A Mithral Dilemma

The party rested in Nefelus, allowing gwydion to recover. he’d no rest between the battle with teresa, their travel to the Grand Library, and then long hours of study and ritual spell casting. With help from Morgan, Gheshkan, Asha and her three past life acolytes, Gwydion was able ask an unparalleled 5 questions of the Oracle.

1) Where is Teresa’s phylactery?

On the god of death’s plane

(Gwydion was able to determine that the answer referred not to the Raven Queen, but the Nerull, the God of Death from centuries ago who no longer existed…or so we think…)



4) What is past the teleporation circle?

An altar to the Zehir

5) Is the phalactery in it?


With mixed success from the ritual of communing, the companions decide to head directly to teresa’s tower, and activate the teleportation circle they’d discovered upon their last trip.

the other end put them in a sweltering tunnel that lead to what must have been the altar of zehir the ritual of communing had foretold. a frustrating battle with numerous, reanimating constructs turned deadly when Gwydion, unable to shake an increasingly debilitating wound, suddenly stopped trying at all-he was petrified.

Now, Kord’s Deliverance was reduced to a mithral statue, and just a bunch of guys. Well, a bunch of guys and one really hot gal.

KD destroyed the remaining constructs, and managed to deactivate the altars-including the main altar to the zehir, whose defenses Slyron, of all people, was able to dismantle. As this happened, a portal shimmered into existence above the central altar in the room. With little options before them, having left many of their eggs in a mithral basket, they stepped through.

Into what they guessed was the feywild.

A building in the distance, perched on a cliff.

“Teresa’s,” Asha said with finality. Nobody disagreed.

An hour’s walk brought them to a cave entrance, beside which was carved into the rock a poem.

Asha read:

Count you the Shadows, watch the sun,
The wise know where they stand;
While knowing not the time to shun,
The fools must find themselves undone.

Like lustful swain or panicked child
Who beg another’s gentle hand,
The fool delves heedless through the wild.
The wise are not so soon beguiled.

When darkness falls and dreams portend
The rising of a fearsome foe,
The fool, swift striking, meets his end,
The wise know foe from friend.

Let art and image point the way,
Abandon all you think you know,
For common sense leads fools astray,
The key is simply this: Obey.

The wise must ever strategize;
They never play, unless to win.
The see the harm in comfort’s lies,
And seek to open weary eyes.

You’ve fought your way, you’ve risked demise,
To view the ivy heart within.
Now as the soul, within you dies,
This knowledge is your only prize:
You’d never have come, were you truly wise.

“Interesting…,” Gwydion mused, knowingly.

A silence followed. The eladrin suddenly realized the others were staring at him expectantly. “Oh, sorry. Just a general ‘interesting’, really, nothing to add. No idea what it means.” He blithely entered the cave.

Inside, they discovered three statues, of elves. A inspiration from Gheshkan involving a gift of 100 gold into the second statue’s outstretched hand did the trick, and the statue magically shifted to the side, revealing a tunnel. the tunnel lead to a short chasm. a fight with tents, a campfire, and tools, and quick work of a will o’ the wisp and a totem of unwelcoming.

A Mithral Dilemma

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