Not long ago, the inhabitants of the many towns and great cities that sprinkle the fair land of Elanthia came close to near extinction...

The mysterious events started with the sudden appearance of a single linden sapling sprouting up within each of Elanthia's towns except Icemule Trace.  Once the sapling was discovered, many scholars and mystics alike began to study and hypothesize what the sapling might portend.  After a time, none were successful in discovering the sapling’s mysteries.  Even more baffling was the incredible speed at which the sapling grew.  Concern grew.

It was not long after the appearance of the sapling that many disappearances of young and old Elanthians began to occur.  A lot of citizens began to fear for their lives.  They grew afraid to wander the very streets of the towns they lived in, fearing they would be next to disappear.  A handful of citizens coupled with the law attempted to find those who disappeared but they were unsuccessful in their quest.  Several weeks passed with no explanation of the disappearances coming to light.  Fear spread.

Rumors spread and stories were whispered as the disappearances became more and more frequent.  The most prevalent rumor was a beast that would burst up from the ground and pull its victims (who were reportedly reciting macabre rhymes and chants) under ground leaving no trace of the unfortunate soul or this beast's existence.  A name was soon given this creature that abducted the young and old, this name was, banaltra.  As these stories spread, the populace became very wary and began seeking assistance from all corners of Elanthia. Help sought.

It came about, when most thought all hope was lost; Sylvan Lorekeepers began appearing at some of the cities.  Townsfolk began to glimpse a glimmer of hope upon the arrival of the Lorekeepers; others mistrusted them as agents of the disappearances, sent to feed the populace lies.  The Lorekeepers however, stated their purpose was to share their accumulated knowledge on what was thought merely a myth.  This myth was beginning to appear something more than just a childhood story.  Stories told.

One such Lorekeeper by the name of Dramar held a meeting within the town of Wehnimer's Landing.  This meeting was designed to be an informative gathering so that Lorekeeper Dramar could share knowledge the Sylvan's possessed about a beast called the Feithidmor.  The room was packed.  Even standing room was sparse.  Then silence, Dramar began:
 

