless faces towards the intruders, and a wave of alien thought brushed against Marinell's mind, cold and voiceless: The forest remembers... and it hates.
"The runes!" Korrin urged. "They empower it! We must sever the connection!"
Revna needed no further prompting. With a roar that echoed her ancestors' fury, she charged the nearest rune-etched root, her greataxe aimed at the pulsing glyph.
The Flesh Troll lumbered forward, surprisingly fast for its bulk, its slam attacks hitting with bone-jarring force. Thazrin met its charge, his shield groaning under the impact, his warhammer finding purchase on its unnatural hide, leaving sizzling scorch marks. The Myconids moved to intercept Revna and Korrin, releasing clouds of pacifying spores.
Korrin erected a shimmering ward around himself, the spores dissipating harmlessly against the arcane barrier. He began chanting, tracing complex patterns in the air, aiming a Dispel Magic at the rune Revna targeted. Marinell, meanwhile, unleashed a cascade of disorienting notes – Dissonant Whispers aimed at the Flesh Troll. The creature flinched, clutching its head, momentarily distracted.
Revna’s axe bit deep into the root. The rune flared, then sputtered. The Flesh Troll roared, a flicker of pain crossing its grotesque features. Its movements seemed slightly slower, the unnatural vitality dimming marginally. One of the Myconids turned on Revna, its fists slamming into her side.
Thazrin held the line, his smites burning the troll's corrupted flesh, while shouting prayers to Bahamut, bolstering his own defenses. The battle became a desperate race against the troll's prodigious regeneration, fueled by the remaining runes.
Marinell saw an opportunity. While the troll focused on Thazrin, she directed a Hypnotic Pattern towards the Myconids. Swirling colours filled the air around them. One Myconid succumbed instantly, freezing in place, mesmerized. The other shook its cap, resisting the effect.
Korrin, seeing Revna struggling against the remaining Myconid and the second rune, shifted his focus. He unleashed a concentrated blast of force – Magic Missile – not at the Myconid, but at the pulsating rune itself. The arcane bolts slammed into the glyph. It flared brighter, cracked, and died. The troll roared again, clutching its chest as its regeneration visibly faltered.
Now only two runes remained active. Revna dispatched the Myconid with a brutal cleaving blow and turned her attention to the third root. The mesmerized Myconid remained useless. Thazrin, seeing the troll weakened, pressed his advantage, his warhammer a blur of divine energy.
The Flesh Troll, cornered and losing its unnatural vitality, fought with savage desperation. It ignored Thazrin for a moment, spewing a gout of poisonous gas from its maw. Thazrin choked, staggering back, but his draconic resilience lessened the worst of the poison's effects.
Revna shattered the third rune just as Korrin blasted the fourth with another volley of Magic Missiles. The green glow guttering out across the glade, the Flesh Troll let out a final, soul-wrenching shriek. Its regeneration failed completely. Its flesh seemed to lose cohesion, sloughing off in wet chunks. With a final, desperate blow, Thazrin’s hammer crushed its skull.
The creature collapsed, dissolving into a pile of noxious sludge that rapidly sank into the corrupted earth. Then, a final insult – the sludge erupted outwards in a cloud of choking, blinding fungal spores. The party coughed, eyes watering, waving the spores away.
Silence returned, heavier than before. The sickly green glow was gone, replaced by the dim, natural light filtering through the diseased canopy. The buzzing flies fell silent.
Korrin cautiously approached the altar. Beneath a tangle of now-dormant roots, almost hidden by moss, was a small, mold-crusted scroll case. Inside, miraculously preserved, were two scrolls: one of Lesser Restoration, the other a crudely drawn map. It depicted the Chondalwood, marking hidden groves and lines of power radiating through the forest. Some lines shone faintly; others, including the one passing through this glade, were blackened, scored through with angry symbols Korrin recognized as belonging to a death cult, possibly related to Malar or Talona.
"This corruption runs deeper than just this glade," Korrin said grimly, showing the map to the others. "Something is poisoning the forest's heart."
