New Management

Weathered by the demands of the Wildermarch, the party has delayed their intended deep exploration of the mysterious Tower. Eager to continue growing N.O.D.E.'s understanding of the region, a party has chosen to spend the time pursuing a new question in the Wildermarch.

Recap

Eager to continue growing N.O.D.E.'s understanding of the region, Aldric, Quick, Jorath, and Kouzlo set out into the forest north of the Great Tree. Quick, ever the cartographer, wanted to map the forest and the northern lagoon area. Aldric agreed from a tactical standpoint — it was close enough to camp to be practical — though he urged caution.

The forest here was different. The trees were thinner-leaved, the bushes sparser, the terrain rising on a gentle incline that felt like it was leading somewhere. Quick, scouting ahead as always, heard it first — the rhythmic clatter of hooves on hard ground, oddly precise for wild terrain.

The Sheep

Quick vanished into the underbrush without a sound. Jorath and Aldric were not so fortunate, stumbling into each other as they scrambled for cover. Before they could sort themselves out, a small black-faced creature with a woolly white body barreled out of the brush and slammed headfirst into Aldric's chest.

It was a sheep.

The animal stood there glaring at them, a crumpled piece of paper clamped in its teeth. It spat the paper onto the ground and bleated — aggressively, pointedly — in their faces. When Aldric reached out to comfort it, the sheep nipped at his hand.

Jorath picked up the paper. The moment his fingers touched it, the parchment dissolved in a shimmer of greenish light, releasing a scented breeze that washed over all four of them. Then the sheep opened its mouth and, in a voice that was distinctly irritated and unmistakably aristocratic, spoke.

"Who are you four? You're not working for him, are you?"

The sheep introduced itself as Finothere Shinebright — Master Transmuter, a great wizard, and currently a victim of his own former apprentice's idiocy. The apprentice, one Ahmed Noke, had gotten hold of Finothere's wand and used it to transform his master into livestock. Finothere had escaped the apprentice's treehouse through a secret tunnel, but the wand — and his proper form — remained inside.

Jorath and Kouzlo exchanged a glance. The name Shinebright carried the structure of old elven families, though neither could place the lineage.

Quick's ears twitched. Footsteps — many of them — crashing through the undergrowth. Finothere's eyes went wide.

"That's the muscle. He's been hunting me."

Guz

The trees parted and a very large orc stepped into the clearing, a great axe slung across his shoulders. The instrument of destruction was an enormous wooden staff that bowed and creaked under the weight of a massive rectangular blade like that of a farmer's plow. Behind him prowled a pair of wolves that moved with an unsettling, mechanical precision. Kouzlo studied them through an arcane lens and confirmed it — the wolves were transmuted creatures, not natural beasts.

"The name's Guz," the orc announced, pointing at the sheep with the authority of someone who has never once been told no. "And that's my sheep."

Aldric would not comply.

Quick struck first, calling roots and brambles from the forest floor. The entangling vines seized both wolves, dragging them to the ground — but Guz tore free with brute strength and stomped toward the party. Kouzlo answered with fire. A roaring blast of arcane flame engulfed the clearing. The wolves, already struggling against their bonds, disintegrated instantly. Guz shielded himself behind his great axe, emerging singed but standing, one hand patting furiously at the top of his head where his long, greasy ponytail was now a simple topknot.

"That's my hairline!"

He swung at Jorath with furious force. Aldric threw himself between them, deflecting the first blow — but the second found its mark, staggering the elven wizard. Guz unleashed an intimidating shout that shook the trees. Kouzlo flinched, momentarily overcome with magical dread, but the others held firm.

Jorath retaliated with serpent magic, conjuring a spectral viper that coiled around him protectively before lunging at Guz. The snake — who announced itself as Fang in a surprisingly thick accent — sank its fangs into the orc's ankle. Guz's eyes glazed over as the venom took hold, but even incapacitated, the orc's instincts were savage. He planted his axe in the dirt, reached out with one massive hand, and closed his fingers around Aldric's throat, lifting the paladin two feet off the ground.