“The feithidmor are ancient creatures that have a very unusual life cycle.  We know that they live underground, and that they are self-reproducing.  Each feithidmor in its lifetime will lay one single egg, after which it will die.  This egg will eventually grow into a feithidmor identical to its parent.  These eggs will remain dormant for hundreds of years...  During which time they are cared for by colonies of banaltra.  During this time the banaltra live off small creatures that live underground, for the most part.  You will not see these creatures on the surface.  As the egg begins to quicken and eventually hatches...  The banaltra must then begin to gather food for the young feithidmor.  This is what you are witnessing now.  The feithidmor feeds off the decomposing flesh of dead children and adults that the banaltra kill.  The banaltra then feed off the remains - the bones.  You have likely heard a thrumming sound emanating from the earth...  This is, and will continue to become, the root of your problem.  For you see, the feithidmor emits a thrumming sound that can travel through soil and stone.  This sound is extremely dangerous to sentient beings, for it can block all mental activity.  Those afflicted by the thrumming sound may find themselves entering a fugue state at best...  Or find themselves victims of brain death, at worst.  For those of you who may not be familiar with the term I just used, I will explain this fugue state.  During this time, the victim will be fully conscious, but will be completely incapable of thought.  When this state passes, they will regain their senses, but have no recollection of what may have happened during their fugue state.  Some of you have become a victim to this already.  I myself have also.  This sound the feithidmor emits will only become louder as the feithidmor claws its way to the surface.  As the sound gets louder, it will begin affecting more of you.  Currently, it is at its weakest state.  Those most afflicted by the fugue state are children, elders and those who study the magical arts.  Children because their minds are still weak and easily susceptible to outside influences...mages and elders because they depend more on their mind than their wits.  Eventually when the feithidmor surfaces, no one can escape.  Now perhaps you understand why my associates and I cannot give you all the answers you seek.  None who live through this occurrence will have ever had the capability of recalling the horrors they witnessed.  When the feithidmor struck in the past...  Those who resided within the afflicted cities either died outright, or entered the fugue state - hapless victims awaiting the banaltra.  Large populations would be destroyed before the banaltra and feithidmor were finished feeding.  When the feithidmor were finished in each location, they would again burrow into the earth, lay an egg, and die.  Naturally any survivors would then awaken from their state.  They would certainly know something terrible happened, but it was most often chalked up to an attack by a large force or a plague.  None ever knew what truly happened.  How did Yuriqen and other sylvan communities survive?  We are an arboreal race, and although we suffered from the sound of the feithidmor as land-dwellers...  Due to the safety of our trees, they could not feed upon us.  This was how our ancestors knew something dreadful happened - they did not know exactly what, but they were determined to find out.  These rhymes you have heard lately...  We believe that they may hold vital clues in how to deal with the feithidmor that now rests under your city.  Although survivors of the past feedings could not consciously recall what occurred...  We believe that somehow the horrors they witness seeped into their unconscious, collective memory.  These memories lie just beneath the surface of the mind - but they cannot be reached while conscious thought occurs.  The fugue states that many of you have seen block these conscious thoughts.  And it is from here where the chants and rhymes are brought forth.  Passed on unconsciously from generation to generation, none ever knowing they possessed such knowledge until afflicted by the feithidmor.  Remember, this is only speculation as of now - but from the little we have heard of the rhymes.  I believe they hold vital keys.  There are two ways to survive the coming feithidmor...  Leave town and live off the wilderness until after it strikes.  The banaltra require a rich source of food - this makes cities ideal for the feithidmor.  The wilderness does not offer this convenience, thus those who leave on the outskirts of civilization are spared the horrors.  We also believe Icemule to be safe from this threat.  We have not seen any indication of an odd linden tree growing in their city in the past weeks.  It may be due to the climate, I do not know.  But one commonality we have noticed is that every city across this continent that is experiencing these rhymes and oddities.  Also a sapling linden tree appeared unexpectedly.  These trees seem to grow at an unnatural rate of growth.  We do not know if the tree has anything to do with the feithidmor, or what it may represent.  But it is a peculiarity that is worth further study.  If you remain to try and solve this impending problem, you have my thanks.  If you choose to leave for safety, I do not blame you for exercising common sense.  Not many are willing to face certain death.  Myself, I have lived many years already.  I will do my ancestors proud and remain here, studying for a way to solve this problem.  If you remain, I would have your help in these coming weeks.  When we discover a way to confront this feithidmor, I will seek out volunteers to aid in this cause.  I am NOT seeking volunteers currently, as I do not even know if there is a way.  I believe it is vital we stop the feithidmor before it surfaces...  For if it reaches the surface, we will either instantly die or enter a fugue state.  And all will be lost.  I was not able to share this knowledge with you upon my arrival.  The Council of Elders required that we know for certain what is happening before we share it with you.  I concur with their opinion, of course.  I will now try and answer some of your questions, but will likely not be able to answer them all tonight.  If I do not, you will surely see me in town this week.  Please spread the word of what I told you this day to any who may not have attended.  It is imperative all in this city know what they face.”

Many others stayed to investigate this phenomenon now known as the Feithidmor.  They stayed so that they might study the Banaltra and decipher the clues woven into the chants and rhymes. All the banaltra look nearly the same.  There were three types and they differed a bit in the strength at which they attacked.  The three types were the black-streaked banaltra, the dusky grey banaltra and the white banaltra.
 

The black-streaked banaltra is tall and pale, unnaturally lean and strangely humanoid in shape. Its long hands have seven thin, spider-like fingers that end in spiny claws. When clenched together the fingers form an efficient digging tool...or a lethal weapon. The skin of the banaltra is knobbed and ridged, more like shell than flesh.

Each recitation or chant was always preceded by a horrible, high-pitched sound.  After the recitation a banaltra burst from the ground and attacked.  There were many rhymes and I do not claim to have them all, but here are the ones I personally recorded, you might just find them interesting.  These are also in sequence, as they grew more and more frequent and informative, offering their clues for us to prevail.
 

A high-pitched sound surrounds you and fills your senses as quickly as it came, the sound recedes into the recesses of your mind.  Your ears tingle somewhat, and you seem to have a slight headache.

Not long after Sylvan Lorekeeper Dramar held the first meeting, he held another to put into place the plan that would either save or doom Wehnimer’s Landing.  Amazingly enough, the spirit of those within the Landing was one of unselfish sacrifice.  People were giving away treasured items in order to aid those chosen to face the feithidmor.  It was a glorious moment in time for those living there. The whole of Wehnimer’s Landing stood as one force and one body.  This type of unity took place all over Elanthia.  Faced with a foe of utter destruction, we all came together united as one.  With everyone working toward the same goal and the chants nearly deciphered, the dawn of salvation was at hand.  One thing was certain, together we would stand or together we would fall. Dramar addressed those assembled once again:
 

