When first our heroes awoke they found themselves in the ruined husk of the great castle that they had been exploring just the previous day. Only now this castle appeared to be in the middle of a frozen tundra, very different than the forest they had been in the day before. Having passed the night in the structure's highest room at the precipice of it's great singular tower, they could only assume there was some magic about them. It would appear that the structure had transported them to another world, that much was obvious, but for what purpose they couldn't begin to discern.
They would come to learn much in the weeks to come, both from their desperate bid at survival and also from the young hunter Elxadore, a stranded native of the region they rescued a few days after arriving in this mysterious new land on one of their tentative excursions out onto the plain.
Elxadore told them they were in the Fewilds, and that this place was known as the The Valley of Long Nights. He would also impart much more about the land they had come to in the days that followed. Principally that it was a barren and desolate place with scarcely any life to be spoken of. Scarcely that is, except for the nomadic tribes of the snow elves that wandered its borders in reluctant servitude to a mysterious figure known only as The Pale Prince. Seated in his imposing citadel of ice that could be clearly seen atop one of the valley's many flanking mountains the prince was said to rule over all of the winter fey folk and it was rumored that he was even striking out at the other dominions of the Feywild as well.
All of this would be told in time, but the party could hardly stay idle in the ruins. They had already burned through half the rations they had set out with on their departure from the material plain, and even Elxidore was uncertain how long it would take them to make their way back to his tribe, or even if the tribe was still on the plain before them. It was possible they had already moved on, giving up the search for Elxidore and seeking out more sheltered refuges in the mountains all around the valley's central plain. The storms in the valley had been particularly perilous of late, apparently, something had The Pale Prince in a foul mood, and as always, he was taking out his rage on his unwitting subjects.
And so, with little other choice, they set off, determined not to let the storm overcome their spirits, at least not before it overcame the rest of their sensibilities.
After several days of fruitless searching in the wastes, Elxedor spurred the party toward a sacred site known to his people on a whim. To his relief, as the group approached the low rise of the hillock flanked by rocky outcroppings on either of its sides the young ranger caught sight of the familiar tents of his tribe on the horizon.
They had gathered around the very site that he had presumed they might seek out and had erected their tents in a wide semicircle around its center. In addition to the obvious benefit of sheltering the camp from the elements by situating it securely within the outcroppings, it also seemed as though the movements of the tribe hinted at a respectful deference to the site itself, which appeared to be at the camp's center.
The chief of the tribe, Elxidore's father, as the party soon learned, ushered them into his personal tent, but no one noticed that one of their compatriots did not follow with the rest. In fact, by the sheer chance of fate, not a single set of eyes followed Stan Rustwell as he casually walked out to the center of the clearing to examine something there that caught his eye.
Never one for respectful deference, Stan inspected the object set into the shallow peak of the hillock. A bleached white sword buried to the hilt in the middle of the mound. Any other man would have recognized the signs, the subtle clues that something here was amiss, but Stan was not like other men. No, Stan was, by his own reasoning, superior to other men, and the white sword deposited all too temptingly in the ground seemed more like a challenge than anything to the simpleminded man. One that the cocky warrior was more than willing to take up.
And so he did, and that place would forever be known as "Stan's End" thereafter. Proving to be the beginning of a seemingly unending cycle of strife for all others who were present that day. In retrospect, Stan probably had it the easiest of all of them, though certainly he was not destined for the greatness that he always attributed to himself.
The sacred mound now known as Stan's End to those few who knew him is now even more barren and desolate a place than it once was, and it is said that if you return to that place today you can still make out the faint form a human warrior encased within a spire of ice that now towers to the sky like many other of the ferocious peaks of the region.
After the Catastrophe at Stan's End, the party was split, compelled in opposite directions by forces beyond their control. The group on the far side of the ravine, consisting of Carric, Morrah , Rory, and their guide, Elxidor, now found themselves stranded on the snow-covered bluff far above the newly formed chasm. The story of the others is one for another tale, but as the wind picked up from the north, a chilling reality set in for those stranded on the bluff, none would survive the night on this hostile terrain. They would have to find somewhere less exposed, but where?
They were unsure of the fate of their companions, but in the face of the now gargantuan chasm that had opened up before them, they understood their own situation in no uncertain terms. The Eladrin camp was all but destroyed, with many falling to the depths bellow during the earth sundering, and what few remained quick to scatter to the wind, clearly not eager to stick around in the wake of such divine wrath. As the group stood there still stunned in disbelief they considered their two options. The unrelenting winds above or the dark and vast depths below. As the party held tightly to what meager clothing they had to protect them from the cold, they knew that there was really only one option.
Onward and Downward.
Led by a reluctant Elxidor, the party slowly began their descent, leaving the barren plain behind them and trading the uneasy openness of the surface for the claustrophobic confines of the Feydark. This would go on for some days, with the party staying close enough to the surface to still see the faint light filtering down through the long fractured openings above, and hoping that the tunnels would remain so well-lit. With many days of travel behind them and their food stores all but depleted, the state of the party wasn't just grim, it was desperate. However, just before the last light on the 5th day, as the group crested one final rise in the cavernous terrain, they were astonished to lay their eyes on a temple seemingly wrought from the ice flows and rocks that made up the cavern walls.
The temple was situated on an outcropping hanging out over an even deeper and darker chasm beyond and seemed to be at the precipice of a great river raging over the edge of the cliff and alongside the structure. The sight was astonishing, and the expressions on the faces of the party went from astonishment to awe as a clear voice rang out in each of their heads simultaneously. "I know what it is that you seek, though you know it not yourselves. Come through the doors of my home to reveal the path that delves."