Quick unleashed the rabbit — three shots fired in rapid succession, each one finding its mark with devastating precision. Guz dropped to one knee, bloodied under the barrage. Then, through sheer orcish tenacity, he rose again, maintaining his vise grip on Aldric's neck. He carried the paladin to the nearby river and plunged him under.

Even Brine Justice, even the Mariner's Armor — none of it mattered when a hand that size held you beneath the current. Aldric's vision darkened. He was on the edge of death when Finothere, the sheep, lowered his woolly head and charged.

The headbutt caught Guz square in the ribs. It wasn't powerful — it was a sheep, after all — but it was enough. The orc toppled, and Aldric was dragged gasping onto the bank.

With Guz out of the fight, Finothere explained the situation more fully. The apprentice Noke had seized the treehouse — Finothere's own home and workshop — and was using the stolen wand to play at being a master transmuter. The wand was the key to everything: it could restore Finothere to his proper form. Jorath and Kouzlo examined the sheep more closely and confirmed he was under a true polymorph effect — powerful magic, but reversible with the right instrument.

The Tree House

Following a short rest to heal their wounds, Finothere led the party back to his tower. Aldric, still bruised, surveyed the scene. On a tree nearby hung a crude poster: WANTED: SHEEP. BRING BACK OR ELSE — NOKE. The party agreed to help. Finothere led them to the tunnel he'd dug during his escape, which deposited them — with some indignity — up through the treehouse's outhouse.

Finothere guided them to the right-hand chamber, where a wall of living bramble blocked their path, not unlike the barriers they'd encountered beneath the Great Tree. A riddle was inscribed upon it.

I have cities, but no houses live there. I have mountains, but no trees grow there. I have water, but no fish swim there. What am I?

Left: The Sky. Center: A map. Right: The Sea.

Finothere — a seven-hundred-year-old Master Transmuter, by his own account — turned to the group for insight. The sheep stared at the riddle, blinked, and then looked back at them expectantly. The answer was Map. It was, by any reasonable standard, remarkably easy. Kouzlo answered it immediately, and without consulting the group, throwing the center lever. There was a satisfying click, and the bramble wall parted.

The party exchanged glances. The supposed great wizard had deferred to them on a puzzle a child could have solved. Whatever Finothere Shinebright's reputation had once been, the evidence so far was not inspiring confidence. Was this truly a great wizard transmuted into a sheep? Was this the apprentice trying to cover his own tracks after mistakenly transmuting himself? Was this perhaps, just a sheep?

A rope bridge led up to the central workshop — clearly the heart of the treehouse, and clearly where the transmutation work had been happening. The space was cluttered with alchemical apparatus, arcane circles, and in the center of the room, a locked chest. The nameplate read "Shinebright's Chest" — though "Shinebright" had been scratched out and replaced in a hasty scrawl with "Noke."

Four small bronze animal statues sat in the corners of the room, arranged around an inscription on the chest. Before the party could puzzle it out, Jorath made a pragmatic decision: he cast a sleep spell on Finothere, and Aldric tied the snoring sheep to a chair. A talking sheep claiming to be a seven-hundred-year-old Master Transmuter who couldn't solve his own riddle — the adventurers chose the prudent path of skepticism, and elected to investigate.

Kouzlo found a family portrait on the worktable — ten identical elves, the Shinebright clan. The photograph was old. Very old. Finothere was likely at least seven centuries into his life.

He also found a journal. It was Noke's, and it was... singular. A burn book with only one subject: Finothere Shinebright. Pages upon pages of grievances, petty observations, and — incongruously — incredibly detailed descriptions of the bedsheets Finothere preferred.

Quick, meanwhile, found Shinebright's work notes. The picture they painted was damning in the other direction: Noke had been doing all the actual research, all the experiments, all the labor — while Finothere simply signed the final pages and took the credit.

Aldric, who had given up on the animal puzzle, moved to the locked door across the room and pressed his ear against it. He heard a footstep on the other side. He froze and gestured urgently behind him. Jorath caught the signal and relayed a telepathic warning to the others.