"If you are standing here today, it is likely because you know of the threat we face...the feithidmor.  If you are unfamiliar with this creature, I encourage you to speak amongst yourselves. Time is short this eve and I fear I cannot explain what this creature is tonight.  Over the past couple weeks the banaltra have been feeding upon townsfolk much more furiously.  We believe that unless we stop this creature tomorrow evening…it will surface, and be the death of us all.  Many of you have observed various townsfolk entering odd fugue states, at which time they recite rhymes.  We believe these rhymes hold the key to defeating the feithidmor, and with all your help these past weeks…I believe it is safe to say a glimmer of hope remains that we can resolve this problem we face.  Gullik and Ostan directed me to a cauldron in the brewery that will serve our needs well.  And a group of you also found a knife within an establishment of ill repute.  You have spoken amongst yourselves, putting together a list of the other ingredients we may need…I concur with your thoughts, and encourage you to continue gathering them.  Many of you volunteered to enter the feithidmor's lair in an attempt to slay it before it reaches the surface.  I want to thank every single one of you who volunteered.  My associates and I determined that the following course of action is our best chance for success…Time will be short as we strike at the feithidmor.  And those who did volunteer face an extremely perilous task.  We have gathered two teams of eight volunteers.  If any in the first group fall, and likely they will…the second team will attempt to continue their works.  These teams need to realize the following: Time is of the essence. If they do not reach the feithidmor in time, it will surface. And we will die.  This means if one of them falls in battle, they must be left behind.  Lifekeep them, and pray you defeat the feithidmor in time to recover the body.  But there will be no time to care for the dead.  This may sound cruel, but many more lives are at stake.  So to those who choose to go…Please make sure Lorminstra smiles upon you. For if we do not defeat the feithidmor in short order...or at all…Lorminstra may be your only hope.  I do not know what dangers you will face down below.   I will not be going with you - I will remain with the defenders of this city.  I tried to gather a wide assortment of volunteers - of all skills and races.  I can only advise them to prepare themselves for the worst.  I will introduce you to those who will attempt to slay the feithidmor in a bit, but first…while the feithidmor prepares for its final feeding…I expect the city to be overrun by banaltra. The bloodshed you have already seen will pale in comparison.  Your city needs you all.  You alone can prevent the children and citizens of this city from dying at the claws of banaltra.  So I beg everyone to prepare themselves this evening…Rest well, and be prepared for tomorrow.  I am uncertain of the exact hour when we will strike, but I expect it to be early evening.  Before I introduce those who have been chosen to undertake the mission in the feithidmor's lair…I want you to know that it was a difficult choice. Some of you chose not to join the list, intent instead of remaining on the surface to protect the town.  The lives you save will be many, I am sure.  We need you on the surface also, for we need to ensure we have a city to return to.  To those who have been chosen - I stress this to you.  You MUST be here tomorrow evening.  I apologize for the pause; I fear my earlier death has robbed me of some of my senses.  Those who will be in the primary group shall be…Welan, who is not present this eve; Ostan, who is present this eve; Rhad, who is also present this eve; Psiodon, who is present tonight, I hope your faith in your god serves us well; Ryshan, who is present this eve; Clorius, who is not present this eve; Celeina, who is present this eve; And finally, Dandee, who is present.  If any of these brave souls should fall, the second group will be:  Kriztian, who is not present this eve; Sayrena, who is not present this eve; Aurach, who is present; Dgry, who is present this eve; Indica, who is present; Wizadora, who is present; Kraniak, who is present; and finally, Contesserina, who is also present.  The rest of you will face no easier task than they.  I fear time will grow short, as I must attend to some last minute preparations for tomorrow.  Please, everyone, work together.  Make plans how to save this city.  Offer shelter to the weak.  Meet at the linden tree in the early evening.  If one of you cannot make it, someone else will have to stand in your place.  One last thing…the rhymes speak of a stick or baton of sorts…that shall protect the group.  We believe it is this baton that will protect them from the feithidmor's sound as they travel in its lair.  Unless we successfully create this vital item tomorrow, they have no hope.  Yes. Prepare for what is to come, and wait by the tree.  That goes for everyone.  Those who will fight below AND above the surface.  I will see you all again tomorrow eve. Be safe."

As these attacks, or as it were, these feedings from the banaltra increased the sapling grew into a tree and began to blossom.  The chosen group from each town began to construct the wand the rhymes spoke of.  Here is the account of the wand’s creation on Teras Isle:
 

With a single fluid motion, Anlisa grasps a stout branch and severs it from the linden tree with her Dwarven court knife!

Lynvaile says, "We must move a bit away from the tree first."

Anlisa's group just went east.

