Cave of the Second Weir

Wherein the survivors of the Battle for Old Weir recount their tales...

Tessadil Lanodyn

Golun-dal Blackbane

Kargi Prexson

Tallin Gale

Bask Briarcloak

Nell Danovna

The Hag's Tale

by Tessadil "Tessa" Lanodyn, female Undying, Lady of the Glen, the Hag of Hag's Glen

When Tarsakh with its rains rinses the sky

Of Ches’s chill when dormant roots were dry

And drenches ev’ry gnarling vein with mead

A honey sure to sire bees to feed

Pollen from nubile shoots and buds

The young sun shining…but on too much blood

When lilacs out of dead hands bloom

A flowery shelter serves as slain mother’s tomb

How can you not say: Tarsakh is the cruelest month

My childhood was idyllic, growing up homesteaders in a land without name, later called the Savage Frontier, later called the Vostewylde, later called the Lord’s Alliance. It was many, many years ago. We lived a simple life – three generations under one roof; an uncle and cousins nearby; laughter always around the corner; toiling in the earth and woods for our food, shelter, and warmth; cold clear swimming holes to clean the day’s grime; and a story to end the evening. I learned my best recipes then, yes I did! Some winters were long and harsh, but we wanted for naught. My parents prayed to one of the old gods in times of plenty and times of need, but I cannot recall their ways. Life was lived in a golden glow, yes, yes, yes. 

Until the wars came, hmm. A forgotten affair over pride or ego or who could add more titles to their name. We survived during those bleak years, but afterwards came the lost generation. It always happens this way: an aimless group of traumatized men, boys really, boys! Some formed into little bands and preyed upon the land. They hit our homestead in the spring, killed my parents, used me, and left me for dead. Dead, dead, dead. 

I don’t know what happened over the next year but when my mind cleared I was living in filth among the ashes of our home, caring for skeletons. It was spring. I couldn’t have been more than fifteen. I’m not sure how I had survived. I spent a week cleaning myself up, burying the bones of my family, and grieving. In that time I felt a clarity like never before and recalled the leader of the band that murdered my family: he was a half elf, missing a finger on his right hand and with a terrible, reptilian eye serving for one lost. I swore vengeance, promising never to rest until my homestead was restored and Reptile-eye slain. Come, come, come!

I’ll skip over the many years I traveled, to Chelimber of Old, the Lonely Moor, to the Hill people…suffice to say I grew in power and learned secrets no mortal should hear. Shh, shh, shh. I also learned the name of the reptile-eye half-elf. Vallzan. When I tracked him down and confronted him, thinking my power would destroy him, he bested me, breaking my back with some infernal strength. For what I had not learned was that he had made a pact with a demon. To mock my promise, he brought me back to my old homestead. I watched, paralyzed, as he pissed on my parents’ graves and laughed. A second time, he left me for dead. Hurt, hurt, hurt!

I won’t explain how or where I managed it, for fear that others may attempt the same, but during the following months I learned the secret of the Undying. It gave me great and terrible power, but also bound me to my place and to my promise: my family’s old homestead and the death of Vallzan. 

With my power limited outside Hag’s Glen, I had little luck in piercing through to the world that does not pass by my abode. And so I lived for a long, long time. So long! Every now and then I would learn a snippet of Vallzan. I learned the name of his demon master, Fraz’Urb’Luu, early on. But other times, a century would pass with nothing. I was cruel at times, and also kind. I grew bored and toyed with travelers, or sometimes offered them refuge. Life lost meaning. If a traveler commented on my age I would consume their youth and laugh. Other times I would be forgiving, and bless a passerby with unnatural luck for months to come. I was twisted by my power, but also by hopelessness. 

And then your little group came by. Come, come, come! And I felt something. I’m not sure where or how, but I knew you by the stars. I saw your faces in my woodwork, in the swirls of rock in the riverbed. I knew I must offer you some of my treasures: the giant’s speaking stone, the iron key, or the bonding of our blood. I do not know where the voice came through me that offered you guidance, and I only recalled after you left what I had said. It startled me by its novelty—something could impose on my place of power? But it also delighted me. Something was happening here. What it was? For the first time in a long while, it was not exactly clear. But every time, there was this motherly presence, the form or feeling of a woman’s embrace. 