As if in answer, a final, dying vine near the altar rustled. A faint whisper, carried on no wind, reached Marinell’s sensitive ears – though she spoke no Druidic, the single, chilling word resonated with pure malice: Rootmind.
The trail from the desecrated glade led them not to a path, but to a wound in the earth – a massive sinkhole, its edges crumbling, ringed by trees whose roots clawed desperately at the receding soil. A faint, acidic stench drifted up from the darkness below, mingled with the cloying sweetness of rot. This place felt ancient, violated. What might once have been a hidden temple or sacred cave was now undeniably a lair.
Securing ropes, they descended. The air grew thick, humid, tasting of mildew and something metallic, like old blood. The sinkhole opened into a vast subterranean cavern. The floor was cracked stone, slick with black ichor. Pulsing roots, thick as a man’s thigh, snaked across the floor and walls, converging towards the cavern's center where they plunged into the earth like grotesque veins feeding an unseen heart. Acid dripped rhythmically from the ceiling, sizzling where it pooled on the floor. Faint green light emanated from fungal patches clinging to the walls, casting long, distorted shadows. Carvings adorned the walls – elegant, flowing lines nearly obscured by moss and corruption. Thazrin recognized the style: Silvanus, the Forest Father. His face, where visible, seemed to weep black resin.
The ground groaned, a low, resonant thrum that vibrated through the soles of their boots. Opposite them, a section of the root-choked wall shuddered violently. Dirt and stone showered down as the roots tore themselves apart, revealing a darker cavity beyond.
Then she emerged.
Verdrott. The name whispered into Marinell’s mind, unbidden. She was immense, easily filling the fifteen-foot opening. Her form was a nightmarish fusion of trollish bulk and corrupted forest. Rotting bark served as hide, fused with bloated, greenish flesh that pulsed faintly. Her limbs were too numerous, some ending in rending claws, others in thorny branches. Twisting antlers, wreathed in cold, green flame, crowned a head dominated by a maw filled with shattered-stump teeth. Her eyes – ancient, intelligent, and burning with a cruel, consuming hunger – fixed on them. She roared, a sound that was both bestial and chillingly articulate, a roar that cracked stone and threatened sanity. The Troll Matriarch had awakened.
"Softskins," Verdrott’s voice grated, echoing in the cavern, thick with the sound of grinding roots. "You reek of the Green. You stink of order. You will feed the rot."
She moved with deceptive speed, one massive hand slamming down where Korrin had stood moments before, shattering the flagstones. Acidic saliva dripped from her maw.
"Ancestors, lend me strength!" Revna bellowed, charging forward, her greataxe singing. She met Verdrott’s reaching claw with a parry that sent sparks flying, the force jarring her to the bone.
Thazrin invoked Bahamut’s protection, his shield flaring with silver light as he moved to flank the monstrosity. "Abomination! Your blight ends here!" He brought his warhammer down in a radiant arc.
Verdrott shrugged off the blow, her corrupted flesh knitting almost instantly. She lashed out with thorny limbs, forcing Thazrin back. Korrin unleashed a barrage of Magic Missiles, the bolts impacting her hide with dull thuds, seemingly causing little more than annoyance.
Marinell tried a different approach, her voice weaving a calming melody, attempting to soothe the savage heart within the monstrous form. Verdrott paused, head cocked, a flicker of something other than rage in her eyes. But then she roared again, shaking off the enchantment. "Pretty songs cannot mend what is broken!"
The fight became a brutal dance around the pulsing roots. Verdrott’s slams were devastating, her bite venomous. Pockets of acid burst underfoot, released by her heavy tread. The very air seemed to thicken with necrotic energy radiating from her. Revna fought like a cornered badger, her rage giving her unnatural resilience, her axe biting deep but failing to stop the relentless regeneration. Thazrin provided stalwart defense and bursts of healing, his smites the only attacks that seemed to leave lasting wounds. Korrin focused on abjuration, shielding his allies, countering the subtle necrotic pulses Verdrott emanated, while searching for a weakness. Marinell supported them with inspiration and hindered the Matriarch with illusions and sharp-tongued mockery.
