Author’s note: This story is my submission for the February 23, 2023 prompt on Iron Age Media titled “The Cultivator.”
Author: James Meyer
The bright midday sun shone through the heavy Neverwinter Woods, providing comfortable and joyous warmth to all life. The forest covered itself in summer’s full blush. Trees, bushes, and flowers unfurled themselves to their whole length and breadth. Color abounded throughout the brush, supplied by flora and fauna alike. A peaceful quiet harmlessly befell the area.
Somewhere along the wood’s edge lay a finely cultivated square field totaling fifty acres. A small, humble cottage in the middle of a perimeter line, big enough for one person and maybe a handful of guests. The forest stood as a backstop with all its treasures only footsteps away. Greenhouses and cellars housing delicate herbs, flowers, and hardy tubers surrounded the dwelling’s immediate area, built of the finest natural material and imported only the bare minimum from Neverwinter and Waterdeep.
Gardens and filled the second zone. All manner of food grew plentiful in this area nearly year-round and evenly squared off the rest of the acreage. The most extensive collection of trees gainfully filled the rest of the land, radiating outwards to the far edges of the property. Fruits germinated and ripened according to their seasons. All this grown goodness was supplied by a tributary connected to the Trackless Sea and without beginning to speak of the supporting ecosystem from the woods nearby.
Cultivator slowly walked the rows of fruit trees, looking for the fruit ready to be picked. Being the caretaker of this great field was a name and responsibility he held for five years. He had once been Crusher, a juggernaut Warforged from Eberron working with a House Cannith heavy raiding unit along the Mournlands, fighting against the Lord of Blades. One assault turned disastrous, leaving Crusher lost behind the dead-grey mists.
Wandering and searching aimlessly, he discovered a fantastic grove of glowing, colorful flora. An island of living among the bleak and dead. He decided to protect such vibrant places instead of fighting. Leaving House Cannith’s service, he joined the Galespire Rearguard and battled against a lichen lich named Nokrinan. After defeating him thrice, the party disbanded, and Cultivator retired to protect a portal to the Feywild. He fostered a cooperative relationship with the Feyfolk and built the orchard to share goodwill with others.
Early summer fruits and some late spring holdovers hung delicately on branches, waiting to be removed. Carefully studying and examining each one, Cultivator picked the best fruits and collected them in a small cart. Even if the plantation’s size daunted some, he found the work more straightforward than his old adventuring life. As a Juggernaut, his strength and constitution were second to none. Besides, he often received help from visiting Fey creatures so long as they behaved.
Making several trips through the tree rows with the graceful work ethic and knowledge of a former holy knight, Cultivator gathered all the day’s good fruits and herbs. Some would be sold to travelers along the High Road, others sent to the metropolis of Neverwinter and shipped south along the Sword Coast. Finally, Cultivator retired to his cottage to enjoy the evening, completing his labor for the day. But his rest would be short when a familiar Elf and Harengon knocked on his door.
“Flips. And Vesryn? What a surprise. I wasn’t expecting you,” Cultivator opened the door to his former adventuring friends.
“Well that’s the point of a surprise isn’t it?” The Harengon’s chipper observation lightened the mood.
“It’s good to see you too, Crusher. Oh, but you don’t go by that name anymore, do you?” questioned the Elf
“No, I don’t. Not since starting the orchard. But please come in,” answered Cultivator as he beckoned his friends inside.
The guests entered the humble abode, and the paladin closed the door. Though he didn’t need any food to sustain himself, Cultivator kept about a three-week food supply for the lost or wandering. The metallic farmer prepared a small charcuterie board with greens and small cups of tea.
“How is the clerical service Vesryn?” asked Cultivator as he presented the tray for his companions.
“I do my best to shine Corellon’s light wherever I journey. And Flips has regaled me about the work you and he have been doing,” replied the Elf as he reached for a slice of meat.