Twenty five years later we believe it is some trapped goddess seeking a return through you all. Again, I know not why I am sensitive to her call, though Ironica’s question has made me think it may have to do with my past. Or my future. Useless, I know. Such are the ways of these things. Fool, fool, fool! 

My continued life is proof that Vallzan goes on living as well – he must have also found unnatural long life through his infernal contract wtith the demon Fraz. I had learned little in almost three centuries, until you all showed up with a not-so-innocent Orog. The Red Tusk of the High Moor had managed to summon an Aspect of Fraz, who offered Golun-dal his patronage. I could smell it on him when you brought him to me. To steal a warlock from another patron is a terrible slight, and from my enemy’s demon! Imagine my delight. Maybe this would stir the pot some. So I took Golun-dal for my own and set him on the trail of Vallzan. 

I will let Golun-dal tell what he has learned. 

The Warlock's Tale

by Golun-dal, male Orog of the Red Tusk tribe of the High Moor, called "Blackbane"

Speak wisely, and speak true. Your life was divided: before you met them on the High Moor, and after. Yes, you had started on the path of the Warlock when you still counted yourself a Red Tusk, but the edge of any shadow is blurry before it takes shape. 

Your first love, your first betrayal, and your first purpose: all within a fortnight of traveling with them. You will not speak of love, for her scars are deep as well. 

At first you resented the Lady for taking you, like a horse traded between new masters, one kick just as sharp as the next. But her blows never came. She could be cruel, yes, but also good. And she taught you. She coached you. She healed you and showed you a purpose: use the shadow to hold back the darkness.

Many say she is a crooked old hag, corrupt from power and immortality – the Hag is too cruel, she is too tainted. But in the woods, some trees are straight, some are bent or turned. You say maybe it did not get enough light, and so it turned this way or that. Tessa, she is like that juniper that grows in the shadow of the mountain – it is twisted, yes, bent from lack sunlight. But it is also beautiful. And it drops the best berries for your gin. 

Stop talking so with poetry. Tell your story, Orog. 

But the poetry is the story…Fine. 

When you were strong enough, you set out to work for her. To help her rest, she must kill the half-elf Vallzan. So you followed his trail. From her Book of Shadows you learned Gaze of Two Minds and One With Shadows, and used them on your quest. 

But Vallzan is old and cunning. You could barely find crumbs of his passing: every time you got close you could feel warmth in the chair, but the sitter was gone. Many years you spent chasing a ghost. Travels to Amn and Tethyr, the Silver Marches and the Spine of the World, the Dalelands and the Sea of Fallen Stars. Once, you found a man who could not hide he knew the reptile-eye half-elf. You questioned him and did everything to keep the man alive, but he killed himself. All you learned was he was part of the “Cult of Doun.” 

And so twenty-five years passed and no Vallzan, just crumbs. 

Then you saw the signs of their return. And the Lady sees what she did not before and hears what was always there. She sent you to seek out Quartermaster Kargi in the Greypeaks, who brought you to the cave and to the second Weir.

The Quartermaster and the Elder know the rest. 

The Quartermaster's Tale

by Quartermaster Kargi of Mother's Den, ancient male goblin, veteran of the Great Goblin War of the Greypeaks and the Battle of the Bridge, called "Prexson," actual rank of Captain

Quartermaster Kargi reporting on developments in the greater greypeaks region. 

Sirs, ma’ams. I will begin with a field report on the Battle for Old Weir.

The late Captain Prex and I led the Graniskold clan down the mountain. On the way we kept getting buzzed from Zireael “false alarm” he kept saying. Still, Captain Prex didn’t like it. We left the host of stone giants, and with Yarkest and Durstag, a couple of the faster young ones, we made for town.