Suddenly, the roots covering the floor surged upwards at Verdrott’s unspoken command. Thazrin found his leg caught fast. "Root Snare!" he yelled, struggling against the woody tendrils.
Seeing an opening, Verdrott lunged, her maw gaping wide. But Revna intercepted, throwing herself in the path, her axe hacking at the Matriarch’s face. Verdrott roared, swatting the dwarf aside like an insect. Revna crashed against the cavern wall, momentarily stunned.
"Now, Korrin!" Thazrin shouted, channeling healing energy into his own trapped leg.
Korrin nodded grimly. He had been preparing. Gathering his arcane power, he unleashed his most potent abjuration – Otiluke’s Resilient Sphere. A shimmering globe of force erupted around the surprised Troll Matriarch. Verdrott bellowed, slamming against the impenetrable barrier, her claws scraping uselessly.
"It won't hold her long!" Korrin gasped, sweat beading on his brow. "We need to end this!"
Marinell, seeing Verdrott contained, focused her magic differently. She poured soothing notes into the cavern, not to charm, but to reach whatever spark of the original forest spirit might remain within the corrupted troll.
Verdrott ceased her struggles, her burning eyes fixed on the Bard. The green flame on her antlers flickered.
Thazrin, freed by Korrin’s earlier spell preparation aiding his own strength, and Revna, shaking off her stun, readied themselves.
Then, Verdrott spoke again, her voice less a roar, more a desperate rasp. "Spare me, softskins," she pleaded, her massive form sagging within the sphere. "I am but bark and blood… bound to Its will. The Rootmind awakens… It stirs beneath the wood. It speaks from the Hollow Beyond… Takes the green… makes it bleed…"
Marinell lowered her lute slightly. "The Rootmind? What is it?"
Verdrott shuddered. "Ancient… Wrong… Sleeps… but dreams of rot. Made me… remade others… Feeds on the lines… poisons the heartwood…" Her voice trailed off into a low groan.
A tense silence fell. Korrin maintained the sphere, his expression thoughtful. Revna looked ready to shatter the globe and finish the job. Thazrin watched Verdrott, his expression conflicted – justice demanded punishment, but mercy… and the hint of a greater evil…
"What would you have us do?" Thazrin asked, his voice steady.
Verdrott’s eyes flickered. "Break the seed… deep below… where the lines bleed blackest… Before it wakes fully… before all becomes rot…"
The choice hung heavy in the stale air. Slay the monster, or spare it for the dangerous knowledge it possessed?
Korrin met Thazrin's gaze, then Revna's, then Marinell's. "This creature is a symptom," he stated quietly. "Not the disease. We need to know more." He lowered the sphere slowly.
Verdrott slumped, the fight seemingly gone out of her, leaving only a creature of bark, bone, and fear.
Tucked away in a cocoon of pulsing vines near where Verdrott had emerged, they found a satchel made of strangely resilient hide. Inside lay two hundred gold pieces, a large, uncut emerald pulsing with a faint green light, and a scroll tube sealed with black wax. The scroll, penned in crude Druidic, contained fragmented notes: observations on the corruption spreading along ley lines, symbols of Silvanus defaced or inverted, and ritualistic passages mentioning the "Rootmind," a "waking seed," and the "supplanting of the green with gnashing teeth." From Verdrott’s remains, Thazrin recovered a fist-sized chunk of wood, unnaturally heavy, radiating cold – a Heartstone Fragment, humming with necrotic energy.
They left the lair, sealing the sinkhole entrance with stone and potent warding glyphs courtesy of Korrin, leaving Verdrott imprisoned within her corrupted temple—a volatile source of potential future information, or future peril. The trek back through the Chondalwood felt different. The oppressive malice of the glade and the lair had receded, but the quiet that settled over the ancient trees was not one of peace. It was the quiet of a forest holding its breath, scarred and waiting. The path still felt lined with teeth, but now they sensed the deeper, grinding molars of an ancient, awakening hunger far beneath the surface rot. The shadows seemed longer, the dripping ichor from blighted trees a constant reminder of the sickness they had only scraped the surface of.
