Dahlia’s Feywoven Satchel weighed no more after she claimed her reward than it did before. The remains of the Trudger and the serial killer guard had been left with Lord Graystone. Amelia quietly suggested that the corpses weren’t necessary, which, to Dahlia’s mind, meant she should keep them in storage going forward. After all, she was oh so close to gaining access to third-level spells.

The quest rewards had been a delightful surprise. Rather than more silly, stupid gold, Dahlia gained a witch’s hat. When she unfocused her eyes upon it, it revealed itself to be quite the find.

Item: Pointed Hat of the Caller

Extraordinary Item, Rare.

Description: This elegant hat is a wide-brimmed witch’s hat made of deep indigo Shimmersilk, which glimmers under its own power beneath the light of the moon. Ethereal threadwork embroidered along the edges weaves subtle patterns of stars, shadowy trees, and butterflies, each with the faintest of glows.

Properties:

Fey Focus: This hat functions as a spellcasting focus, adding a bonus to spell attacks and increases the difficulty for opponents to resist your spells.

Insight of the Thaumaturge: Once every six hours, you can identify a magic item or use Magic Detection without expending a spell slot. When you use this feature, you gain a brief vision of the item’s origin or an enigmatic glimpse of a spirit tied to nearby magic.

Twilight’s Blessing: Your summoned allies gain the following benefits within 60 ft of you: bonus to defense and additional necrotic damage added to their attacks.

Aura of the Duskmire Monarch: Whenever you use magic while wearing this hat, you generate a kaleidoscope of Duskmire Monarch butterflies. Every 5th kaleidoscope will summon a Spectral Duskmire Monarch, who will immediately fly to the enemy chosen by the wearer and explode in a burst of poison/necrotic damage.

Thus, Dahlia had acquired a witch’s hat. Its dark indigo colors pleased her, and they also filled her mind with ideas. Perhaps she could find an enchanter who could turn her bright, brilliant fairy dust into something more menacing—such as more purple butterflies that kill people. She quite fancied that.

The other reward was an amulet.

Item: Pendant of Obscured Whispers

Extraordinary, Rare.

Description: This delicate pendant hangs from a chain of intermixed silver and shadowy threads. The central charm is a smooth obsidian disk etched with faint, flowing runes that shimmer and distort when viewed from the corner of your eye. When worn, faint murmurs, like a distant breeze carrying half-heard words, occasionally can be heard by the wearer and those around them. It offers a sense of constant, unseen protection.

Properties:

Obscured Presence: While wearing the pendant, you are immune to being detected or targeted by divination magic, and you cannot be perceived through magical scrying sensors. This effect cloaks you from creatures attempting to find you through magical means.

Subtle Aura: The pendant emits a faint hum of unseen whispers, imperceptible to others unless they are within 5 feet and actively listening. These whispers are nonsensical and provide no useful information but lend an air of mystery and intrigue to the wearer.

Dahlia wasn’t sure how helpful the pendant would be, but wearing it couldn’t hurt, especially with Deborah out there in the world. The easiest way to ensure oneself to be the victor in their contest would be to sabotage or kill the competitor. Not only would it stop the threat of a rival, but it would also generate Glimmer points for thwarting another Fey.

Dahlia pondered the practicality of investigating divination rituals after handling the Bramblewood quests. Riverwatch didn’t have a lot of magical resources, being a frontier outpost in the middle of nowhere. Indeed, once she reached a place of civilization, there would be ample magical resources to tap. Right?

A quick rest—or in the case of Dahlia, a restorative basking in moon and sunlight, a hearty breakfast of half a maple sugar flavored sausage doused in delicious, sweet syrup, and a bit of gossip with the girls and the tiny fairy once again left the relative safety of Riverwatch to explore the Bramblewood. She paid little attention to the worries of the girls about going alone into the depths of the Bramblewood, but her ballooning entourage and growing power as a Gloamcaller left her confident in her ability not just to survive but also to thrive in the wilds of Nantes.

Thus, when Mr. Disapoofer reached the forest edge, Dahlia summoned the whole gang.