The door opened. A middle-aged human man stood in the frame, and he froze as thoroughly as they had.

The Sleepy Apprentice

Kouzlo spoke first, asking the man his name.

"Ahmed Noke," he said, straightening. His eyes darted across the unfamiliar faces in his home, heavy bags hanging beneath them. "Master Transmuter. This tower is under new management."

He tried to usher them out — busy day, lots to do, but thankful for returning the sheep. Wouldn't dream of letting them leave empty-handed, please see yourselves to the exit. Quick's sharp eyes caught the outline of a wand poking through the man's shirt.

Aldric woke Finothere with a firm bonk on the head. The sheep came to, bleating, took one look at Noke, and erupted.

"He stole everything from me! My wand, my tower, my life!"

"Noke," Aldric said, his voice carrying the weight of someone who had spent his career passing judgment. "I'm sorry for the interruption, but I'm afraid we cannot leave while things are in this state."

Aldric asked Noke to produce the wand. Noke claimed it was in his room and started toward the door. Quick, who had already spotted it tucked into the man's shirt, lunged for it — and Noke kicked the harengon backward into the living room with surprising force. Kouzlo followed and moved around the room behind the man.

Jorath quietly cast a spell to read Noke's thoughts and caught a panicked flicker: That fur goblin almost got my wand. How do I get these guys out of here.

He passed the intelligence to Kouzlo telepathically.

Noke, cornered, sleep-deprived, and rattled, slapped his palm flat on the worktable in the center of the room. There was a flash — and he was gone. Teleported back to his bedroom on the other side of the locked door. Heavy thuds shook the treehouse and dust tumbled from the rafters.

Back in the workshop, Jorath asked Finothere about the chest. Finothere happily solved his own puzzle explaining the animals were simply arranged from his most-favored to least. The chest, when they finally opened it, contained two potions of healing, a set of beautiful silk bedsheets, and a stuffed toy dragon.

Then the ceiling exploded.

The Dragon

The previously locked door flew off its hinges as the room was violently remodeled. Where there had been a ceiling there was now open sky — and in the gap was a dragon with an oddly-shaped body. Instead of natural legs, the beast had four straight wooden bedposts. Where the dragon's wings met its torso, a broad wooden mantle appeared. Draped over the flanks of the beast were thick, luxurious quilts. This dragon was formed entirely out of a bed. Noke knelt atop it, mad-eyed, railing against his elven master's indifference to his human need for sleep.

Jorath, happy to oblige, cast sleep directly at the construct's button eyes, but Noke's counterspell snuffed the magic mid-flight. Kouzlo unleashed a thunderwave beside the dragon's face, but the concussive force was absorbed into the padded body.

Quick's bow sang — two arrows struck with impossible precision, burying deep into the dragon's quilted hide and dealing tremendous damage, but the creature's enchanted fabric dulled the impacts of non-magical weapons.

The bed dragon twisted, smashing through the wall, and took flight above the treehouse. It drew a massive breath — and the party watched in horror as loose splinters, nails, and shards of broken wood were sucked toward its maw before being blasted outward in a devastating cone of shrapnel. The Splinter Breath raked across the room. Aldric took the worst of it. Then, absurdly, Noke wrapped himself in the bedsheets, tucking into a protective cocoon.

Kouzlo cast Elevated Sight, allowing himself to see down onto the bed, and followed with Misty Step, vanishing from the floor and reappearing on the dragon's back directly behind the swaddled apprentice. He grasped the bedding and wedged his feet into the footboard, preparing to battle Noke in the air. Jorath cast shatter on the dragon's head with a deafening burst of arcane force, sending tufts of stuffing spiraling into the air.

Noke, peeking through his sheet cocoon, produced the wand. It was in terrible condition — cracked, sparking, held together with tape, humming with unstable energy. He pointed it at the room below and animated a chair, which twisted and scuttled into a crab-like form, skittering toward Jorath with its legs clicking against the wooden floor. It snapped at the wizard with newly formed pincers.

"This is my tower now," Noke hissed at Kouzlo, "and it's nighttime for you."

