The party members went topside and surveyed the ruins of Dragonspear Castle. The earthquakes and subterranean explosions had sundered more of the ruined castle’s walls and sent several outbuildings to their reward. However, the ruins were quiet, peaceful and serene, and the baleful fog that had choked the castle had dissipated. The midday sun shone brightly overhead. Siegfried finally extricated himself out of the pit he had filled in while polymorphed into the guise of a pit fiend. Even as he morphed back into his half-orc form, he retained a bit of infernally-infused musculature that caused his stylish apparel to strain at the seams. “There must be a way to consecrate this place once and for all,” Siegfried mused. Bob snapped his fingers. “I know! I can cast Temple of the Gods and then wish it permanent!” Siegfried clapped. “Good show, Bob!” Bob gripped his holy symbol and began to utter a prayer of devotion to Sune, visualizing in his mind’s eye a grandiose temple. Shimmering walls of magical force began to manifest themselves amid the derelict ruins of Dragonspear and the crumbled remains of the Hold of the Battle Lions, sketching themselves into existence as buttresses, columns and arches glowed a golden glow. Within minutes, a large, impressive temple stood atop the forlorn remains, shining like a golden beacon. Dominating the sanctuary was a statue of a golden dragon with a large relief carving of Sune gazing down upon it with an expression of serene benevolence. Bob then cast a wish spell to make the temple permanent. “I consecrate this land in the name of Lady Firehair and christen this temple ‘Sune’s Respite,’” Bob intoned with gravitas and a wave of his holy hand. “Pilgrims of Sune and Tempus shall find their rest here amid the wild reaches and gird themselves for travel along the Trade Way.” Bob’s expression darkened. “Fiends and undead can never darken the doors of this landmark again.” Bob conferred with Siegfried for a moment, and then the half-orc sent a message via sending to Nero of the Garden. Nero. The Heroes of Phandalin have reclaimed Dragonspear and consecrated the grounds, building a Sunnite Temple. Trevelyan asks for acolytes and paladins. We need rebranding. Nero’s reply was immediate. A welcome development. I shall dispatch a garrison immediately. “Now that that’s done and dusted, let’s take a closer look at Illydrael, shall we?” Siegfried asked. Varien handed over the recently-reformed magical sword to Grandur, who cast identify on it, learning its secrets. “Hmmm, a powerful holy weapon,” Grandur said. “Might be one for Varien.” What’s that? Fiendsbane hissed. Are you looking at other swords now? “Or we could give this sword back to the elves of the Misty Forest, and they would owe us a huge favour,” Siegfried mused. “Champions of Tempus are able to channel their divinity to turn this weapon into a sun sword with the blade detached the way it was, however that ability seems to have gone dormant now that the blade has been magically fused back to the hilt.” “What about Bob?” Siegfried asked. Bob nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose I could wield it along with this staff of power. ” Sequestered inside his sanctuary, Siegfried opened his bag of holding and withdrew an item he’d recovered from the depths of the pit. It was a huge mace made of coal-black infernal iron, traced through with veins of hellfire, recently wielded by Baazka. He cast identify and learned its dark, devilish secrets. Any humanoid killed by a blow from this mace, the Mace of the Infernal Champion was instantly reborn as a lemure devil in the River Styx in Avernus, the first of the Nine Layers of Hell. “Oh, I can think of one self-righteous prick that I can send straight to Hell with no stops on the Fugue Plane,” Siegfried said. “One who thinks he’s punched his ticket to Heaven.” Siegfried discovered that the wielder of this weapon could summon an impish lawyer, and once per day it could be used to cast the spell earthquake. The Mace of the Infernal Champion could only be destroyed in the unholy forge where it was fashioned. Siegfried turned the weapon’s haft over in his hands. “One wonders what cost this weapon might extract from the one who attunes to it?” he said to himself thoughtfully. The party took a short rest within Siegfried’s sanctuary. Bob confirmed that the front doors of Sune’s Respite would only open to faithful followers of Sune and his companions the Champions of Phandalin, and then prepared to teleport his friends to the Court of the Laughing Hollow in