[Ora and Dragonswing]A large stone building abuts the canyon wall. Also here: Lady Mirea, Barttonium, Lynvaile, Lady Nynaere, Lord Barachado, Lady Gravena, Ashleigh, Arf, Lord Scintillion, Soulpieced, Lady Pyrocite, Iaz, Razcor, Shadowdragon, Lord Telagan, Dhisear, Lord Doomkilla, Nindon, Qikir, Boomsplat, Lady Talsh, Anlisa Obvious paths: west.

Lynvaile says, "We do not want unwelcome ingredients falling in."

Lynvaile lifts the small copper kettle toward the sky, and pronounces in a solemn voice,

"Imaera, Mother of All Noble Races, bless this vessel and its contents during our task. Guide our minds and hands as we seek to end this unnatural scourge which preys upon the children and the elders of the very races you have nurtured."

Lynvaile places the small copper kettle gently on the ground, and closing her eyes, slowly passes her hands over the kettle, reciting:

"Hard spirits...to reduce barriers and to meld!"

"Linden blossoms...bane to insects, counter to the feithidmor!"

"Aloeas stem...to bind and combine, to nurture a new result from disparate elements!"

"Linden bough...cut from the new tree, the new hope...a new ward!"

Lynvaile sighs.

Nynaere put a yellow linden blossom in a small copper kettle that is on the ground.

Lynvaile appears confused and concerned.

Nynaere put some aloeas stem in a small copper kettle that is on the ground.

Lynvaile asks, "Now some blossom?"
 

Anlisa furrows her brow.

Lynvaile exclaims, "Oh!"

With a look of resignation, Lynvaile tips the small copper kettle over, spilling its contents onto the ground.

With only a cursory glance at the discarded contents, Lynvaile returns her attention to the kettle as she sets it back upright and prepares to start anew.

Lynvaile says, "Now... let us try this carefully this time."

With only a cursory glance at the discarded contents, Anlisa returns her attention to the kettle as she sets it back upright and prepares to start anew.

Gravena hurls a stream of fire at a small copper kettle!

The small copper kettle glows with a warm aura, then takes on a soft ruddy glow as the heat is absorbed and the flames dissipate.

The odor of scorching linden blossom and aloeas stem fills the air above the kettle.

Some blossoms and aloeas stems blanch and wilt against the hot metal.

With a look of resignation, Anlisa tips the small copper kettle over, spilling its contents onto the ground, and the glow of magical heat fades from the kettle's bottom.

With only a cursory glance at the discarded contents, Anlisa returns her attention to the kettle as she sets it back upright and prepares to start anew.

Pyrocite pours some of her whiskey into the small copper kettle.
Pyrocite pours some of her whiskey into the small copper kettle.
Pyrocite pours some of her whiskey into the small copper kettle.
Pyrocite pours some of her whiskey into the small copper kettle.
Pyrocite pours some of her whiskey into the small copper kettle.
Pyrocite pours some of her whiskey into the small copper kettle.

Lynvaile asks, "Let's make sure that is as powerful as can be... I need a wizard volunteer please?"

Lynvaile asks, "Gravena?"

Lynvaile asks, "Please cast some minor fire at it?"

Lynvaile says, "Let's heat it up good and hot."

Gravena gestures and utters a phrase of magic.

Gravena gestures at a small copper kettle.
 

Gravena hurls a stream of fire at a small copper kettle!

The small copper kettle glows with a warm aura, then takes on a soft ruddy glow as the heat is absorbed and the flames dissipate.

The whiskey in the kettle bubbles, filling the air with a sweet odor with a slight medicinal edge to it.

Lynvaile beams!

Anlisa says, "Ahh, perfect." Lynvaile exclaims, "We're cooking!"

Lynvaile asks, "Okay... Anlisa... the branch?"

Anlisa says, "It needs a blossom. Just one."

The whiskey in the kettle bubbles, filling the air with a sweet odor with a slight medicinal edge to it.

Lynvaile asks, "Okay... one blossom… Ashleigh?"

Ashleigh put a yellow linden blossom in a small copper kettle that is on the ground.

Lynvaile asks, "Who has some stem?"

The sound of bubbling liquid can be heard.

Daergard put some aloeas stem in a small copper kettle that is on the ground.

A sweet earthy aroma rises from the kettle.

The pleasant sound of bubbling liquid comes from the kettle.

Anlisa studies the mixture in the kettle.

The mixture looks a bit on the thin side and too grey.

Lynvaile furrows her brow. The pleasant sound of bubbling liquid comes from the kettle.

The bubbling mixture is a dull golden color. The color seems right, but something's missing. Or maybe the potion simply contains some impurities...?

A sweet earthy aroma rises from the kettle.