“We definitely stay busy here in the woods,” continued the Harengon as he loudly munched on a lettuce leaf.
“So, what can I do for you, Vesryn? I don’t mean to be pointed, but you did not come out all this way for only a social visit,” Cultivator politely pressed his guest.
The priest chewed his snack, reached into a well-crafted satchel, retrieved a painted poster, and presented it to his friends. The visage drawn upon it resembled a tall, slender skeleton. Various dark-colored plants and vines covered the frame head to toe, giving the impression of a gentleman in a splendid, multi-piece suit. The picture flooded all three friends with vivid memories. Under different circumstances, these memories could be considered some of their finest moments.
“Do you remember our old adversary Nokrinan?” The Elf soberly queried.
“Very well,” came Cultivator’s stoic yet grim reply.
“It appears he has returned to cause havoc,” explained Vesryn.
“He’s back again? Is this his third or fourth time?” asked Flips exasperated.
“It’s his fourth. The first time we didn’t know, the second time we couldn’t find the phylactery,” began the cleric.
“And it appears that we did not destroy the correct one the third time,” finished Cultivator.
“Indeed. And unfortunately, we discerned that Nokrinan’s target is these woods,” commented Vesryn.
“These woods? My woods?” Cultivator did not have a wide emotive range, but anger and rage were among them.
“Yes, my friend. Your woods,” The Elf quietly returned the painting to his satchel as Flips looked on anxiously with silence momentarily hung in the abode.
The trio looked among each other as the tension held high by Vesryn’s news. Only because of circumstances did the lichen lich prove to be the group’s most infuriating enemy. Three times the group attempted to kill the undead, and three times they failed. With the threat against the Neverwinter Woods, the threat shifted to personal.
“Is there a plan?” politely asked the Harengon, hoping to ease the room’s nerves.
“The Rearguard is reforming to kill him again. I have already sent out messages to the others. They’ll be meeting here if that’s all right. While they arrive, we’ll make preparations. Once we’re all together, we hunt this abomination down for good.”
“That is fine. I am prepared to host several guests,” agreed Cultivator.
“Excellent. Thank you, Crusher,” sincerely thanked the Elf.
“Well I guess we got work to do,” commented Flips.
“Yes, my little Fey friend. We have a lot of work to do tomorrow. So let us get good rest tonight,” agreed the Warforged.
The friends silently agreed. Although catastrophe hung in the air, the evening continued with nary a thought of danger. Instead, all three shared stories of what each had been doing. The mechanical farmer tended the orchard day in and day out while serving as the portal’s protector. Flips worked both sides of the gate. A scout, guide, and rescuer on the Fey side, and an ambassador and supervisor on the Material Plane. And Vesryn wandered throughout the Sword Coast. If this mission succeeded, he would begin traveling to other planes.
The storytelling and regaling continued well into the night, but eventually, all had to rest. The day of combat would arrive in time, and the correct course of action involved preparing for it. The morning after Vesryn’s appearance, the trio began laying plans. Flips requested aid from the Feywild and started searching the woods for the lichen lich. The Elf and the Warforged remained at the homestead to research. The former had brought along whatever notes and books about such undead he found amongst civilization.
Old adventuring friends slowly trickled into the orchard over the next week. Tremors arrived first, a rugged Earth Genasi monk. A valuable resource, fully capable of protecting the party’s spellcasters should they get ambushed. Old Ini reached the farm next. A Tortle with many decades of wisdom and druidic powers at command. Lastly, Grexes and Katrun landed via a teleportation spell. Grexes was a barbarian Leonin and Crusher’s brother-in-arms on the frontline. Katrun was a powerful Loxodon enchantment wizard.
Having the former Rearguard reunited quickly transformed into a joyful time. Despite all of them having gone their separate ways, the activities and mood of the preparation were like they had never left. Tremors, Cultivator, and Grexes sharpened their fighting skills against each as Katrun and Vesryn studied. Ini communed with the land like a lighthouse, reaching far and wide, hoping to find an early sign of the undead monster’s location.
