-- 12/1/6067 --

     The ship creaked achingly around the sailors as they worked to dock
her quickly, eagerly wanting to warm themselves by a fire with some grog
and women.  The rough wintery seas tossed the ship around alarmingly, but
the skies were darkening even further, giving a sure sign that worse
weather would soon strike.
     Gael stood by the wheel with the captain, who hoped the presence of a
priestess of Poseidon would aid them.  Thus far, they had experienced the
worst winter weather ever upon the seas, and the captain would have turned
back had they not been making excellent time as they came down the coast.
     The rough water rocked the ship alarmingly as she was guided up
alongside the wharf by her nervous helmsman.  Despite the weather, the
experienced sailors quickly made the ship fast.  Secure at last, the gang
plank was lowered, allowing the six travellers to disembark, glad to once
again have solid ground under foot.
     A pair of elves made their way up the wharf towards the six of them.
One of the pair was Dwarkin Shea, the other a beautiful wood elf with
flaming red hair.  Arahna, Kasendra, and Tibulus formally introduced
themselves to the druid, for they had not yet met Dwarkin in the flesh, so
to speak, while Dwarkin introduced the wood elf as Torina of House
Parsindius.
     Together, they moved off of the wharf quickly to be away from the
frigid wind blowing in from the Araquay Ocean.  However, the wind that was
channeled down the streets of Arinius was almost as bad.  The group trudged
in the general direction of the temple of Poseidon as Dwarkin explained
that the Yurndale forest was nearly a fortnight's travel away, and that
they would have to leave as soon as possible, despite the fierce winter
storm which was blowing in from offshore.
     When they reached the temple, Gael hurried to the audience chamber of
High Priest Belophor, finding the temple staff in much discontent.  Upon
seeing her enter, the High Priest shooed away his aids and moved to clasp
Gael's hands.
     "Gael," he said warmly, "you've finally returned.  What with this
great weakening in Poseidon's strength, we had thought that you might never
return."
     Baffled by his words, Gael asked what weakening he spoke of, for she
had noticed no wavering in Poseidon's powers.
     "Why, surely you have noticed that few of our prayers to Poseidon are
answered of late?"
     "I have noticed no such thing.  All of my prayers are answered as they
have always been.  My link with Poseidon is stronger now than ever before."
     Showing some irritation, the High Priest scolded her for lying at such
a time as this, and on such grave matters.  If Poseidon were not answering
the prayers of one of his High Priests, why would he answer the prayers of
a simple acolyte?
     "I do not lie," Gael stated, not believing what she heard.  She closed
her eyes and prayed to her god for a way to prove to those present that she
spoke the truth.  Feeling the guiding warmth of her deity, she stepped over
to a pillar, embracing the marble column.  Slowly, her body molded into the
stone pillar and disappeared as if she were stepping into an illusion.
When she stepped from the other side, the priests were in a general hubbub,
wondering how she could call upon Poseidon when they could not.  And such
power!  No mere acolyte should be able to accomplish so great a feat as
this.
     "You see," she declared, "I can still call upon Poseidon, for his
presence is still with me."
     "Then you must be highly favored by Poseidon," surmised Belophor.  "We
have much to do with you then, in order to divine why this is so."
     "Then listen to my story, and I believe you will understand."  She
gave a recount of what had happened since she had departed Arinius,
specifically covering what Hawn had learned from the Seer of Baharri.  When
she had finished recounting how Dwarkin had returned with news of their
having been chosen by Sylvanus and the other gods to help in the battle
against the coming evil, the High Priest said he could not detain her and
risk the wrath of the gods.
     Her mission for the High Priest completed, Belophor charged her to
serve the gods well.

