Amaranthine? Amaranthout. (A very hungover Igrainne) 20/6

Report by Springwarden Igrainne Blackriver for the Emerald Enclave


Kantas, being a hotbed of interplanar activity, is home to the Amaranthine Games (a.k.a. the Amaranthiad)—a series of competitions held every 70 years or so by four archfey nobles: Titania, the Summer Queen, Ulorian, the River King, Sarastra, the Queen of Night and Magic, and Morinn, the Snow Queen. The games are meant to be played by mortals who were to declare allegiance for a particular archfey, and every time a team wins, points would be awarded to the archfey court represented; the court with the most amount of points at the end of the games wins. Each archfey also chose a mortal champion (fey ancestry not required, curiously) who, should their patron be declared the winner of the Amaranthiad, be ennobled and ascended into their court. The author of this report


No, screw it. I’ve been nursing this headache for four days now and figuring out the syntax with this format is making it hurt even more. Besides, you’ll still understand the gist of this, Mother. I participated in one of the games where we were supposed to capture a displacer beast cub. I declared for Queen Titania and finished third. Right after the awarding ceremony, I shot an arrow at her balcony, which obviously didn’t go through the defensive measures in place. It slowed down like in jelly and burst into dust. She then looked at me funny.


You’re probably asking, Why, you idiot girl, why? You always loved to go on about how I’ve got your courage and Ilhar’s ambition but no sense whatsoever. I did it because I need her attention. I need her help to, firstly, hunt down the Three Sisters of the Bog, who have been allowed to roam free in Kantas for far too long, and undo the unholy magic they’ve unleashed upon this world. I’m only doing my duty as an agent of the Emerald Enclave as best I can.


Anyway, a summer eladrin then came into my tent and told me that for my “insolence”, I should do something for them. Fine, as long as I can talk to the Queen in the end, I thought. How bad could it be? I thought.


Fast forward a tenday later, to the grand finale of the Amaranthiad. I declared for Titania, again, and we were put into a five-way giant construct fight. Our team won, amazingly. After all this bother, Titania’s champion, this tiefling paladin of Corellon called Lady Sunday, in a classically fey manner, refused ascendancy to her face. She would’ve been bifurcated by a giant greatsword if Titania hadn’t suddenly found it so funny and fell on her arse laughing. Everyone just awkwardly left after that. Us, the winning team, got some free booze that night. Or at least I think it was free, I’m not too sure.


So I was drinking alone amidst some mercenaries from Daring Heights—some of them competitors in the games, a couple of them spectators who had come to join the revelry—who were teetering on the brink of a bar fight for some indiscernible reason when this dainty eladrin approached me.


“Now?” I asked.


“Yes, now.” They smiled smarmily. “You’ve done well in the games but you’re not absolved of your offence against Queen Titania just yet.”


“Right. So what do you want from me?”


“We want you to eliminate someone.”


The mercenaries stopped throwing knives at each other and took a sudden interest in our conversation.


“Name,” I said grimly.


“The Sister of the Thorns. She can be found in Witch’s Hold.”


“Can I ask why you want her dead?” one of the Faerunians asked.


“You can certainly ask, but I will not give you an answer,” the smug elf said smugly.


“Listen,” I interjected. “I won the games for Queen Titania. Not for myself, not for Sunday, but for the Queen. I want an audience with Her Radiance once this is done. Can you give me that?”


“Maybe,” they replied, somehow even more smugly than before. Darkness take them and their stupid face.


I don’t exactly remember how, but the mercenaries ended up going with me on this mission. A wood elf druid, an aarakocra druid, a big tiefling bloke with an oversized stone arm, a half-elf rogue who wore smoked lens goggles even at night, a tiefling warlock who was disguised as a high elf the entire time for no apparent reason, and a gnome ranger. Some of them were intrigued by my name-dropping of Granny Longtooth, a “queen hag” for whom some of the hags spurned Sarastra until she was deposed. Seems like they have history with her.