 

When we got to the town, it was past midnight. We thought there would be monsters to fight. But all we could hear from inside were sounds of building… sawing, scraping, men coordinating. And then in the moonlight we saw a strange creature atop the walls — I think it was the same thing that attacked us in Myth Sveldin. Suddenly Durstag, with Prex riding him, sprinted for the town. Prex shouted back, it’s them things that killed Mother, soldier! 

I told Yarkest that thing killed our leader, our Mother, and she resisted saying, yes but it’s a mind flayer. And then instead of one there were two mind flayers levitating above the walls. She yelled something to Durstag who didn’t respond. Yarkest said something wasn’t right with Durstag. She started backing up and pulled a boulder from her bag. 

Prex had already begun loosing arrows and I urged Yarkest on. I jumped down as she was winding up — her boulder sailed smoothly through the night air and hit Durstag square in the back of the head. He crumpled just in front of the wall. I started running after Prex, drawing my bow. Yarkest yelled back at me to stop, it was too dangerous. The last thing I saw before her fist connected with my head was one of those things spreading its tentacles over the captain’s head.

Rest his soul. I’d have burned his body if I could, as Mother taught us, but I can’t. All I could do was take his name. So I did – I’m Kargi Prexson now. 

When I woke up we were back at camp. Yarkest made it out and told the others Durstag had been taken and she ended his life. 

We concluded you were all lost. I had nowhere to go, no kin. I stayed with the giants for a time. They were upset they could not uphold their end of the bargain to the reissgal. We laid out more of a perimeter in the mountains, they turned more outward looking, for a time. But after a couple years they retreated, life returned to normal.

Except for Harbunpil and I. I couldn’t forget my platoon-mates. My companions. And he couldn’t betray his honor to the reisgall. And sometimes in the dark, with the whispering pines all around, by the blazing campfire light, he would tell me stories about the athletic, graceful halfling lady named Ironica. He had never met such a creature and enjoyed her company. 

So Harbunpil slowly turned to the life of the Dramscaper, and I stuck with him, tending camp.

I remembered Mother had looked into those doors for your key in the mountain. We didn’t have the map or that man’s journal who had done research on the area—I couldn’t read it anyway—but we patrolled the area of the Caldera for those old mines that had doors. We found a number of old goblin mines. Some were abandoned or had creatures living there. 

We came across one that held dead spider-like creatures, maybe a month or two killed. Ugly sonofabitches. We followed the mine down and came upon a door. The lock on it looked just about like what you’d expect that key of yours to open. I think the mindflayers took what was in your brains and found whatever it was you were meant to get there. Nothing useful was inside, but it was a very odd room with strange ice poking through. 

Years later, Harbunpil told me he found an old man in the mountain saying he was looking for a goblin that traveled with a group of elves and dwarves and humans. He brought me to meet him, and that’s how I met Elder Tallin Gale. We shared stories of our old companions. He promoted me from Quartermaster to Captain of the second Weir. But I keep Quartermaster so Prex can always be Captain. 

And then at some time during the grey sweep of years, Golun-dal found us and told us of the importance of the Fellowship of the Key. 

I told them, Mother always said they were important.

The Elder can tell what he knows. 

Sirs, ma’ams.  

The Elder's Tale

by Tallin Gale, male half-elf elder of the Cave of the Second Weir, bearer of "Frostbite", formerly head of the Iceguard,  leader of the Hibernal, 

Well now, let’s see, where to begin? 

Shame. 

I was the leader of the Hibernal. I was meant to die defending the town, but my old friend Elgin had other plans. When the town was overrun and all hope was lost, I found him, abdomen pierced by a Grick’s beak. Bleeding out with chaos all around us. I started to drag him away from the fray, back toward a doorway when he produced a scroll from his robes and through gritted teeth told me, “There must be one who remembers…” 

I didn’t know what he was doing until he yelled in his damn Wizard’s tongue and gripped my arms with all his strength. The scroll blazed hot and I felt my grip on him fading, turning ethereal…I saw him smile as I blinked out of Old Weir. 