                              -- 12/15/6067 --

     An unnatural silence filled the forest, as if the place were dead, or
its evil had driven off all of its denizens.  The air was dead calm,
lacking even the slightest movement.  A light dusting of snow covered
either bank of the Yurndale River.  There were no animals in sight, nor had
any traces been found of any, not even the ones that would be expected to
be seen in winter.  Only the burble of the flowing water was audible, and
that seemed much too loud from the lack of any other sounds.  What little
the companions said was spoken in muted whispers.
     As the day wore on and they penetrated deeper into the enchanted wood,
the watery noises around their boat -- purchased from a young fisherman who
aspired towards greater things in life -- seemed to mount in volume the
farther they journeyed.  Everyone was getting jumpy; all felt as if
numerous sets of eyes peered at them, unseen in the foliage along the
river.  Often someone would point into the empty woods and claim to have
seen something, though no one else could, and afterwards would be unsure if
they really had glimpsed something, or if it were their minds playing
tricks on them.
     That the day passed uneventfully was worse than if they had actually
encountered some monster or horrid servant of this cursed wood.  Had they
met up with something, then there would have been something tangible for
them to focus their fears upon.  As it was, they had to suffer through the
day, always thinking there was something out there in the surrounding trees
but never being certain as to the truth of that feeling, never being sure
of what might be waiting for them, if anything at all, not knowing if that
expectation of some evil event about to happen was naught more than a trick
of the subconscious mind personifying the evil that lay at the heart of the
forest, an illusion of some lurking horror just out of sight behind this
tree, or maybe that tree over there...
     Camp was set up that evening with the knowledge that rest would not
come easily this night due to the evil aura of the forest.  When they lit a
fire, it burned pitifully small, offering little or no cheer, crushed in
size and spirit by the brooding forest.  Several of the company even swore
that the trees near their camp had flinched away when the dead branches
were finally lit by one of Dwarkin's spells, for all other attempts to
light the campfire had failed, as if the will of the forest suppressed the
sparks produced by their tinder boxes, fearing the presence of fire amongst
the trees.

                              -- 12/16/6067 --

     Morning found the group packing their equipment in preparation for
continuing their journey.  They moved lethargically, however, as the night
had brought them no rest.  Almost everyone confessed to having had
disturbing dreams during the night.  It was as though the mere act of
spending the night within the Yurndale forest had drawn off everyone's
spirit and eagerness to press on.
     Mid afternoon that day, the forest struck out at them for the first
time.
     The boat moved slowly upriver with Graynyr at the rudder, the oars
sounding like great splashes each time one was lowered into the water.
Most everyone was drowsing, tired and listless, even those expending the
minimal effort of rowing the boat.  There was no conversation for no one
felt like speaking, having nothing remotely cheerful to speak of.  Only
those rowing did anything, and they were only attentive enough to not drop
their oars.
     When the long vine shot out of the water and snaked around his wrist,
Graynyr froze.  The iron grip of the vine yanked the half-elf out of the
boat before he could even react.  The sudden shock of the frigid waters
succeeded in waking his mind as he forced down the instinct to take a deep
breath.  He strained to reach his sword or his dagger, but more vines were
wrapping around him, preventing him from reaching either blade.
     As he was pulled deeper into the icy waters, Graynyr struggled to hold
what little air there was in his lungs.  He fought to free himself from the
plant to no avail.  In the dim and murky waters, he could see a large clump
of writhing vines on the bottom of the river, like the living sea-weed in
the tales of kelpies and the like, drawing him deeper into the river.
     But his eyes caught a glint of light on metal in the   To Graynyr's oxygen-starved brain, the hand seemed to almost willingly
release the hilt into his own hand.  A blue glow suddenly shown forth from
the blade and strength coursed up his arm.  He twisted his wrist, slicing
through the mass of vines holding him.  With quick slashes of the blade, he
cut himself free.  The weapon seemed almost to move of its own volition,
slicing every tendril that came near him.
     Graynyr kicked violently, propelling himself away from the plant and
towards the surfa   To Graynyr's oxygen-starved brain, the hand seemed to almost willingly
release the hilt into his own hand.  A blue glow suddenly shown forth from
the blade and strength coursed up his arm.  He twisted his wrist, slicing
through the mass of vines holding him.  With quick slashes of the blade, he
cut himself free.  The weapon seemed almost to move of its own volition,
slicing every tendril that came near him.
     Graynyr kicked violently, propelling himself away from the plant and
towards the surface with the last of his strength.  Then the strength was
gone from his body.  His lungs fought against his closed throat, striving
to replenish his oxygen-poor blood.  His sight faded and his extremities
grew numb.  He willed his legs to move, to kick, not knowing or feeling if
they obeyed.
     Then he broke the surface and the breath exploded from his heaving
lungs.  Graynyr gasped, his lungs taking in great, quivering droughts of
air.  Consciousness slipped from his grasp, never feeling the hands that
grasped him and pulled him from the wintry waters until the magical heat
suffused his body, driving away the hypothermia.  Feeling returned to
Graynyr's body in a wash of pain from flesh lacerated by the thorny
tendrils, but Gael's prayers to Poseidon soon drove away the pain and
healed the wounds, lending him renewed strength.
     Vigilance had returned to the group, the numbness instilled by the
forest having been driven off, and they now knew that the malice of
Yurndale was not simply their imaginations, but rather a tangible and
deadly force.
     Several among their number claimed to see or hear something or other
during the course of the day, though none of these instances were confirmed
by anyone else.  However, everyone remained observant, taking every one of
these sightings seriously, lest one of them prove to also be an actual
horror bred from the evil of the forest, much as the watery vines which had
nearly taken Graynyr's life.
     Near evening, they passed under a cliff upon which sat the aged, vine-
covered ruins of a large keep.  As the boat glided beneath the cliff, large
blocks of stone and mortar fell towards them, as though hurled by some
unseen giant.  Fortunately, none of the blocks came too close to striking
their less-than-solid boat.
     Once past the ruins, the hallucinations of things in the surrounding
forest no longer bothered them quite so much, for they were not nearly so
threatening as the real dangers present in the forest.