Slowly, important pieces began revealing themselves. Katrun determined the exact object of Nokrinan’s phylactery, and one of Corellon’s visions allowed Vesryn to find confirmation that the lich had reached the Neverwinter Woods. Ini’s far-reaching searches show abnormal signs of necromancy towards the heart of the forest, A theory confirmed by Flips with sending stone reports of simple undead in that location. At last, everything concluded, and the party started to find Nokrinan’s lair, planning to regroup with the Harengon closer to the refuge.
Despite the previous camaraderie, Cultivator initially felt strange and uneasy putting on his old armor and weapons. There was no doubt that donning the former armaments was the correct choice. Yet guilt and hesitation accompanied the well-worn tower shield and magical plate. He’d removed these things before and promised never to put them on again. Would he be breaking his promise with this act? No, this was part of the oath he took all those years ago. His job was to ensure the lichen lich died and remained dead this time.
After completing preparations to ensure the orchard would be taken care of while he journeyed away, Cultivator led most of the Rearguard into the Neverwinter Woods on the hunt for Nokirnan. The plan hinged on Flips doing more scouting and hoped he wouldn’t get caught as their trek would take a few days, even with making good time. The first two days of the expedition proved uneventful as the party forded deep into the underbrush. Finally, the night camp was set up just before the tributary where they expected to reunite the Harengon.
“Underneath the stars again,” quietly mused Ini.
“Like former times,” agreed Vesryn.
“How many of us miss those days of adventure?” asked Katrun
“I do! I’ve been bored since we split up!” commented Grexes.
“Me too. It’s been a mix of lostness and boredom,” agreed Tremors.
“You are lost, Tremors?” asked Ini
The Genasi paused momentarily before answering, “Maybe unguided is the better word. I don’t know what to do since we went our separate ways. I haven’t found a monastery of my order, and I can’t seem to find work anywhere.”
The Leonin dropped his hammerhead down into the dirt, “Same! I’ve been with my clan and there’s nothing to do! So few people match my skill, and nobody wants to adventure out.”
The High Elf warmly regarded his restless friends, “Working as a priest of Corellon has kept me traveling, but there is some pressure to slow down or even stop. Change from explorer to instructor.”
The Loxodon shifted in place, “Likewise with me. I still travel far away and occasionally give lectures about magic. But mostly I still home to act as arbiter and peacekeeper among the guilds.”
The thoughtful Tortle listened with aged grace, “Whether you remain in one place or continue to travel, you always have the chance to plant the seed for a tree to grow. Something I am sure our paladin knows very much about.”
The Warforged chuckled, agreeing, “Yes, I know much about planting. And I do miss the old days from time to time. But I’ve settled here with a purpose, which has kept me happy.”
A sudden rustling from a nearby cluster of bushes alerted everybody. An ambush? Cultivator drew his Holy Avenger as Grexes jerked his maul up from the earth. The pair strode ten feet from the camp, ready to meet whatever awaited. Tremors helped Ini towards Katrun in the party’s backline as she and Vesryn readied themselves to use spells and fists to assist in the engagement. More shaking and trembling approached, getting louder. Then at last, something leaped out of the bushes!
“FILPS?!” bellowed the monk when the familiar Harengon hopped into sight.
“Yeah of course it’s me,” the rouge appeared clearly oblivious to the situation.
“You scared us!” Grexes hardily swung his hammer down into the dirt.
“Who? Me? I did??” the harengon’s sentiment changed from unknowing to confused.
“Yes, you did,”
“Why? You’re supposed to be expecting me, aren’t you?” inquired the rouge.
“Yes, tomorrow. On the other side of the river. To save you some travel and give extra time to scout,” explained Katrun.
“Oh wait, we were? Oh. Whoops. Sorry. I thought I was running like every other time,” Flips’s voice trailed off as he realized his mistake.