And then I was falling through a low canopy of tree branches, landing with a thud on mossy ground. It was dark and peaceful, but there was a smell of rot nearby.  I was next to a massive oak tree with soft orange light coming from a cabin nearby. I knew I was in Bask’s grove. The wind was knocked out of me from the fall and as I wheezed to, I saw Bask, a small child, a few black bear cubs emerge from her cabin. She recognized me and took me in. The child was frightened but the bear cubs were playful and that reassured her. 

As they fed me nettle soup (yes, Bask, I still remember!) I was frantic, explaining what had happened to Old Weir. I told her we had to go back, and then she told me to listen to myself. There was no Old Weir to return to. She was right of course. And we knew she was also in danger: the mind flayers would piece together what was in the heads of the Misfit Six and learn about this pesky, friend-of-Hibernal, druid living nearby in the Forgotten Forest. It was only a matter of time. Besides, she told me, her tree, “The Gate” was beyond saving. 

Next: Survival. 

And so we fled. The child I learned was Nell, and she learned to trust me. Sometimes we were all each other had, as Bask would flit off as a sparrow to scout the best way forward for us. We decided we wanted to remain in the Greater Greypeaks – I refuse to call it the Vostewylde – to keep an eye on Old Weir, but needed to be somewhere no one who knew us would know. In short, we needed a new home. We searched for weeks for this place, in the end it was a cougar who shared with Bask the location of its den and allowed us to share it with her. So here we have lived for twenty-five years. 

At first, I set out to look for any survivors, those who may have been out of town when the attack happened. Then I realized, as more time passed, I was not certain if they could be trusted. So I turned inward and revisited again and again the series of events that led to what happened. I thought about how you came into our lives. 

And then: Regret. 

We had a saying etched in stone in our den in Old Weir: “Beware outsiders bearing your signs, they shall be your salvation or your downfall.” It was something Old Weir himself said on his deathbed. With our downfall staring us in the face, I felt foolish. We should have listened to the voices at council who warned us against you coming to us with Sha’hale’s dagger. I was bitter, and hateful. And so I lived for many years, cursing your names, and my optimism. 

But the many years teaching Nell, helping her grow, living with Bask, learning to love them both…it all softened me. And then rumors began to spread, through the mountain animals to Bask, of a goblin-soldier with very civilized ways, who traveled with a stone giant outcast. And I remembered your names again and the people who flocked to you. How Sha’hale had trusted you with our precious artifact, and to find her precious daughter. How you claimed to have interacted on multiple occasions with the powerful Lady of the Glen, an Undying, no less. How you told us of your travels with a band of goblins who you befriended, and how you convinced a warren of stone giants to take up your cause. 

Finally: Hope. 

Maybe you were meant to be our salvation. I became more and more convinced of it, and cursed myself the dour fool. You had survived our trial of character in the Cavern, after all. Maybe there was yet hope. I sought out Kargi, and through him met Golun-dal, and Tessadil Lanodyn, the Lady of the Glen. Kargi told me stories of your actions and heroics. Golun-dal and Tessa shared their realization that something was calling to those sensitive enough to hear, speaking your names on the wind and in the stars. Yes, you were always meant to be our salvation – and yet could be! 

We pieced together your story as much we could: the Monarch and the mines, the mind flayers and the minds, and the missing piece was this goddess and you. We knew we had to rescue you, but how to clear the thralldom from your heads? I sought advice from my patron – the celestial Althaz the True. With Tessa’s help, he deigned to humor me with some guidance in the form of a tome, from the scholar Mordenkainen. Within we learned some of mind flayers and their thralls, but the undoing process was only hinted at. 

Bask learned the rest, I will let her tell her tale. 

The Druid's Tale

by Bask Briarcloak, female half-orc, druid of Silvanus, formerly Keeper of the Gate

My children, when I first met you, you brought me Nell, and came seeking a cure for Dala’gse’s addiction to the hisperin root. We shared a Midwinter feast and I told you of my diminished power as my Gate to Silvanus was sick. The whole forest was troubled, and the lands surrounding it as well. At first, I supposed the miners from Innesbyr had dug too deep and disturbed the heart of the land. But when Tallin arrived and told me what emerged from the Underdark, and it all made sense. Tunneling so close to the surface over many moons had upset nature’s balance and displaced many creatures. Carrion crawlers, bulettes, were some of the more ferocious to emerge. But any den-dwelling creature felt it. The Gate took ill and there was nothing I could do. By the time Tallin arrived, it was beyond saving. 