Lynvaile says, "Impurities."

Lynvaile asks, "Who has a white flask?"

Lynvaile asks, "Charlene, please pour it in?"
 

Charlane nods.

Charlane pours some liquid from her flask into the small copper kettle, where it mixes with the whiskey.

The mixture bubbles quietly with a bright golden color that seems just right.

A sweet earthy aroma rises from the kettle.

The mixture bubbles quietly with a bright golden color that seems just right.

You hear someone uttering a phrase of magic.

Kyard suddenly fades into view.

Kyard gestures at a small copper kettle.

Kyard hurls a roaring ball of fire at a small copper kettle!

The mixture ignites in a brilliant white flash and a loud PHOOMPH!

Overlayed by the purple after-image from the flash, a pale yellow cloud of smoke rises skyward.

Ashleigh points at a dark gnarled baton.

Anlisa exclaims, "Yes!"

In the small copper kettle you see a dark gnarled baton.

Looking closely at the gnarled baton, it appears to have a faint sheen to it and a distinctly yellowish cast. The baton is surprisingly light for its size, and the fiber of the wood appears to have been expanded in some way.

Lynvaile removes a gnarled modwir stick from in her heavy backpack.

Lynvaile asks, "Are you all ready?"

Anlisa raises her gnarled baton skyward!

Anlisa gazes intently at the linden tree. With a hesitant step she moves forward, slowly raising the baton in her hand. Softly, she begins to whisper an incantation.

As the incantation continues Anlisa's voice grows louder and more confident. The knuckles of her hand go white as she grips the baton more securely. The baton emits a low-pitched hum, so low it registers more in your stomach than in your ears.

The linden tree seems to echo back the low-pitched hum. The tree shudders, its branches rattling as though in a strong wind. Suddenly a crack appears at the base of the tree!
 

The ground trembles! The crack gradually widens until it's wide enough for a determined person to squeeze through!

The Teras Isle group then entered the underground realm of the feithidmor.  They defeated the feithidmor within its lair.  The Wehnimer’s Landing, River’s Rest and Solhaven groups however, did not.  The cavernous dwelling of the feithidmor was extremely perilous.  Many of the chosen died before even reaching the goal.  Time grew very short.
 

The feithidmor is large, the size of a hut. Its insect-like body is protected by black chitinous armor made shiny by a coating of oily beads of liquid. Four very small, red eyes seem almost lost in the creature's large head. A fat, fleshy neck can be seen through a tiny chink in the armor. Goblets of flesh hang from its long pincers.

When the other groups finally reached their feithidmor they could not figure out what combination of magic or steel to apply to the beast in order to kill it.  Time ran out and the other feithidmors escaped death from the other groups and surfaced within the three towns to kill and feed on those that stayed behind to defend their homes.  Many died.  The sheer sound emanating from the feithidmor caused people to fall prone unable to defend themselves.  These horrid screams killed many outright.  Others were able to recover, at least until the screams began anew.  This pause in-between the feithidmor’s screams allowed those still living to take action and try to slay the beast.  Many tried casting magic, which did not work; the beast was immune.  It seems that only strength in arms would fell the creature.  However, only two people could even hope to affect its death.  Even these two adventurers, one in Wehnimer’s Landing and the other in Solhaven, needed powerful magic to cause the feithidmor harm.  With the aid of magic, the art of ambushing and a great deal of luck the feithidmors in Solhaven and Wehnimer’s Landing were slain.  One of the mighty adventurers traveled to River’s Rest, where none could slay the beast, to deal out death to the feithidmor.  What a glorious day this was for Elanthia.  We stood as one.

The following day after the feithidmors were defeated, there were celebrations for all that was accomplished.  A shrine was erected and a plaque was placed on each to memorialize those fallen and those who stood against the feithidmors. Placed within the shrines were the items used in making the batons.  An engraved ironwood plaque was mounted above a roughly carved niche in the front of the shrine.  It reads:
 

Fearless in battle, tireless in your quest for knowledge and selfless in your desire to defend the weak, you stood together as one to protect this city against the feithidmor.  With knowledge as your weapon and your faith in each other as your shield, you set out to succeed where all others failed.  Through your countless hours, dedication, blood and tears, you also became the first to break the feithidmor's cycle and save this city.  History shall remember your courage and your feats, honorable heroes.

It is unknown if any other eggs are resting dormant under these cities from feithidmors ages past.  Be wary and be prepared, lest you find yourself feithidmor fodder.
 

Respectfully submitted,

Lord Jullius VanDelta
Lorekeeper and Archwizard