the Misty Forest far to the northwest. He sketched out a teleportation circle and intoned the incantation, visualizing the Misty Forest as Siegfried had described it to him. There was a flash of light and the party found themselves far from the grassy plains near Dragonspear Castle. They were standing in a forested valley. Laughing Hollow was an eerie, shadowed place. Even in the daylight, the shade from the omnipresent trees gave a perpetual twilight effect. The party knew, instinctively, that this was a place meant for elves, not men. Even as he stepped out of the teleportation field, Bob could feel that he and his friends were already been tracked by unseen elves in the forest around them. The adventurers stood on a ground covered in dead leaves and underbrush, but something about the terrain felt almost artificial, as though the ground was entirely too level to be natural. The valley around them did not curve naturally up the hillsides in all directions but was rather stepped and tiered, though the tiers were full of tangled vines, bushes and aged trees. It felt as though the bedrock beneath their feet had been shaped deliberately, and not by elvish hands. Siegfried cleared his throat and spoke in Elvish. “The party of Enrapturand Robert Trevelyan and Prince Siegfried Alagondar are here to accept King Melendrach’s invitation to the Court of the Laughing Hollow.” His words seemed to be swallowed up by the leaves and underbrush around them. The forest was quiet – not a single insect buzzed, nor did a single tree limb creak in the wind. Siegfried made a show of taking the Ettin Axe of Uruth, wrapping it in sailcloth, and placing it in his bag of holding . What are you doing? One of the axe heads hissed at Siegfried. You don’t understand, we don’t have enough boys, Siegfried whispered back. I need to play nice for now. That way when we do come back with enough boys, we don’t have knives in our back when we do it. I’ll talk to you more about this later. As he stuffed the axe into the bag, he heard some muffled harrumphs from the two axe heads. I know, I don’t like it either. But playing it dumb is what got you into that first mess, Siegfried said. Playing it smart is what’s going to keep you out of a darkhold for centuries. Siegfried, however did retrieve his elfbane cutlass just to be on the safe side. Stepping out silently from behind every tree trunk, thicket, and fallen log were several seasoned sylvan sentinels, their leather and hide armour camouflage evoking the dappled-greens of the forest floor. They carried curved axes and notched bows and arrows, which weren’t being exactly pointed at the party, but also weren’t exactly not being pointed at the party. In Dwarvish, Siegfried said to Bob, “If anyone tries to give you lip, just point to the hilt of your sword.” Bob nodded in reply. From a shadowy portal in the side of an ancient-growth tree trunk stepped a stunningly-beautiful Elvish woman with long, electric blue hair done up in an elaborate braid that was draped over shoulder and breast. The cut of her garments, rustic though they were, suggested high rank among the martial forces of the forest. She gave a short nod of respect, her eyes flashing. In Elvish she said, “Welcome to the Misty Forest. I am Chancellor Miriel of the Court of the Laughing Hollow. The King warned us of your imminent arrival.” She repeated the greeting in Common. Erwen bowed theatrically. “If you please,” Chancellor Miriel said, raising an arm. “Follow me, and we shall prepare for your audience with the Green Regent.” She turned unceremoniously and walked into the woods. The party followed, and the sentries fell in behind them. Chancellor Miriel and her sentries escorted the adventurers towards a city built into the trees of the Misty Forest. “You are among the few visitors ever welcomed to Miyentar,” the elf said. Erwen looked around him with awe. “See, why can’t human cities be this nice?” He said. “This is much nicer than Waterdeep.” A wry smile twisted Miriel’s fine features. “The King of the Woods normally takes a dim view of those who would disturb the peace of his realm.” The Elvish enclave was centred around a natural hot spring, its steam blanketing the streets that struck out from the central spring like the spokes of a wagon wheel. The spring was surrounded by a shrine of Elvish masterwork, and several Elves, male and female, were standing at attention within. “The waters of this spring are said to have been blessed by both Eldath and Corellon Larethian himself,” Chancellor Miriel said