The tension diffused as everyone realized and understood that an honest mistake had been made. Everyone returned to the campfire. Cultivator prepared the evening meal as Flips informed everyone of his discoveries. Nokrinan formed an evil glade deep within the woods and summoned simple undead and fey minions to patrol his domain. Nothing more substantial than a Wight, but the lich grew in power quickly. Flips also located the phylactery but spoke of the undead mastermind experimenting with using something living instead of immaterial as a vessel. The final update revulsed everyone.
“Have these experiments yielded positive results?” questioned Vesryn.
“No, but he’s making progress and I don’t think he’s one to quit easily,” quipped the Harengon.
“We must find and stop him before he completes this dark task,” declared Ini.
“We will Ini, we will. Flips will start leading us there at dawn,” assured Grexes.
“Let’s make sure we kill this undead mosshead for good this time,” said Tremors, slamming her fists together.
“We definitively know what his little lifebox is, and we’ll have time to look for it,” agreed Katrun.
“If we desire to cover the most distance in the least time, we should rest soon,” suggested Kesryn.
“Katrun, if you can, cast that tiny dome,” ordered Cultivator.
The Loxodon wizard did not need to be told twice. With a concise gesture and a spattering of syllables, a dome encompassing everyone and centered on Katrun materialized. The hut would keep them safe from outside threats. The Rearguard briefly jockeyed for room within the semicircle, but everyone found comfort and drifted off to sleep. Cultivator and Vesryn designated themselves as the unofficial sentries. Both needed fewer rest hours than the others did.
The night passed uneventfully. After Elf and Warforged received the necessary rest, they shared glances at each other. Both understood that they thought about the same things. Not just the final destruction of a powerful undead monster, but the consequences of whatever foul experiments the lich conducted. How long would healing and regrowth take? Who would be needed to oversee it? Just before first light broke the horizon, the Harengon awoke with unusual alertness. Flips gestured for them to meet him outside.
“What’s wrong Flips?” queried the priest.
“I didn’t want to make a bad scene worse, but you know those living subjects I talked about? Some of them were from the Wild,” grimly reported the scout.
“What? Are sure certain?” followed the holy warrior.
The rouge simply nodded his head. The paladin clenched his fists and ground some of his metallic parts together. Those creatures were his protectorate, his visitors to safeguard. And now they were defiled for the undead’s toxic, cruel, and selfish experiments. The barbarity! The insult! The retribution! The Warforged felt his righteous wrath surge. He failed in protection but would succeed in demolition and devastation before it evolved too far.
Both of his friends understood the minutia of Cultivator’s actions. The news only served to enrage and motivate the holy warrior. But outwardly, he simply thanked Flips for the information, returned inside, began packing for the journey, and started waking the rest of the Rearguard. The rest of the part slowly aroused themselves, and soon proceeded farther into the Neverwinter Woods. Ini’s druidic magic made the river crossing simple. Because they woke up early, the Rearguard managed to cover extra ground. Repeating another long travel put them into the range of Nokrinan’s hideout.
No more excuses, no more mistakes. The time arrived to finish the mission. Vesryn prepared a heroes’ feast for breakfast, granting everyone extra protection. All knew that a tremendous and vital fight loomed on the horizon. Grexes and Cultivator formed the combat vanguard and began moving through the foliage. Their motions were guided with purpose and determination. Finally, after just over half a day’s travel, they reached the grove where the lichen lich hid.
The coppice mirrored its undead host’s visage. The humongous trees had clearly lost their former colors and limited the sunlight coming through, yet still projected the appearance of full glory. Not fully dead but demonstrating the signs of decay while trying to hide the true status. The bark was no longer naturally brown, but grey. The leaves were not green but various dark reds, blues, and blacks. It would be a unique sight if the true reason for the discoloration was unknown.