Aldric rushed to Jorath's defense, marking the chair-crab and splitting it apart with two swift strikes. The thing exploded into splinters.

"That was reclaimed driftwood!" Noke cried from above.

The bed dragon crashed back through the treehouse, trying to crush those below. Kouzlo, still clinging to the creature's back, had pulled the sheets off Noke during the maneuver — exposing the apprentice completely.

"It didn't have to be this way! You can still end this!" Kouzlo yelled as the bed soared through the lofty winds.

Noke stared back, and for a moment something raw flickered across his face.

"And go back to what? I have the wand. This is my tower now."

Kouzlo answered with a thunderwave that launched Noke off the dragon's back and out into open air. The apprentice cast feather fall on himself and drifted down into the kitchen — right next to Quick.

Noke had one last trick. He raised the sparking wand and cast an enlargement spell on the dragon. The construct swelled — from a queen to a California king, its quilted mass doubling, its wingspan blotting out the canopy. With the bed suddenly larger and heavier, it dipped low enough that Aldric could vault from table to the beast's neck. As Kouzlo and now Aldric aimed to break the beast from the air, Jorath hammered it with spell after spell from below. The construct's wings were tattered, foam leaking from its head.

Then Quick put an end to it. A barrage of arrows pinned Noke where he stood — the apprentice crumpled, unconscious, bristling with shafts. The moment his concentration broke, the dragon shuddered and contracted, shrinking back to its original size like a deflating mattress.

Quick seized the wand from Noke's limp hand and sprinted across the treehouse, attempting to deliver the wand to someone that might know how to use it. Above, the diminished dragon rolled and slammed into the treehouse floor in a final desperate thrash, trying to crush everyone beneath it. Aldric and Kouzlo tumbled and rushed to right themselves as the dragon lay prone on its back. The N.O.D.E. wizards put the monster to its end. First, ironically, Kouzlo scorched the dragon with a raging fireball, the down pillows turning to ash, and the wooden bedframe charring. Jorath followed with a volley of magic missiles, and the bed dragon collapsed in a heap of smoldering fabric and splintered wood — a joint takedown.

Aftermath

Quick handed the wand to Kouzlo, who turned to Finothere — still tied to his chair, wide-eyed and bleating — and attempted the transmutation. The spell took hold. The wand flared, cracked, and exploded in Kouzlo's hand as its last charge was spent. Where the sheep had been, an elderly elf now sat, blinking, flexing fingers he hadn't had in some time. He was grateful, though when he spoke, an occasional bleat still slipped through.

Finothere surveyed the wreckage of his tower — walls blown out, roof gone, rooms scorched and arrow-pocked — and made his decision with the pragmatism of someone who had lived seven hundred years. He would move on. Start fresh. He'd done it before.

Noke, revived and furious, railed against the party for interfering. But anger gave way to something else when they offered him a different path. The wizards at N.O.D.E.'s camp — Jorath, Kouzlo, and the others — could offer something Finothere never had: collaboration. Real exchange of knowledge. Noke listened. He asked only one thing: that he would be free to leave if he chose. The party agreed, though a probationary period was understood by all.

Noke offered the remains of the treehouse to N.O.D.E. — whatever could be salvaged might serve as a library, a training ground, or a forward facility. A bastion for the growing expedition. Aldric asked whether Noke could recreate the teleportation rooms to link the tower to camp. Noke admitted it would be difficult, but possible.

Before departing, the party raided the filing cabinets of scrolls lining the workshop walls. Each member found something suited to their talents — transmutation magic preserved in Finothere's meticulous hand. Kouzlo and Jorath claimed formulas for enlarging and reducing matter, and for imbuing weapons with magical force. Aldric found a paladin's smite wreathed in radiant light. Quick selected from among several ranger techniques suited to his style.

As they left the shattered treehouse behind, Finothere — walking upright for the first time in weeks, still occasionally bleating mid-sentence — bestowed upon the party a title: B.A.A. The acronym's meaning, he insisted, would reveal itself in time.

The candidates, so far, were not promising.