                              -- 12/17/6067 --

     The companions strode along the bank of the river with their weapons
drawn.  Just ahead of them lay the central clearing of the Yurndale forest.
It had been a task to get this far.  The forest had repeatedly thrown
barriers against them -- monsters, deadfalls, animated plants -- but they
had managed to overcome them all, their spirits gradually returning to them
with each succeeding battle.  Yet they suspected that what lay ahead would
far surpass the challenges thus far faced.
     They entered the central clearing of the forest.  The evil of this
place was very prominent, sending chills crawling up and down their spines.
Yet they pressed forwards, now truly certain of the importance of
abolishing the evil of this place.
     Moving into the clearing next to the river, the companions saw a huge
oak tree of exceptional age towering over the rest of the forest.  This was
the heart of the evil lurking in the Yurndale forest.  The dark forces
contained in this tree had perverted its shape as they had been working to
prevent the enchantments of the forest.  The trunk was twisted and
malformed, with bulbous formations, great hollows split parts of the trunk,
and its branches were gnarled like great, arthritic limbs.  Giant, black,
mutated squirrels chased one another around the many limbs of the tree,
chittering obnoxiously at the adventurers.
     Overhead, a storm was brewing, darkening the sky, and for the first
time since they had entered the forest, there was movement of the air.  It
started as a slight breeze, then began mounting into a rushing wind.  The
wind whipped powdery snow into the air, obscuring vision and making
anything more than a dozen paces away appear as naught more than a vague
outline.
     The companions spread out into a ragged battle-line, trying to keep
sight of one another through the blowing snow.  From out of the growing
murkiness there appeared a number of trees which seemed to have uprooted
themselves and were now trundling along on their roots, waving their
branches as they moved to surround the companions and protect the giant oak
at the center of the clearing.  Some ashes, alder, and even a willow tree
advanced on the amazed travellers, who had not expected quite so powerful
of a display of the evil oak's dominion over this enchanted forest.
     The two groups met with a clash of determined force, flailing branches
against swords and spells.  Torina fought as best she could with her sword,
but it had little affect on upon the animated trees.  She cast bolts of
sorcerous energy at the trees until she expended her magical powers, but
these had little more affect than her sword.  She had to resort to doing
the best she could to prevent herself from being struck by the trees.
That, however, was insufficient; she was lashed several times by small
branches before a larger one struck her with the force of a felled tree.
She hit the ground, unconscious.  Evrin quickly followed, whipped senseless
by a vicious willow tree.
     Kasendra listened to that little halfling voice in her head that told
her not to close with an opponent larger than herself.  She stood back,
casting darts at the tree nearest Gael, for what it was worth.  Gael
managed to hold her ground, deflecting branches with her blessed trident as
though she were in the arena knocking away the staves and polearms of
humanoid foes.
     Arahna was putting her skills to the test as she squared off against
one of the animated trees.  Although she twisted and dodged as best she
could, it kept scoring painful blows that only weakened her further.
Whenever she got a clear shot, Arahna would release a blast of force from
the enchanted ring she had recovered from the shrine of Orcus.  Though the
blasts staggered the tree and splintered its branches, they only slowed it
momentarily.  Finally, too hurt to evade another swinging branch, Arahna
was struck a powerful blow that lifted her into the air and flung her away
from the battle.  She smashed back to the frozen ground, skidding on the
ice and snow.  Broken and battered, she could only lay where she had landed