Tallin’s arrival coincided with a presence I felt and heard of at the forest’s edge. Birds on the wind whispered of a whole town of adventurers camped in the woods, closest to Old Weir. I was investigating what they were up to when that very night, they departed. I returned to my grove and soon thereafter Tallin arrived. They must have been the Lakevillians. 

So we fled. Nary a few weeks had passed when I felt the sharp pang. I was traveling as a bobcat, scouting a path for Tallin and Nell when I crumpled to the ground. They had burned down the Gate, I knew it. I only truly fathomed the permanency of everything in that moment. 

But as we say in my Circle: “Barn’s burnt down, now I can see the moon.” 

So we sought a new home and a cougar I befriended allowed us to share her den. I planted new Gambel Oaks – the variety that can survive at higher elevations, and what you see outside, concealing the entrance to our cave. The grew over time, and with them, my power and connection to Silvanus was renewed. 

Most of my time was spent caring for Nell, healing her wounds, and teaching her. But also soothing Tallin’s pain. I got to know my new surroundings. I had spent many years in my forest grove and needed to learn the ways of the mountain. Silvanus guided me and while I missed the filtered light through the canopy, the swaying trees, the mossy smells, and the animals I had come to know, I learned to love the mountain air. The clear views. The solid ground. The hidden streams. It is a harsher clime up here, life may be sparser, but it can be fierce in its vibrancy. The three of us formed part of that new world and I pray thanks to Silvanus every day for our strange, wonderful family. 

When Tallin turned from crotchety old man full of regret to hopeful grandfather, I liked him better. We now have a romance. When he learned more about the importance of this group I told him, only two people in all the Hibernal history had ever come to me seeking a cure to hisperin addiction. The first was Sha’hale Rezna, and the second was Dala’gse of M’balu. He smiled and told me those were the only two who ever willingly addicted themselves to the stuff to save their companions in the trial of the Cavern. 

I then prayed to Silvanus for knowledge and wisdom of how to use my skills in healing for a therapy to remove thralldom. We thought we had the pieces together, but knew where the mind is concerned one must be very careful. I am ashamed to say, our knowledge was incomplete, and we lost some of the early attempts. In the end we needed to send Nell to far reaches to procure expensive scrolls to help in the process. 

I will let her tell her story.

The Fletcher's Tale

by Nell Danovna, called "Mellen'Quessir" or Sorrow Strike in the language of the Wood Elves

It has taken me a long time to remember and confront my past. I was born in a small thorp on the edge of the Forgotten Forest by Old Weir. My parents were Dannob and Allea, they were farmers who sold vegetables and wool at market in Old Weir. One day, armed men in Vostewylde Alliance uniforms came to our town demanding to know more about a group who they claimed were responsible for the murder of guards patrolling the Innesbyr Road. They had with them a ranger from GPS, named Fendral Bogan, who was guiding them around the area. 

The leader of the group was a man whose name is best forgotten to history. He was ugly and evil. He knew no one in our thorp had any knowledge of those killings, but he was bored and vile. He killed the family in the farm next to ours and claimed they were hiding the murderers. He said we now had an opportunity to confess. My parents barely spoke the common tongue, and he mocked my father, before throwing him and my mother to the ground while his lackeys had them at swordpoint. He then turned to me and in front of everyone, had his way with me. I was eight. 

They killed my parents, and the noise brought Fendral Bogan in, who saw what had happened, cast some Ranger magic on the thugs, and held me close as he fled into the woods. I was in shock. The brutes recovered and chased after us, an arrow pierced Fendral’s side, but he kept running.