reverently. “And even with a Royal invitation, one does not simply walk into the Court of the Laughing Hollow with trail dust and tree sap adorning their raiment.” Siegfried used prestidigation to clean his clothing to a degree that would put a Waterdhavian dry cleaner out of business. Chancellor Miriel arched an Elvish eyebrow at Siegfried as she bid the rest of the party to disrobe and bathe themselves in the blessed water. Erwen was already out of his clothes and splashing in the spring’s inviting waters, dog-paddling like he’d been taught as a child. “You’ll have to buy me dinner first before you can see me with my shirt off,” Siegfried said in Elvish to the Chancellor. Miriel smirked in response. Siegfried wiped his boots on a proffered mat of woven reeds. Chancellor Miriel explained the rules involved in a proper audience with the King of the Woods. Among them were ritual cleansing, the surrender of all martial arms, and the wearing of a fine Elven linen garment, seamless in its weave, made to measure each of the guests. There were tailors and seamstresses on hand to ensure each party member received a proper fitting. Siegfried respectfully declined. “I cannot wear another king’s colours,” he explained to the Chancellor. “Nor would I ask King Melandrach to wear mine.” Chancellor Miriel paused for a moment, looking pointedly at Siegfried. “My companions will meet the King’s requests, and I shall be clean myself, but I cannot wear the uniform of another nation, nor can I undress myself in front of another nation,” Siegfried said. “I shall wear them in his stead,” Bob said. Chancellor Miriel nodded. Alec was already naked to the waist in the water. “If these regal garments come unembroidered, I would be happy to take one home with me,” Siegfried said to the Chancellor. He leaned in to Miriel’s ear. “But there are political protocols to be observed on both sides here,” he whispered. “As you wish,” Miriel replied. Bob was right at home in the hot spring, and was mentally taking measurements of the hot springs for future reference at Sunite temples. “My Sunite friends are quite familiar with ritual bathing,” Siegfried confided in the Chancellor. Satisfied that no Elvish bows were pointed at him, Varien disrobed and allowed himself to be cleansed in the waters. The robes offered to the adventurers were of the finest thread count. “For religious reasons I shall don my armour,” Varien said to the Chancellor. Chancellor Miriel held Varien’s gaze just long enough for the paladin to understand the impact of compromise in protocol, but then nodded slightly. Elvish attendants polished the plate to a shining gleam not seen for some time. “The King’s title should be respected by all invited guests while they are in his hospitality,” Chancellor Miriel continued her explanation. “His full name is King Melandrach Leafspear Stormbow. You may refer to him as the Green Regent, King of the Woods, Defender of the Misty Forest, Preserver of Illefarn. If you address him directly, Your Majesty is an appropriate title, however those among you of royal blood may use “Sir” in subsequent addresses.” Siegfried nodded. “The King shall be present with the Verdant Queen, Aelyn Floshin, and the Green Prince Glorfyndin,” Chancellor Miriel said. “As well as members of his court. There will be an honour guard, which we hope you will take in the spirit of hospitality rather than hostility. However, take it as you like.” “Hopefully there’s no confusion,” Siegfried quipped. “Prince Glorfyndin is King Melandrach’s third son, and the only son present in the Misty Forest on this occasion,” Chancellor Miriel explained. “Lads, remember, you have to abide by the rules here, but I am not allowed to bow,” Siegfried said to his companions in Common. “Because I am a prince, the most I’m allowed to do is nod, or bow at the neck. But we’re meeting royalty today, so you should bow as deep as you can get away with.” To Chancellor Miriel he said, “We have an item of interest we would like to present for the King’s inspection.” He indicated the sword in Bob’s possession. “It is no small thing to bear a weapon before the King,” Chancellor Miriel said in a grave voice. “This weapon must be cleaned thoroughly and presented, unsheathed, with no attempt made to grip handle or hilt in the King’s presence,” lest you risk the ire of the court’s cardinal defenders.” “We wouldn’t dream of it,” Siegfried said. “We shall observe all protocols, of course.” Cleansed, cleaned, and enrobed, the party was escorted to the Court of the Laughing Hollow, a long, grand