and watch the dwindling number of her companions who were still fighting
valiantly onwards.
     Side by side, Graynyr and Tibulus wielded their magicked blades
against another of the trees.  They too were battered, but their blows were
telling against the animated tree.  They kept swinging at it, their blades
gouging out huge chunks of wood and severing limbs until the combined might
of their enchanted swords shattered the wooden trunk of the tree.
     As it fell, the other animated trees around it slowed for a moment as
the being which animated them shifted its attention to the remaining trees.
Although he was barely able to stand, Dwarkin noticed this momentary
change.  Sheathing his scimitar, he limped towards where the cursed oak
grew in the center of the clearing.  He could feel its malice beating down
on him as he grew closer.  One of the animated trees tried to defend its
master, flailing the elf with a long branch.
     But Dwarkin was close enough to the tree containing the evil entity.
He called upon the forces of nature as he pulled a flask of lamp oil from
his pack.  He hurled the flask at the tree where it shattered, splattering
oil over a section of the blackened bark.  Releasing the forces of nature
which he had summoned, Dwarkin ignited the oil, sending a wave of flame
sweeping up the side of the cursed oak, despite the blowing wind.  Several
of the black squirrels on the tree were caught in the wash of flame, their
fur catching aflame as they skittered insanely around the branches.
     The wind seemed to howl in pain and rage, while the animated trees
flagged in their assault.  Seeing this, those companions who were still on
their feet moved to join Dwarkin, hurling their own flasks of lamp oil onto
the burning tree.  The flames rapidly spread over most of the tree, licking
at the few leaves on the barren branches and incinerated the offensive
squirrels inhabiting the branches of the cursed oak tree.  Dwarkin focused
on the forces of nature, intensifying the flames, trying his best to
restrain the defenses of the spirit trapped within the tree.
     The wind mounted in magnitude, as if trying to extinguish the flames
which were engulfing the tree.  But this only succeeded in fanning the
flames even hotter, speeding the rate at which they were burning through
the thick bark of the blighted tree.  Then a daemonic wail of anguish cut
through the howling wind and the tree exploded, scattering charred and
burning fragments across the clearing, the force of the concussion knocking
the rest of the companions to the ground.
     The brooding evil presence of the spirit trapped within the oak was no
more, and the animated trees ceased the last of their faltering movements,
crashing to the ground.  The storms overhead calmed with the same
supernatural speed with which they had appeared and a sensation of numbness
shot through the forest as the lurking evil was banished.
     Forcing his chilled and battered body to sit up, Dwarkin focuses his
druidical powers on the forces of nature which were now free from the will
of the spirit of the tree.  Merging with the flow of energies set in motion
by the destruction of the tree, the elf redirected them, setting the forest
back to is destined path of neutrality and self-defense, directing it to
purge itself of the evil that had infested it for so long.

     "...so in a few weeks, with the malignant presence of the entity gone,
the enchantments on the forest will return to their original purpose of
simply protecting the forest from harm," concluded Dwarkin.
     "Then we can leave this forest and return to a nice warm city?" hoped
Tibulus.
     Dwarkin responded with an affirmative laugh.  They were all happy to
be returning, to be away from this forest, even though it was no longer the
place of evil it had once been.  However, there was some sense of worry,
for Hawn had promised to try and join them for this battle, but he had
never appeared, or even sent some form of magical message to them.  Was he
merely avoiding them, as Dwarkin strongly suspected, or has something
happened to the troubled elf?