The bird druid led the two-day journey to Witch’s Hold. Along the way, I told them about how I pissed Titania off. The warlock, Serpentine, heard that and cheerfully recounted the time she also pissed off Titania by cutting out the tongues of her dryads, or something. Why? The world will never know.
The bird and the wood elf did not seem to be very fond of her and I can't possibly imagine the reason.

As we neared Witch’s Hold, we saw the ill effects of dark magic on the flora of the land. A shadowy substance coiled along tree trunks and branches; small green buds could be seen squirming underneath its strangling hold, unable to grow and bloom. The hangover was still quite bad at this point but I could discern that this is probably why the Summer Queen wants the hag gone, right?


The druids had a pleasant, midday chat with a swarm of swamp rats, who led us to the Sister of the Thorn’s hideout. Within the forest is a large swamp, and in the middle of that swamp there sits a hut on an island of marshy soil. The adventurers took defensive positions around the swamp whilst Serpentine, the muscly tiefling, and I strolled down the curving path leading to the hut. We knocked politely but no one answered, so we did a bit of breaking and entering. Inside, we saw an empty cauldron, an empty bed, and shelves full of herbal ingredients and dusty tomes.


We then heard loud, groaning and cracking noises as thick, thorny vines seemingly came to life and wrapped around the entire hut. Shifty Warlock thunder-stepped out of the hut with Big Arm, who blasted a fiery hole in the wall of vines before he went. I stepped out of the hut and saw my allies being tangled by similar vines that had risen out of the swamp. Warlock had landed in the swamp and one whipped out and snared her leg. Whilst struggling to get out, she uttered some foul words in Abyssal and a crimson rift slowly cracked open in the air. A hulking, red-furred, ape-like demon lumbered out of the portal and lunged savagely at something hidden in the bog. I felt my headache grow exponentially. 

Shortly after, flash of purple light burst out where the barlgura was facing. The gnome ranger, still restrained, pointed past me and cried, “Over there! She’s over there!”


I turned around just in time to see another purple flash in the forest and a hunched figure walking away from it—this night hag with barbs jutting out of her skin. At this point, the wood elf had shapeshifted into a bear and broke free from the vines. She sniffed the air and ran towards the direction the gnome pointed, along with Big Arm and bird flying overheard. I casted Hunter’s Mark and shot a pair of arrows at the hag, which barely pierced her unusual hide, then commanded in Abyssal, “Submit quietly and it’ll be over soon!”


Realising that she was cornered, the Sister of the Thorn’s eyes widened and put her hands up. “Please, stop,” she begged hoarsely in Common.


“You’re responsible for this…this anti-nature bullshit?” I yelled back.


“No! It was already here,” she croaked.


Rubbish, I thought, focusing force energy into the arrow I had drawn, and loosened it. As it zipped through the air at her face, the tiefling’s arm whipped out and snatched it from the air, breaking the shaft in his grip.


“What are you doing?” I shouted.


“She’s not attacking us.” He looked at the Sister and asked gently, “Can you stop the vines?”


She nodded warily and lowered her hands. The vines on the hut and the adventurers uncurled and retreated sluggishly, sinking under the swamp.


Soon as that happened, the barlgura landed behind him, slamming the ground with its massive fists. The warlock had lost control over it. Big Arm, bird, and bear held it back as Serpentine scurried out of the swamp and fired Eldritch Blasts at it. The final blast burned a hole in its chest; it let out a final roar and fell limp on the ground.


When the demon was killed, the rest of the party made their way towards the forest, save for the warlock, who stayed back a bit. I shoved through the small crowd that had gathered around the hag, who was tripped up by the gnome and half-lying on her back, pointing a nocked arrow at her.


“Why does Titania want you dead?”


She appeared confused and even more fearful now. “Titania wants me dead?”


"Yes, she sent me after you."


"Why?"


