Erwen was mesmerized by High Priestess Ysara, an arch-druid who seemed as wise as she was powerful. Her blonde hair was done up in twin braids and she wore a white hood over green garments. He sidled up to the empty chair beside the High Priestess at dinner and sat beside her. Enchanting melodies, played by hidden harpists behind wooden screens, began to fill the air in the Great Hall. The table was decorated with intricate silverware and delicate crystal goblets, with long-running chains of flowers draped down the centre of the table, which was laden with eye-catching examples of Elvish culinary artistry. Erwen dug in to the sumptuous feast with both hands. Priestess Ysara suppressed an amused smile. A few courses later, Erwen dug into the dessert. The souffle was light and airy, infused with the essence of the Misty Forest's fragrant flowers and whispers of vanilla. It was served with a dollop of freshly whipped cream and a sprinkle of crushed pistachios. Erwen smiled up at High Priestess Ysara, food smeared across his face. The elf smiled back and leaned down to speak in his ear. “May I show you my garden?” she asked in a voice as delicate as a rosebud. Erwen’s eyes widened. He straightened up in his seat, dabbed at the corner of his mouth delicately with a napkin, folded it, and then blurted out, “Yes, you may!” He cast pass without trace and left the table arm-in-arm with the Archdruid. The high priestess led Erwen to a secluded forest grove just outside of the Elvish settlement. “I appreciate your connection to nature,” High Priestess Ysara said to Erwen in a soft voice that echoed like birdsong in his ears. “Connections are so important, don’t you agree?” Above the couple, the tree branches formed a dense canopy through which fingers of sunlight barely made contact with the soft blades grass beneath their feet. “Umm, yes,” Erwen murmured. The clearing before them contained an ornate gazebo of Elvish workmanship, its delicate intricacies belying its sturdy construction. Around the structure were beds of bioluminescent mushrooms that gave a soft blue glow to their surroundings. “Pretty,” Erwen murmured as he slouched along beside the wood elf. “Thank you,” Ysara replied. She lowered her hood and undid the tie on her cloak, which obediently fell away like leaves in autumn. Her long blonde braids were now the only thing covering her bare flesh, which was pale as yellow poplar. “Very pretty,” murmured Erwen, standing straighter now. “Your garden, I mean, um…what was that about making connections?” Ysara shook her head until her braids danced over her shoulders and drew Erwen close. The archdruid’s supple body bent like a reed in a gale, even though the only breeze was from Erwen’s animalistic panting. Soon Erwen and Ysara’s intertwined limbs matched the intertwining limbs of the trees above them, their leaves rustling in an echo of the arabesque playing out upon the meadow. Slowly, methodically, and without pause, Ysara drew out Erwen’s seed. Later, Erwen lay on Ysara’s cloak, which was spread upon the grass of the glade. He allowed himself a contented sigh, relishing the moment. I wonder how Qelline’s doing? He thought. Then he flinched as a chill gust of wind blew over him. He propped himself up on his elbows as he realized he was alone and looked about furtively. That wind had a mountainous taste to it, he thought. Now I wonder how Haravak’s doing. A few yards away, Ysara’s nymphlike form was in bioluminescent blue silhouette as she stood in the gazebo, one hip leaning gently against the rail. She was staring off into the woods, her unbraided hair tousled and trailing about her in the breeze. Erwen shrugged back into his furs and joined Ysara in the gazebo. Fireflies flickered in the semi-darkness. “I am glad to get to know you, Erwen,” Ysara said, not meeting Erwen’s gaze as she continued to stare into the forest. “I am glad to get to know you,” Erwen said, realizing his eyes were pretty much level with the wood elf’s backside, which he recalled to be as pliable as softwood. He cleared his throat. “Your heart is much like this gazebo,” he said. “It looks vulnerable and fragile from a distance, but up close it has a core of inner strength and is stronger than any fortress.” Ysara smiled. “Why Erwen, you’re a forest poet. Usually, one delivers such flowery oration before the act of love, and not after.” She put a finger under Erwen’s chin and gently tilted his head upward. “Unless…” Erwen tried not to think of lumber. “I sense turmoil and complications,” Erwen ventured. “Is the Misty Forest always like this? I don’t think you brought me here just to roll around in the meadow.” Ysara sighed and resumed her stare into the woods. “As enjoyable as that was, no, you’re right. I’ve had troubling visions. The forest speaks to me.” “What does it say?” Erwen asked. “It is in pain,” Ysara replied. “My visions hint of a gathering darkness and a sinister agenda at work.” “Do you know whose agenda, or what is causing this darkness?” Erwen asked. “My visions are not yet clear,” Ysara said sadly, “but I know that your arrival here is not a