As Flips reported, weaker undead guarded the grounds. Yet they were not matches for Cultivator’s longsword and Grexes’s heavy hammer. The Rearguard hacked and hewed their way through nature’s dark and twisted kaleidoscope. Vesryn’s cantrips accelerated the fights. This combat would be an easy prelude to the real challenge. The newness of the lair meant simplicity in searching for the lichen lich. At last, they discovered their quarry hunched over a creaky wooden table, attempting some kind of macabre experiment.
“Hello, Nokrinan,” dryly greeted Katrun.
“Hello, Rearguard. Our encounters are starting to wear on me,” droned the lich.
“Well we wouldn’t keep running into each other if you would stay dead once we killed you,” snarked Grexes.
“Unfortunately, I cannot be killed Leonin. Perhaps we should test your demises instead,” a tone of smug or confidence could be heard in the retort.
“You can be killed, lich, and we know how,” explained Ini.
“You’ve broken into my sanctuary and stolen innocent lives, monster. You are going to finally die. I will see to it. I promise you,” swore Cultivator.
“I didn’t kidnap anyone, Crusher. My minions did. And you aren’t very good at your protection duty if it was so easy for them to do. All your days of being a yeoman have dulled your skills beyond the value of usefulness. But if you think you can kill me for a fourth time, please come and try again. You will make excellent corpses and subjects for my experiments.”
The undead monster rotated around to face his enemies. Describing the paladin as enraged undersold the gravity and severity of the situation. Cultivator was furious in only the way paladins could. His Holy Avenger on one side and Grexes on the other, the holy knight released a guttural and mechanical roar. His barbarian friend mimicked the battle cry and summoned his ancestors for protection. Together the duo blitzed the lich, unleashing vengeful strikes.
Tremors held her ground with the spellcasters, expecting an ambush. Flips chipped away at the undead mastermind, moving from cover to cover. Vesryn conjured a holy aura for all his allies before going on the offensive with bolts of radiant energy. Ini called a massive lightning storm and dropped bolt upon bolt on the undead monster. Katrun projected a violent psychic scream into the lichen lich, then summoned an unseen field. Nokrinan tried bringing down a firestorm when the backline clustered together, but the antimagic dome blocked it.
Furious at this deception, the lich called for aid. A quarter of undead bulettes burst from around the woods, charging and surrounding the weaker party members. Yet the enchantment wizard proved ready for this too, reciting from a scroll to bring a shimmering blade of force to the battle. The High Elf also peeled away to present his holy symbol to scare and turn away the minions. The Genasi monk permitted her fists to talk as she intercepted whichever ambushing monsters remained. All as Cultivator and Grexes hacked and chopped away chunks of the monster’s fungal appearance.
The question of victory was not if but when, and as the precious moments faded ever quicker, Nokrinan realized the futility of fighting. His minions either fled or faced dismemberment. That little Harengon even managed to find his phylactery amid the battle. His minimal control over the grove withheld little power from the reunited adventurers. So, the focus of their fury turned entirely onto him. The choice of fleeing to battle another time did not present itself. On one particularly vicious and savage strike, he heard his Warforged nemesis whisper.
“These are my woods lich. Not yours.”
Following these words, the net closed around the undead monster. A final barrage of mighty attacks felled the monster like a giant oak tree. The melee lasted around one minute. The heroes crowded around the decaying flora skeleton, unapologetic about their deeds. The phylactery vessel dropped unceremoniously to the earth. Together, they destroyed it. Sadly, Nokrinan’s experiments had taken innocent lives, but the tool could have been much higher if they continued unabated.
The Rearguard remained together as the orchard healed and returned to its healthy state within the next week. After that, they separated again. Cultivator and Flips returned the deceased Fey citizens back to their home plane. It was an excellent time to reflect on the events. Cultivator realized he had grown too passive, only tending to his orchard and the nearby portal. He decided to become more active and patrol the whole reach of the Neverwinter Woods. There was more light to be protected and shared, and he accepted duty’s mantle again.
James Meyer 