“Drynthor, Lorien, in the lead with me,” Xeras commanded when Dahlia didn’t take the initiative to set a marching order. “Shade, Ruth, Hornets, bring up the rear behind Mr. Disapoofer and Lady Dahlia.”

Dahlia nodded at the decisive orders of her Gloamknight. Her connection to the wooden fey had a depth that transcended her link to the others, and his loyalty and dedication to her seemed, if not absolute, then highly certain. She mused about whether or not she should get into the habit of being a commander of her forces. Even the deepest of bonds could be torn asunder by fate's twisted and cruel hands, to say nothing of the vicious brutality of another Fey.

The first step into the Bramblewood felt like stepping into another world. An old world, and one familiar to Dahlia. A world of briars and hush. The forest floor lay soft underfoot. Layers of moss grew in the speckled light that pierced the angled branches of the wood. The wet scent of the moss filled the air, overpowering the few scents carried from Riverwatch on the breeze. In no time, the delicious aromas of baked bread and smoked meat were but memories. Twisted roots rose like serpents beneath the underbrush, ready to trip or ensnare the carelessly placed boot.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Interspersed between the trees and brush, vines with awful thorns grew everywhere. All over, creeping plants covered the Bramblewood—like thick, green ropes strung between the stationary trunks of trees, they were the filler that tried to take up all space not already filled with something else. Only narrow, shadowy corridors of safety could be found to press through—if you were human-sized. Mr. Disapoofer blinked and warped around all obstacles, and when he had no other choice, the wolf resorted to crawling or jumping. Dahlia obliterated any vines that crept towards her mount with extreme prejudice.

Dahlia wore a tiny smile, imagining mortals working their way through the Bramblewood. Every step forward would be a negotiation: how much of your sleeve would you sacrifice to thorns? How much of your resolve remains when the hush of the forest is disturbed by the approach of a nightmarish predator? The thick underbrush, the over-abundance of vines, and the eerie quiet would exact their toll on such interlopers regardless of whether they found anything worthy of the cost.

In this regard, Riverwatch's insignificance made more sense. This was not a land suitable for humankind, but in a testament to mortal idiocy, they wanted it anyway. Iron axes and flames would purge this land to make way for fields and town centers if mortals had their way.

Sounds were muffled, and whispers carried strangely, as though wrenched from distant throats and tossed between branches by a skilled ventriloquist. Tree bark darkened; leaves curled inward like a clenched fist. Even the smell of the forest shifted as Dahlia and the Ebon Chorus traveled beyond the sunny border of the forest. The lovely scent of moss vanished; instead, a faint tang of iron lingered in the stagnant air, a warning of what lay ahead.

Led by Xeras, whom plants moved out of the way not to hinder, and Lorien, an experienced elven ranger, their group had none of the troubles a pack of babbling mortals might. While Zorah seemed adept enough, she was human—she lacked the deep connections to nature that the elven Lorien and Gloamknight both possessed. Hubris or not, Dahlia liked to imagine Xeras and Lorien would never be ambushed by Hyena-men.

They butchered every Blighted plant they came across. Once a threat, they were now a trivial annoyance to the party and naught more than a contribution to completing a quest.

You have gained (10x10) 100 experience.

Quest: Exterminate 10 Blighted Twigs [10/10] Complete. Visit Riverwatch to claim your reward.

Rapidly, the minor threats of the Bramblewood learned to avoid the Ebon Chorus. Old instincts awoke in the weakest natives of the wood, memories of the apex of nature’s inhabitants, those who spawned dreams of paradise and nightmares of torment in equal measure—the Fey. Monster or man, Dahlia would make all of them remember who sat pre-eminent on the throne of magic.

The first glimpse of the Bleeding Grove awaited them at the top of a hill after hours of traversing the Bramblewood. The land dipped into a depression that was filled by a dense thicket. With the still weakened light of morning, it would be easy to mistake this for another grove of trees like all the rest in the Bramblewood. Stunted, contorted, knotty trunks rose from the depression. Each was ridden with branches that looked like arthritic fingers that had been broken and healed wrong. A cruel amphitheater of twisted shapes that would put fear into the hearts of men confronted them.