Weariness settled deep into their bones by the time the familiar eaves of Cobblecrest village appeared through the lingering afternoon mist. Mud-caked and blood-spattered, they walked with the heavy tread of those who had faced monstrosities and wrestled with disturbing truths. The familiar sounds of the village – the ring of Balin Ironhand’s hammer, the distant laughter from the Rusty Cauldron, the lowing of cattle – were a welcome balm, yet felt strangely fragile against the backdrop of the ancient corruption they had glimpsed.
They found Gregor Daleson pacing anxiously near his usual stall in the now-quieting market square. Relief washed over his face as he saw them approach, though it was quickly tempered by the grim set of their expressions and their travel-stained appearance.
"You're back!" he exclaimed, rushing forward. "Marna? Did you find her?"
"She is safe," Thazrin confirmed, his voice steady despite his fatigue. "Injured, but alive. We found her hiding near the ruined camp. Arrangements were made for her safe return earlier, after we cleared the immediate threat."
Gregor closed his eyes for a moment, whispering a prayer of thanks. "Gods be praised. I owe you a great debt." He straightened, his merchant practicality returning. "Your payment, as promised." He produced four heavy pouches, the clink of gold coins loud in the evening air, and handed one to each of them. "Fifty gold pieces each. And… Marna spoke of monsters. Trollspawn, she thought, though twisted."
"Aye," Revna rumbled, wiping grime from her axe. "Twisted things. Two brutes and a larger horror in the glade where they dragged their victims. Corrupted by some foul blight."
Gregor nodded, his expression hardening. "The Guild authorized a bounty on any trolls dealt with near the trade routes. They've been a menace, growing bolder. Thirty gold for each… creature… neutralized. You dealt with three?"
Korrin nodded. "Two Brutes and a… Flesh Troll, of sorts. All dispatched."
Gregor counted out another ninety gold pieces. "Then this is also yours. A small price to pay for safer passage." He offered the bounty.
Thazrin held up a hand, his bronze scales catching the dim light. "The initial payment for our service is accepted, Merchant Daleson. But I claim no bounty for slaying creatures born of corruption or for defending the innocent. That is duty, not commerce."
Revna hesitated for a moment, her gaze distant, perhaps thinking of her own lost kin and the burden of protection she carried. She then shook her head. "The Paladin speaks rightly. My axe seeks justice, not coin earned from blight."
Marinell, however, accepted her share of the bounty with a graceful nod. "Our skills have their price, Gregor, and the road was perilous. This will help replace frayed lute strings and perhaps buy a round at the Lily to wash away the memory."
Korrin, ever the pragmatist, also accepted his portion. "Resources are necessary for continued study, and the threats in that wood… they are far from over." He tucked the pouch away.
Gregor looked between them, sensing the unspoken weight behind their words. "Something else troubles you? Did you find the source of this… twisting?"
Korrin considered, then shook his head slightly. "We found the source of the immediate threat, Gregor. The trolls are dealt with, Marna is safe, and your caravan route, for now, is likely clearer. But the Chondalwood keeps ancient secrets. Some are best left undisturbed, while others… others have roots that run deeper than any caravan trail."
Gregor nodded slowly, understanding he would learn no more tonight. "The Guild thanks you again. And I thank you. Knowing Marna is safe… that is wealth beyond measure."
As Gregor turned to secure his stall for the night, the four adventurers stood for a moment in the gathering dusk. The reward felt heavy in their pouches, earned through peril and grim discovery. Cobblecrest, with its warm lights and familiar sounds, seemed both a sanctuary and a fragile island in a darkening wood. Marna was safe, the immediate danger quelled. But the whisper of the Rootmind, the image of the weeping carvings of Silvanus, and the knowledge of a blight that ran deeper than trollish flesh lingered like the damp chill of the forest mist, a promise of future paths lined with gnashing teeth.
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