coincidence.” All of my arrivals are a coincidence, Erwen thought to himself. But go on, honey. “I believe that your unique connection to, er, nature, will help mend the forest’s wounds and decipher my visions, perhaps averting a disaster.” “If you truly believe that, then you should tell me where I should go and what I should do,” Erwen replied. Am I over-committing? We just had a romantic encounter and now she’s asking me to save the forest. As Erwen was lost in thought, Ysara began to trace a pattern on Erwen’s chest, a druidic rune reminiscent of gnarled, tangled roots that was of symbolic significance to the Emerald Enclave. Erwen looked down and touched his chest. “Did you do something to me?” he asked. As he watched, the pattern on his chest rose up like an inflammation or burn scar, though there was no pain. The roots felt like they were digging deep into his core. “I’m sorry I did not ask for your consent,” Ysara said. “I didn’t ask yours,” Erwen admitted. “So one good turn deserves another, does it not?” Ysara replied. “This ward shall grant you safe passage into the heart of the Misty Forest. I am protecting you from the darkness that is gathering in the woods. I have seen a vision of an ancient oak tree, older than the Misty Forest itself, twisted and desecrated by malevolence. I believe that beneath that oak lies something of grave importance.” “Can you tell me where I can find this oak?” Erwen asked. “You have seen it in your dreams,” Ysara said, and as she spoke the words, Erwen realized that it was true. He was seized by the certainty that he knew exactly where to go. “We call it the Heartwood,” Ysara said with quiet reverence. Erwen extended his hand. “Would you like to come there with me?” Ysara’s eyes shone as she took Erwen’s hand. “Only you could lead me to the Heart of the Forest, and thus I will follow.” Erwen nodded as he cast wind walk . Slowly, the two of them became as clouds, their vapours intermingling pleasantly. The cloud rose through the treetop canopy into the mists that shrouded the forest and with the force of a hurricane began to move northeast. Cloud-wen looked down at the terrain beneath them and noted that the environment was perfect for owlbears. He saw that most of the Misty Forest was made up of pine, cedar, and other evergreen trees, making this ancient oak that Ysara spoke of something of an anomaly. He also noticed the degree to which the Laughing Hollow was reclaiming an obvious scar in the earth, its angular form suggesting a quarry or pit mine, likely hewn by dwarves in ages past. Interesting, he thought. The temperature began to drop and the mists grew ever thicker as they approached their destination. This section of the forest was foreboding indeed. Cloud-wen and Ysara descended through the fog and as they broke through the cloud cover, they saw a clear-cut section of the forest, the tree stumps jutting out of the earth like broken teeth. Carved into the ground were channels of disturbed earth that formed concentric ring-like patterns that from overhead looked like the inverse of the rune traced on Erwen’s chest. In the centre of an ancient stone circle stood a tangled, twisted oak tree, and an aura of doom washed over the interloping cloud. Like a tornado touching down, Erwen and Ysara reformed into corporeal beings and Erwen began to walk forward through the eerie clearing. It was cold enough that Erwen’s breath persisted in clouds of vapour. “What is this place?” Erwen asked. “This was once the Heart of the Forest,” Ysara replied. “You see that my visions are not mere visions.” “What can we do about this?” Erwen asked. “That is why you are here,” Ysara replied. Erwen stepped across the churned earthen lines in the clearing. “This blight is a blight on this clearing,” Erwen said. “See how the oak has become twisted, its leaves pale and lifeless. They almost look like fangs, don’t they?” Erwen faltered for a moment and then turned to Ysara. “You…” he said. Ysara shook her head. “No Erwen, it’s an oak, not a yew tree.” “What are you, an arborist?” Erwen replied. “Did you trick me-” Suddenly the churned runes erupted into a wall of thorns that separated Erwen from the Archdruid. The thorns shot up from the ground, hemming Erwen and the twisted oak within its loops and whorls. “Caution, Erwen!” Ysara shouted from behind the thorny barrier. “The grandfather tree awakens!” Erwen frowned. That druid was easy to sleep with. Was she conning me? Before he could confirm his suspicions, the tree before him began to spring to life, its branches waving menacingly. It ripped its roots from the ground beneath it and began to stomp towards the Halfling. It growled in a voice that sounded like cracking tree bark and said to Erwen in Druidic, “Invasive sapling! You shall not cut me down!” “Nobody said anything about cutting,” Erwen said in reply. The druid surmised that there was something not quite right about this particular grandfather tree. The tree grabbed up a broken, weathered henge stone and threw it at Erwen, who tried to get out of the way. The rock clipped the Halfling and sent him painfully tumbling