“I don’t know, you tell me!” I sputtered. “You caused the plants in forest to stop growing, didn't you?”


"No, that was already here!"


"Who do you serve?"


“No one. Not since Granny Longtooth’s gone.”


“And before Granny Longtooth?”


“Sarastra. But I don’t care about archfey and courts anymore.”


“Titania’s just won the Amaranthine Games,” squawked the bird.


“I don’t care.”


“Sarastra’s really pissed about it,” he continued.


“Good!”


“Right,” I sighed. “I’m placing you under arrest and bringing you to Titania."


“Calm down, little elf,” said the rageful barbarian warrior.


“But you just said she wants me dead!” protested the hag, still wide-eyed.


The gnome waddled towards her. “How ‘bout an alternative solution?” He took the Sister’s hand and drew a blade. “Now, which finger do you like the least?”


The Sister looked down at her hand and thought for a bit. She put up a middle finger at him.


“Well…alright,” the gnome said, as if knowing that he should’ve expected that. “I can save your life, but this is your choice, girl.” She nodded, and he flicked the blade. The withered, barbed appendage came off and the Sister drew her hand back immediately, yelping in pain.


She dabbed the newly-formed stump with something, slowly turning her back to us. “I’m free to go?”


I grabbed the back of her collar. “No. I’m still taking you to the Queen.”


“I’m not free to go?” she whimpered.


“But we already have her finger. We can show it to her and say she’s dead,” said the gnome.


“Titania cannot be lied to,” I told him gravely.


“Yeah, I’m with you, let’s bring her to Titania,” the half-elf rogue piped up. He bound the Sister’s hands in rope and flung her over his shoulder with an oomph.

As everyone got ready to leave and I focused on detecting the closest portal to the Feywild, an inky black sphere ballooned out from the middle of the group and enveloped us. I sprinted out of its vicinity and saw the rogue emerge from it, too, except there was no hag on his back.


“Search the hut!” someone exclaimed. We barged into the door and saw that the place had been ransacked. Several jars of plant ingredients and books were missing and the cauldron was tipped over.


“Look there!” the gnome shouted from outside and loosened an arrow from his longbow. I ran out and spotted an elven figure limping along a path two hundred feet away. The gnome had missed but I followed suit with an upward shot. The arrow arced into the sky then sailed lazily downwards onto the elf’s shoulder. There was an annoyed squeal of pain. The figure stopped for a bit, picked herself back up, and went back to limping away. That’s when I realised that my Hunter’s Mark wasn’t on her and therefore couldn’t have been the hag. Apparently, that was Serpentine, running away with as much stolen stuff from the hut as she could carry.

Well, at the end of all that, Big Arm and the druids decided to stay back a bit in Witch’s Hold to repair some of the damage that was done to the nature around it. The gnome ranger wouldn’t give me the finger, so I made him come with us back to the Amaranthine arena. So there I was, travelling with an assassin with cheap-looking dark goggles and a gnome who held on too closely and too giddily to a severed finger than I care to dwell on.


Somewhere along the journey, whilst lying awake in bed, I suddenly remembered that night hags can’t cast Darkness. I’ve had that large tiefling’s face on my mind ever since.


When we reached the arena, that smug cow of an eladrin was already waiting there for us. We showed them the finger. And I was left with the very helpful parting words of: “We’ll be in touch.”


Darkness bugger them. Darkness bugger them all.


End of report.


PS. If there is a point to this report, here it is: The author of this report would like to formally request the creation of an Emerald Enclave cell based in the Angelbark Woods of Kantas, headed by an agent of a higher rank than her. The natural order, civilisation, and the wilderness in Kantas are almost constantly under threat by forces in out of the Material Plane and would benefit from the Enclave's oversight. The author of this report awaits the Master of the Wild’s reply.

PPS. I miss you and Ilhar.

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(Big thanks to Nuno and the party for one of the most interesting sessions of D&D I've ever had.)