And then with their mocking voices still on our trail, we came upon the group of you, and that monster land shark emerged from the earth. The next thing I remembered, the evil man was dead. 

Nancy held one of my hands and Ironica the other, and the two halflings were so close to me in height and so gentle I felt safe as they led me to a cabin in the woods. I saw Bask for the first time and her cabin smelled like home. She had the same wildflowers drying over her hearth that my mother kept. I cried and cried. I knew my life was over. It was near Midwinter and when the day came and you had returned from the Feywild, Bask chided me like my mother would to help with the meal – she knew the routine and chores would help me. I stirred the venison stew and pushed deep down what had happened to me. At dinner, I sang the songs again, and sat in between Ironica and Nancy. With these three strong, powerful women, I felt safe again and that night I slept for the first time in many days. 

And so I lived a half life, pretending I was always Bask’s child and that my time in our thorp never happened. I invented people to populate my life. Bask was my mother and Nancy and Ironica were my aunts, they were away doing brave and wonderful things!

When Tallin appeared to us and Bask told us we had to flee, it unsettled me further, one home to the next. But Bask and Tallin now both spent time with me and I could pretend it was mother and father and we were traveling together. 

The mountain was unfamiliar to me, but we all adapted. The trouble came when I started to bleed. Everything I buried deeply came dangerously close to the surface. I rebelled against Bask and Tallin. I ran off and knew Bask would follow me as a squirrel or a marmot to look out for me. Finally I came back and told her not to follow me as a dumb animal. I told her she wasn’t my mother and I knew it. I ran off again and this time found danger in the mountain, and she had respected our space. A baby wyvern was learning how to hunt and swooped down, piercing me with its venomous stinger before it flew off. I went in and out of consciousness and when I came too, I was back home in the cave – Tallin had found me. 

From then on we confronted my demons. We talked about it, we worked on it, and we named the things in my past. It was a terrible time. Above all, I grew angry. We still had Fendral’s bow from our time in the Forgotten Forest and I taught myself how to string it. I fletched arrows and practiced. Tallin and Bask taught me what they could, and it became an outlet for me and my pain. I went everywhere with that bow and when I was sixteen, nearly a woman, Bask and Tallin decided to send me to the Southwood where they knew a tribe of wood elves lived, who could teach me further. 

I studied with them for five years and learned their ways. When I returned to the cave, I was a woman, and a terror with my bow. And so time passed. I grew restless and at times would travel to Firsburg or other locales to spend time with people my age. I would travel under the guise of a rural fletcher, selling exotic arrows. I grew friendly with some, but usually returned home within a month or so. When Kargi and Golun-dal showed up and we had our task set before us, it fell to me to work on your extraction. When Bask told me it was Nancy and Ironica I would be rescuing, I knew I could not fail. 

I returned to Firsburg and found an old lover of mine, someone I trusted, who agreed to work with us. Their name was Endet Uyi, and they pretended to be a fake son-of-somebody from the Lord’s Alliance, there to ensure their father in Waterdeep had a steady supply of Roger’s and sauvignon blanche. It was dangerous, but Endet was crucial in helping steal thralls from Old Weir, yourselves included. Endet also helped procure some of the scrolls needed to complete the undoing of thralldom. 

With the elders known to the town, it fell to me Endet and me to take you. I traveled there for the first time, nervous and afraid. I asked around to see the famous Misfit Six troubadours who had performed the legendary show of which the bards still sing. Nancy agreed to a reenactment at the Wandering Wolf. She gathered her companions and played for Endet and me, with all of you agreeing to join us in the back for drinks. You offered us Roger’s “with”, with sfos that is, as is the custom in Old Weir, but I said I had brought my own, claiming to also be one with the hisperin way of life. You were all delighted. Except my blue elixir held a rare mountain poison, developed by the Lady Tessa, to which I had built up a slow tolerance. Knocking you out quickly was the only way to make sure nothing was communicated back to your masters. We all toasted each others’ health and drank deeply. Within ten minutes we had piled your unconscious bodies into a cart that was waiting outside the back window. 

We fled into the night. 

That is all.