hall made from intertwined tree branches woven together to make a natural domed ceiling. Flanking the approach to the king’s court were a trio of statues of intricate design and workmanship. The first was a mournful statue depicting a regal, female elf. Her expression was downcast, her arms clasped in a froze prayer of grief. The next two statues were of Elvish males. The first statue depicted a princely elf of noble bearing, but it was sculpted to include a diaphanous black shroud of mourning that appeared to be draped over the statue like a veil, but was in fact part of the sculpture itself. “Exquisite workmanship,” Siegfried murmured. The third statue also appeared to depict an Elvish prince, but it had been shattered and pulverized, its broken shards swept and gathered into a pile heaped on the plinth upon which the stumps of two legs broken off below the knee still stood. “Interesting,” Varien murmured. “King Melandrach’s first Verdant Queen, who is no longer with us,” Chancellor Miriel explained. “The broken statue once depicted Prince Neronvain, now Neronvain the Banished and Exiled, son of King Melandrach.” So he won’t be joining us for dinner, then, Siegfried thought to himself. “The shrouded statue depicts Prince Alagarthas, firstborn son and heir of King Melandrach, who is missing and presumed dead,” Chancellor Miriel said. “We refer to him as the Veiled Prince.” The party was ushered into the throne room, where at the far end of the chamber were arrayed three throned elves. King Melandrach was sitting in the centre of the three high-backed wooden thrones. At his right hand was his Queen, a Gold Elf who sat stock-still with her hands folded in her lap, staring at nothing in particular. Slumped in the third throne was a young Elvish prince who looked as though he’d rather be anywhere but here. The princely elf radiated petulance. Siegfried approached and nodded to the King. “You have a wonderful home, Your Majesty,” he said with all proper decorum. King Melandrach nodded back at Siegfried slowly. “So good of you to take up our invitation to the Court of the Laughing Hollow,” he said in a slow and measured tone. “Bob, won’t you show the King what we recovered?” Siegfried said. Bob presented Illydrael in the most non-threatening way he could. There was a surprised and concerned murmur from the assembled courtiers. King Melandrach’s eyes widened and even the sullen prince straightened up a bit at the sight of the Elven sword. “So,” King Melandrach said, “your venture into Dragonspear Castle bore fruit.” “The portal has been destroyed and fiends and undead are no longer able to linger in Dragonspear,” Siegfried said. “The grounds re-hallowed and the ghosts banished from the grounds. The behir chopped into pieces, the gargoyles wiped out, and the grounds repurposed into a temple devoted to Sune that will protect pilgrims along the southern Trade Way, where the going gets rough. Robert Trevelyan would love to extend an invitation for you to visit once the temple is in operation.” Bob nodded assent. “It would be an honour to host you.” That seemed to mollify the King. “This sword is not in the proper state to be returned to your treasury or armory,” Siegfried said. “Enrapturand Trevelyan is going to consecrate and dedicate Ilydrael to Sune and rid it of any residual corruption. We hope to return it in an official capacity at a later date.” King Melandrach nodded. “We accept your offer of hospitality with due regard, and trust that a new day has dawned over Dragonspear, one that is not shrouded in mist, fog and cloud. We have of course offered you rest and respite after your ordeal at Dragonspear, in our home as your travels have been long and your actions weighty and mighty, and you have the thanks of this Court. Before we share a meal together, what of the rumours of Thayan incursions?” “There was a Thayan lich under the castle, but Sune’s Chosen Calamity,” and at this he indicated Varien, who stood resplendent in polished armour, “he was merely an afterthought and died before we could even learn his name.” King Melandrach smiled. “It is justly so.” Varien couldn’t help but notice Queen Aelyn’s impassive expression during the exchange, and it dawned on him that the Elven Queen appeared to be blind – her eyes were milky white and stared unseeing and blankly ahead. The prince, on the other hand, was obviously bored and shiftless. “We shall celebrate with a feast to toast your accomplishments and then I shall like to hear more of your future plans, Champions,” King Melandrach said.