“Notice the lack of vines?” Lorien mumbled to the group.

“Pretty,” Dahlia said.

Crrrrrrk.

As the sun climbed from the morning horizon to noonday overhead, more warming rays struck the trunks of the grove. The bark split and cracked. From wound-like fissures, red sap that resembled fresh blood oozed forth to slide down the bark in thick, crimson streams. The sanguine-looking fluid gleamed in the dappled light and weakly reflected off it like countless tiny mirrors. The sap coated the roots and dripped onto the leaf-littered floor of the grove. There, it pooled in dark, viscous patches. Unheard cries filled the air, the gasps of ancient wounds delivered upon the suffering.

The stench of copper and old wounds filled the air, even over fifty yards away from where the group examined the spectacle beneath them.

“Something terrible happened down there,” Ruth spoke into the silence.

“What?” Dahlia asked.

“It’s where I died,” Ruth answered. “During the war.”

“What war?” Dahlia asked.

“The War of Iron and Thorn. The gods and their mortal servants against the Fey races and their allies. I fought under the banner of Eryndris Thornheart.” Ruth answered.

“I, too, fought in the War of Iron and Thorn. I served Lord Caelladan Nightbloom.” Drynthor interjected.

“Lord Nightbloom? He was an ally to Lord Thornheart!” Ruth’s spectral face beamed at the shield-bearing satyr, and a dormant connection awakened between the two right before Dahlia’s eyes.

Lorien coughed.

“I, too, fought in the War of Iron and Thorn under the banner of Lord Drevyn Merose.” Another dormant connection awoke, linking all three of her spiritual allies.

“Mm,” Dahlia murmured. She gazed directly at each of the three spirit allies. Lady Nyxaria had asked Dahlia about the war, and three of her minions happened to be soldiers who had died fighting in it. That hardly seemed like a coincidence.

“I have questions about the War of Iron and Thorn, but that can wait. Ruth, what happened here?” Dahlia asked, redirecting the conversation back to relevancy.

“Our force was cornered in this hollow. We had already lost our most powerful mages, and the Iron Knights of their front lines cornered us. They reigned arrows and spells upon us while we desperately tried to break their lines. I died… there.” Ruth pointed to the north, halfway down the steep slope leading out of the depression.

“Do you know what happened after?” Dahlia asked.

“No, but… I hear Lord Thornheart’s whispers on the wind, commanding mortals to suffer. Forever.” Ruth’s insubstantial form flickered as she grappled with the weight of suffering, rage, and sorrow that wafted out of the depression, along with the tangy scent of bloody sap.

Dahlia hopped into the air, specks of fairy dust exploding with the swift motion.

“All right, we’re going to go down into the hollow. Don’t let the sap touch you. I don’t feel hostility, but with enough time, the curse may not distinguish between mortal and fey. How long ago did you die, Ruth?” Dahlia paused her orders to ask.

“What’s the present date?” Ruth asked in return.

Dahlia shrugged her shoulders and looked at her companions.

The Hornets made a loud buzzing sound, Shade snarled, and Xeras and the two other spirit allies shrugged their shoulders.

“Arf?” Maybe we should ask a human? Mr. Disapoofer suggested.

“Looks like we’re fresh out of humans to ask, cutie,” Ruth said with a smile at the wolf.

Dahlia sighed in defeat, but she couldn’t blame anyone. Her indifference to mortal life had kept her from asking basic things, such as about this world's calendar. Such trivial matters were for humans and other short-lived races to worry about.

“No touching the sap, no matter how sweet it might look,” Dahlia reminded the Ebon Chorus. When they nodded, Dahlia gestured for Xeras to lead the way.

The Gloamknight’s glowing green eyes lingered on the fairy briefly before he led them down the slope. Dahlia felt as if he’d just evaluated whether he needed to say the same warning to her as if she’d go around licking nasty red gooey stuff just because maybe it smelled a little sweet!