Session 2 in the Feywild

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##### Azura
 
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You walk through a dense forest, trees pressing in on you. The air is humid and heavy, weighing down on you. Your feet and legs sting as shrubs scratch at them. Something drives you forward, pulling you deeper. You push past trees, their branches seeming to edge you along towards an unseen end.
 
Just as the weight of the air begins to push you do the ground, you step into a clearing, a canopy of tree branches blocking any semblance of light. At the centre is a moss covered menhir, ancient runes glowing through the greenery. 
 
Around it sit seven figures, low gutteral chanting issuing forth. One wears a shimmering white gown, steaming in the hot clearing. The next a salt crusted mantle. The third's dark weathered skin betrays years in the sun, beside him the fourth wears a cape of leaves and vines. The fifth rests a shepherds crook on his lap, his eyes shaded under a farmer's cap. The sixth and largest of them grumbles in his stillness, his shoulders like heaving rocks, moving with his gentle breath. The seventh is lithe, his damp skin smells putrid.
 
As you enter the clearing, they stop their chanting, eyes locking on you. They point at the menhir, inviting you in. What do you do?
 
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**Touch**  - You lay your hand on the moss, and at once feel energy serge through you. You feel connected to the realm around you, every living thing suddenly talking in unison. Your see your hand now covered in moss, as it grows quickly up your arm. Your tattoos light up, pulsing like the runes on the ancient stone. You are pulled in, flat against the rock, the last light of day covered by damp green. The cacophony rings in your head, but you hear the music within it, now clear and beautiful... then serene peace. You awake gently in the morning a sense of harmony in your mind. 
 
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**Don't touch it** - Resisting the urge you step back from the circle. The seven stand, their chants growing louder. Between them, a wall is raised, encircling the stone. The wall, formed of ice and water, sand and bark, thicket, rock and vines pushes you outwards towards the trees. You feel the branches that once urged you on, pulling you away, scratching and clawing. A dense mist spreads from the wall, blinding you, choking you. You wake with a start. 
 
 
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##### Zog
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Roaring laughter matched with the smell of ale fills your senses. The hide tent is vibrant, and full of life. You see Orcs of all shape and size drink and make merry, trading stories of war and glory. One seat is empty, and chained to the floor. A horn of ale sits on the table, waiting to be drunk.

As the revelry continues, you feel a chill breeze part the tent flaps, putting out the lively flames. You watch as one by one, the warriors are frozen in place, as snow and ice fill the tent. A large man steps in, his mane of hair and mighty beard white against an icy blue face. He points at the empty chair, and raises a hand with a hammer and chisel. In his other hand, he offers a you an axe. What do you do?

**Take the chisel** - You take the hammer and chisel from him, and turn it to the chains binding the empty chair. You strike at it, breaking link after link, until the chains fall away. As you kneel, panting from the effort, a warm hand grasps your shoulder. You look up to see your father's face, saddened. Your blinking becomes heavier, your breath colder. You feel your muscles freeze into place, unable to move. You wake suddenly, shivering in your bed.

**Take the axe** - You reach for the axe, and the man holds onto it. You lock eyes, and begin pulling. He pulls back, muscles tensing. You step closer, placing the other hand on the axe. You see his eyes go from empowered, to worried, to scared. You growl, baring your tusks at this creature. You give one final pull, freeing not only the axe, but the arm holding it too.

The man falls to his knees, panting, terror in his eye as you loom over him. With a roar, you swing the axe down, and his body shatters. One by one, the warriors thaw, and resume their festivity.

Panting, you search for the chisel, but to no avail. You look to the chair; it remains empty, chained. The horn still sits filled. You waken, an empty feeling twisting your gut.

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##### Tyrael
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You walk through a field of wheat, garbed in simple clothes. Your hand brushes the tops of the grains as a gentle breeze moves the field like an ocean. Down the field, you see a farmhouse, small and humble. Smoke rises from the chimney, the smell of soft bread wafting wards you. On a table before the farmhouse you see armour, shining and golden, of ancient make. It bears the sun symbol of Pelor, like your own armour.

In a field by the farmhouse, you see an old Eladrin. With one hand, he pulls seeds from a bag, sowing the tilled earth behind him. With his other hand, he brandishes a golden sword, fending off a large figure of smoke and shadow, the grains behind it whithered away. As you approach, the Eladrin calls to you; "I alone cannot do both. Help me." He stretches out both arms, sword in one, grain in the other. Which do you choose?

**Sword** - You take the sword from his hand, and the creature locks eyes on you, a menacing grin stretching across its grotesque face. In a deep echo it says "Is that all, little man?" The Eladrin places a hand on your shoulder; "There is more to it than striking true". You focus on the creature, as the Eladrin begins sowing seeds.

