Скачать или смотреть C3E78 - Darkspear Tower

As we enter the fray, death stirs. Arriving at the great tree, Odd Courage, you came face to face with the unwavering eye of Barkberm Eldaflora. This entity, seemingly older than the gods themselves, held a deep understanding of these lands for its roots spanned the Shimmering Woods and had for all of history. Tell of a fallen star in the untold past as well as a brief encounter with Aed would spark an understanding that the balance of this world could yet be restored. What was then preceded by the discordant calls of ravens and a descending fog came many dark forms that Arawn would recollect as the fearsome Moldor, creatures born of unnatural blight.

Against tooth, tendril, and acrid shadow the party battled in defense of the ancient grove and the gnoll tribe beyond. Eventually, the fallen forms came to coalesce into a massive amalgam seeking only to consume. With its eventual defeat, Odd Courage was healed by the fallen leaves of Barkberm who offered some of his own essence to your recovery along with a powerful item called the Tane of Eldest Bloom. Rushing then to the aid of the gnolls who had a battle of their own, you saw that they too were victorious despite heavy losses. The gnoll chieftan Ulmat would beckon that the fallen bodies be brought to the grove as roots then pulled them into the earth before Surma would sprout to protect their rest. A small celebration in the heart of the village gave opportunity for recuperation following offered gifts and ritual blessing by the long-standing tribe. In the early hours of the following morning, the village still quiet, Ulmat ushered you all to meet Barkberm one last time. Appreciation and a restorative purpose were bestowed as the everpresent Eldaflora closed their eye for the last time and opened the way beyond.

At the farthest reach of the great tree's influence you emerged from the last dying tree in a region where death's hold is unmatched. Ahead, a dark obsidian stone spear rises against a deep grey sky. This frigid waste holds no comfort, only a frost-laden expanse peppered with shambling corpses or worse. Before the spire that rises from an ice-covered ridge at the foot of the mountains lies a blasted vale where broken memories and half-formed shades flicker across the snowy plain. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of skeletal figures shuffle in ranks as their hollow sockets burn with a pale violet fire. Even at the onset of where you place your feet, bones of the deceased seem to rise up in reverence. Unmarred by your presence, they reach upwards like a necrotic weed. You have yet to be noticed, but bleak should your efforts be to cross such a span.