The wayward party, dumbstruck by the sudden exchange hesitated for a long moment, but after no further direction was given they were forced to make a choice. Hardly enthused to engage with such a summons, they shuffled among themselves nervously for several more moments. sharing a concerned look or a deferential posture, but none were willing to speak openly for some reason none could rightly place. It soon became obvious once more that the only path seemed to be before them, and so they walked on.
As they passed through the threshold of the great temple they were comforted by the fact that the place seemed to impart a serine sensation, but being uncertain of the purpose of such an effect they made their way across the initial room slowly. This first area enclosed within the temple's structure was made up of several ruined walkways that each led in a different direction skittering off to form dark corridors and crumbling thresholds, Streams of water ran freely through this level making all of its surfaces slick and perilous. However, after a moment's inspection, a singularly flickering light was marked further up the path and to one side. Upon closer inspection, it was revealed to be an ornate iron lantern that hung upon a shaped metal stand free from the walls and seemingly out of place among the rest of the gloom.
The lantern marked a narrow ally that wove back into the darkness between several other buildings. They followed the corridor for a short way, thinking only to feel it out to the end of the lantern light, but just as the party seemed at the edge of darkness another faintly glowing shape appeared further up the path. It continued on this way for some time, always with another lantern just beyond the last, until finally the path led to a long and winding stair that seemed to snake its way further into the cave system beyond. Still uncertain, but now compelled onward by the entrancing string of lights before them, the group started up the slope one after the other following obediently as if in a trance. They wound back and forth up the path until they emerged onto a great open plateau with a brilliant pool of water set against the backdrop of a cave entrance on one side.
Unlike the surrounding visage beyond its edge, the plateau was adorned with all manner of exotic foliage and the plants seemed to grow thicker as they neared the cave's dark entrance. All was still for but a moment, just long enough for all that were present to take in the scene in all of its beauty, then with a single drop of water from the ceiling far above, a ripple broke the surface of the pool and a figure emerged from that same place a moment later.
It was a stunning sight to behold, the figure of a woman rising slowly from the pool before them to hang motionless, suspended in the air. Her skin was deep blue like the serine pool she emerged from, and she had features of subtle elvish likeness as if she were some long-lost relation of one of the many races of elvish decent that dwell on the material plain. She was clad all in fine blue silks that were in some way complemented by the stray bits of vine and moss that clung about her. However, there was one feature that was more striking than anything else about her, her piercing blue eyes. Brilliant and unblinking, but also fierce and bloodshot, carrying the impression of one who has seen all that can be seen, and carries the soulful recognition of a fate that cannot be escaped.
"I am the Oracle of Water, the Keeper of Streams, at my lady's biding I gaze down life's many tributaries and guide thou down one that seems... most appropriate for the course of things I suppose." She paused for a moment apparently aware that that she has yet to make recognition of her company. Slowly, and still unblinking she turned her gaze, laying those fierce and knowing eyes upon each of them in turn. "You few who are strangers to this place you tread, know that there are those who now slumber. Seek out the three who have laid long in rest, and with their aid thaw his icy chest." She pauses for a moment to look down the cavern the party traveled through earlier in the day, now visible from the elevated vantage point at this high precipice. "You must find the tallest tower that no longer stands, deep bellow the icy sands, and in there within find its darkest place, that is the road that before you waits."
Then she seemed to come out of her trance and regard them more plaintively. Still unblinking but with a more even candor she spoke once more. "At the behest of the Lady Shandria, I have given to you this message, this quest for which I believe you were all brought to this place. For even though you know it not, forces beyond your control have great designs for you." She sunk back down into the pool as she spoke and appeared to come to rest on the hard ground only a few inches beneath the water's surface. Her posture relaxed as she came to rest more comfortably before bending low to retrieve something from the shimmering pool. "After you depart from this place I ask that you follow the lanterns that led you here. They will reveal modest quarters for you to rest and prepare for the road ahead, as I assure you it will be a long one." She shifted slightly as if grasping something beneath the water. "To aid you in this journey there is a boon from my lady that awaits each of you in your quarters, I trust that you will make good use of them."
"All except for you, that is" and she motioned toward Rory, the party's paladin, a firbolg dressed in the trappings of nature, which served as a conduit to the divine. "For you, I have a gift apart from the more utilitarian tools." and she raised a gleaming slivery flail from the surface of the water. It was beautifully crafted, clearly by the hands of elven smiths, and had a gleaming star-shaped pommel set about its handle with a long chain that was spiked along its length with links wrought into the shape of thorns. Finally at its end was another star-like shape, but this one distorted into the form of a crescent moon as the bladed end of the instrument stretched beyond the typical reach of a flail. "It is called Erin Tinu, The Crescent Star."
"Lady Shandria willed that it be bestowed to you, as she has seen that you are the heart of this troupe. May your courage be bolstered by this weapon and may you come to know the Lady of Spring as I do. May all of you come to know her." She added, gesturing to the others. "As, once you have seen your quest through to its completion she would desire an audience with you. Seek her in the great City of Astrazalian in the center of the Sea of Winds. and may you not be blown off course on your journey there." With those final words and one last glance toward Rory, another drop of water fell from high above and in the blink of an eye, the Oracle was gone. The drop sounded resoundingly in the pool and sent ripples once more across its surface. So too was gone the lush vegetation, and the tranquil ere about the place. In a sudden moment of clarity, the party jolted forward as if all collectively shaken from a pleasant daze. There was no sign of the Oracle or even that the Oracle had ever been there. That is of course, except for the gleaming silver flail that now rested comfortably in Rory's hands.