You see the wheat grow, as you turn to your opponent. He strikes at you relentlessly, again and again. You deflect and parry, but struggle to strike. You feel the impossibility of the task looming. But behind you, the field is flourishing, life spreading, pushing back the whithered lands behind the shadow. You stand your ground, like a rock against water, turning back attack after attack. You see the wheat encircle the fiend, and as life clamours around him, he weakens. With waning strength, you finally drive the sword through it. It disintegrates in glorious sunlight. You fall to the ground, arms and legs outstretched, feeling the earth beneath your hands as the sun beats down on your weary chest. The smell of bread eases you back into peaceful slumber.

**Grain** - You take the bag, and the Eladrin faces the fiend. You start sowing the fields around you, as the duel rages on behind you. You begin to see field springing to life, wheat growing all around you, but it feels too slow. You see the Eladrin suffering, the ancient warrior losing the battle. You reach into the bag, but it is empty, and the whithering crops continue their spread. The Eladrin falls, and you watch as a dark hand reaches to you, filling your vision. You wake with a start.

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##### Altivo
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The noise of endless discussion surrounds you, making your head throb with boredom. The weight of your fine robes make your shoulders ache. Hundreds of well dressed men and women crowd around benches and tables, arguing. At the head of the large chamber, a chair stands empty, people arguing all around it... because of it.

Several figures point at you, then at the chair. But the smell of wine catches your nose, and you look towards a door. You see beautiful men and women, scantily dressed around it, beckoning towards you, inviting you in. The crowd parts ways, creating one path to the seat, one to the door. Where do you go?

**Seat** - You do your best to ignore the temptation that beckons, and move towards the chair. Several well dressed nobles garb you in raiments of power, and hand you your rod of rulership, and a lordly blade. You take a seat, and all around you go quiet, waiting on your word. The silence is oppressive. You raise the rod, and all erupt in applause. You look to the door; it's shut.

You look back on the myriad attending your word. You raise the blade, they all cheer and draw their own swords. They all turn, and march out towards a large mountain, ready for battle. You stand, look one last time at the shut door, and follow. The rumbles of the march make you jump, and you wake.

**Door** - You move away from the chair, and make to the door, following the beckons. As you reach the door, your heavy robes are pulled off. A bottle of wine, and a fine ebony pipe are placed in your hands as you pass into a room full of cushions. Instruments play beautiful music, and you recline, enjoying the simple pleasures. After a while, you hear the music stop. The room is empty.

You reach for the pipe, but it is empty and cracked. You take a swig from the bottle, but taste only vinegar. You step out of the room, and see the large chamber littered with starved bodies. The chair lies in ruins. You feel your belly cramp, and you look down to see your body reduced to skin and bone. You wake, feeling sick and weak.

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##### Rodan
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You hear the echoes of your footsteps as you walk down a dark cavernous corridor, a small golden lamp your only source of light. As you turn a corner, you see the end of a line of robed people. Each has their hand on the shoulder of the one before, and each has their eyes covered by blood soaked rags. They shuffle forwards. You wander past, trying to find the start of this line.

You eventually find the front; the robed figures march towards a precipice. One by one, they step off the edge, falling into a huge bronze cauldron. You glance over, and see its contents are bubbling, and a thick red with a ferrous smell. You gaze up, and see three thrones on the far side of the cauldron. On the left sits a mummified corpse, a sickly grin preserved on its face. On the right sits a pale ghost, its features barely recognisable. Empty eyes watch the pot fill. In the centre sits a huge red skinned creature, flanked by wings. Its horned head gazes at you, as a clawed finger points into the cauldron. What do you do?

**Jump** - You steal yourself. taking several deep breaths, and step off the ledge. You fall before meeting the boiling liquid. It scalds your skin, and pulls you down. Embracing it you turn and swim into the mire, pushing past the others who fell. You feel your burning hand come upon something cold at the based of the cauldron and grip onto it. As the heat overwhelms you, you wake from your trance, drenched in sweat, a small rusty key in your hand.

**Don't Jump** - The urge to jump is immense, but you step away from the ledge, and turn our back on the grotesque gathering. As you run past the streaming figures, you try and push them apart, turning them from their fate. You see that in their free hands they hold strange trinkets; portraits, locks of hair, children's toys, rusty swords. You see their faces marked with tears of grief, streaming from under the bloody rags blinding them.

You run out of the tunnel, and find yourself on a mountain ledge. A tall woman with streaming red hair and a robe of roughspun brown looks down on you, arcane markings all around. You feel an ancient magic about her as she simply says "Find me". You wake from your trance, your mind filled with questions. 
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### Queen of Night of Magic Arrives

Offers to give the party the Arcane world freely, if they kill the Moonlit King with the black dagger she gives to them. She claims it is the only blade that can truly slay him, but that ancient wards brought forth by the Druidic Circle protect him from her. She says it was an agreement in their marriage.