across the ground, nearing smashing him flat. The creature lurched forward to bash the prone Halfling with one of its massive limbs. Erwen felt himself pressed painfully into the loam. He got to his feet and wildshaped into a fire elemental, bursting into flame as he grew in size. “I am Burn-wen!” Burn-wen growled at the tree. He slammed his flaming fists into the creature’s trunk, setting it ablaze. The grandfather tree staggered back, roaring in agony. He raised his branches and pounded them into the ground, sending a shock wave rippling across the clearing. Erwen was caught up in the earthen eruption and was knocked prone. The crazed creature stomped and reared back over Burn-wen, slamming him with another mighty blow. Burn-wen smiled, flames licking out between his broken teeth, as he got back to his feet and uppercut the burning tree twice more, staggering it with each assault. The tree’s leaves ignited and curled away like a halo of incendiary destruction. Then he cast healing word on himself for good measure. The creature was in a blighted, diseased frenzy as it began to attack in a crazed fashion. It roared incoherently as it bashed Burn-wen, who stood his ground resolutely. From beyond the hedge, Priestess Ysara shouted “purge the blight!” “And purge we shall!” Burn-wen shouted back as he cast wall of fire, surrounding the grandfather tree in a burning prison of tall flames. The creature screeched anew, blundering through the burning walls in a feeble effort to escape. Burn-wen kicked its posterior as it tried to make its escape. Fully engulfed, the grandfather tree stumbled back towards its resting place, even as its extremities turned to ash and disintegrated. Its very heart was now ablaze, a dark red glow escaping from within the cracks in its bark-shrouded exterior. With the last of its strength, it planted its roots back into the ground, and with a horrid cracking sound, collapsed into a pile of burning embers that gave way to ashen scraps of bark and leaf. The clearing was now a funeral pyre. With a shudder, the thorny barriers receded back into the churned soil. The mists, burned away by the blazing wall of fire , began to return. Burn-wen’s sharp eyes caught sight of something glittering within the pile of ash. He dug through the ashes and came up with a small golden acorn, intricate runes carved into its shell. Burn-wen quickly dropped the acorn for fearing of combusting it, but it seemed to be made of strong stuff and had an aura of magic and wonder about it. Burn-wen couldn’t help but feel a soothing wave of calm come over him as he prodded and poked the acorn, which now seemed to glow with immense power. Burn-wen pondered this for a moment and then picked up the acorn again. He looked closely at the runes on it and realized it was the same shape emblazoned on his torso. He began to trace the proper rune lines over the desecrated ground of the clearing around him, and as he did so, the fire rejuvenated the soil and erased all trace of the profane path that had corrupted the grandfather tree. The mists began to recede. Calm descended on the clearing. Burn-wen looked back at the pile of ash that was all that was left of the grandfather tree. Even now, a green, healthy sapling had sprung up. Burn-wen nodded and dropped his wildshape. He made his way towards High Priestess Ysara, and hopped up into a warm embrace, planting a kiss on the elf’s lips, which she returned with vigour. “What a first date!” Erwen said. “There may be more where that came from,” Ysara replied. “But first, what is this?” Erwen held up the acorn. High Priestess Ysara gasped, nearly dropping the Halfling. “The Heartwood Relic!” Her bosom heaved. “We’d all but forgotten.” “Me included.” “It’s said to hold immense power, capable of healing, or in the wrong hands, devastating the Misty Forest,” Ysara said. “It has chosen you.” “Me?” Erwen said in disbelief. “Your decisions, your companions, and your journey have all brought you to this point, Erwen,” Ysara said with gravitas. “The Forest knows. It has a long memory. Its roots run deep. And the Heartwood Relic will only fall from the Grandfather Tree into the hands of someone worthy. Someone like you.” “But what do we do with it?” Erwen asked. “That, Erwen, is for you to decide,” Ysara said. “But I can tell you that it is capable of great good, if that is your goal, but demands a strong connection to the natural world to wield it successfully. And only those who can carefully consider the wellbeing of the Misty Forest, or any Great Forest in Faerun, and maintain the balance of the natural world can unlock its full power.” “I’ve been a bad man,” Erwen said. “But I can be better.” “There is always time to be a better man,” Ysara said. “And the forest has given you a second chance. Speaking of second chances,” she tugged at his furs lustily. “Whoa, I’m like a one-and-done kind of guy,” Erwen protested. “But let’s return to the Laughing Hollow in style, and maybe catch a good night’s sleep together.” He cast tree stride and the two druids melted into the forest, heading back to the Court of the Elven King.