Hello folks, first time posting here. I’m kind of self-conscious about my writing, but I am posting the rough outline of an experience a player (a treant that was cursed to take the foulest form the elders of it’s community could imagine as a punishment for losing his honor, so he is a human ranger) is going to have after being deceived by a Mindflayer to help lure the party to the Underdark for an ambush that resulted in a player dying. I am looking for 1. Music to use, that makes sense for either the mood OR a sort of enchanted grove that the scene transitions to and 2. ambient nature sounds aside from birds and insects; something to give the scene more of a “Feywild” feel.
Of note, the flowers/weeping willow symbolize the other player characters, as he “read their auras” in character and improved all those plants a few sessions back. Anyhow, here goes:
As the chaos of the battle winds down, the pressure will fade from the back of Oakfeld’s head, with a final whisper, like it comes from far away, or long ago, or perhaps a time that has not yet come to pass: “You will always fall, and those who gather close will be crushed beneath your rotting trunk.”
Time slows down, as the reality of what you have done settles in, the cool autumnal voice of the Green Matron nothing more than a lure. Worse than being fooled, you turn and look around you; those you would call friends, you brought with you to their detriment. To their death. Color falls away from the world, and your body seems impossibly heavy.
Those around Oakfeld, you see the vibrant blue eyes almost dull to gray, and then a sickly brown. His hair seems to thicken, as the lines in his face grow impossibly deep, as if he ages a million years in the span of seconds; he grows, and stretches, and branches emerge, and PFFF an stout oak with a single knotted face that resembles Oakfelds, eyes closed, now occupies his space, much larger.
Oakfeld. Through the heaviness of your failure, and the sorrow in your core, you feel a strange comfort. In the darkness of misery, you remember the stillness of being formed of wood. You remember the peace, the feeling of connection with all that lives around you; you remember the wind rustling the leaves at the highest tips of your boughs, and all of a sudden, as you open your eyes, you are in a beautiful place.
You cannot see yourself, but you feel as you ought to; you see many tall oaks that form the backdrop of this grove but closer, you are surrounded by small, brightly-flowered ohia trees, as well as mighty Squall’s End Cherry Trees with near-metallic red bark. You smell floral tones unlike any you’ve experienced before; confusing for your near encylopedic knowledge of plants. Sour notes that intermingle with bitter; the effervescent sweet florals that still somehow carry a pleasant, sturdy musk.
You hear birds of paradise, the call of monkeys, insects, croaks of amphibians… you immediately hear the chorus of the Feywild mid-movement in it’s nightly symphony… almost. You hear also the chittering of biting insects, you see overhead the moon, familiar stars, though a different hemisphere perhaps. This is Alberon… but you don’t know where.
You realize, in the blue-green grass in front of you, there is an acorn. You can see it must have fallen far from a tree; it instantly reminds you of yourself. Alone, astray.
You see, suddenly, a firefly fly nearby. It bobs in the air, and buzzes lazily about the acorn. You see the acorn split, and a tiny shoot grow out. Its as if this small, lost acorn, with so little hope, has believed this tiny light to be the sun. Without question, it responded. Suddenly, the firefly flies off, and into the woods.
With no more light, you see the spritely green sprout that has now emerged, several inches tall from the acorn begin to yellow. Without light, it is dying. It was too eager, too young to think, not yet awakened. You see the grass, too around the sapling dying, as the new tree’s roots choke the few nutrients from there as well. The failure of this plant to thrive hurt not just it, but the plants around it as well.
In place of this grass, you see tiny, black and purple pustules emerge from the earth itself before popping upward into grotesquely swollen and slimy, rotting toadstools. You look around, and you see this place of abundant, varied, beautiful life consumed by rot.
You see in one corner of your vision suddenly, the pointed white petals of an edelweiss burst from the ground, beams of light extending out light search lights, the petrichor smell of wild magic spreading from it’s blossoms. You feel the dead roots suddenly purged of this infection as massive power ripples from the blossoms, despite its diminutive size.
A foot or so away, you see a magnolia slip between two stones, and a single thorn extends from her stem, and zips outward, skewering a nearby toadstool; then another, and another, and another. The plants around her seem as encouraged by her fervor as they might be to the sun.
Across your field of view, you see suddenly a weeping willow rise, though the rot threatens to pull him down. Whole branches fall away as he struggles to rise, but you see that though the rot threatens the plants around it, the willow strikes out, accepting damage to protect that which is not yet tainted.
Overhead, you see a red hawk fight with a massive, dark bird with a bleeding heart. You cannot tell in the swirling, slow motion of violence if there is a clear winner or loser, but you feel the danger in the air. The rot is coming.
Then, suddenly, you see in the distance of all the rot, a beautiful green stag appear, glowing a radiant green energy that melts the rot away around it. Each soft hoof fall causes bursts of radiating life to extend out, the living greenery consuming the rot. She pauses, 20 feet off, and time is stopped, but the fur on this creature shifts softly, as in the wind. It stares at you with glowing green eyes that transcend time, and with all the failure and disappointment and danger you’ve been shown, you see something else:
The emerald eyes gaze across the field at the powerful flowers and the willow arrayed around you; “look,” it seems to say “listen” it seems to say. Listening, you hear the sound of howling wind and taste the irony dust of Kalipsos. The eyes grow brighter, brighter, brighter, until their dazzling emerald brilliance overwhelms everything you can see. All that keeps you from the overwhelming power of the tasks ahead of you are these plants that keep you safe: the willow, the edelweiss, the magnolia, and a red hawk, circling overhead. Though you feel that your honor lay on the sands of Kalipsos, it is clear that you must follow those that protect you now, or else again, you will wither.
Then, you smell lavender. As first tens, then hundreds, then thousands of petals fall and block your vision, shielding you from the brilliance, a warm and gentle wind rocks your branches, and ruffles through your leaves like the gentle fingers of a caring mother, rocking you to sleep. And you sleep, Oakfeld, knowing truly and without question that you have experienced the touch of the Green Matron.
For the rest of you, roots extend from Oakfeld that grow into trees, and soon the trees grow so dense around you that you see know way to exit this clearing, with branches stretching together taught overhead to create a canopy of iron-like wood the bursts the ceiling above you, briefly letting in afternoon light before becoming obscured. For all of this, it doesn’t feel like a cage… you see beautiful butterflies with gossamer wings of lilac, peach, mint, and green. The middle of this sandstone floor caves in slightly, as if a sinkhole below gives way, and a pool of fresh water fills in, as if from a nearby spring. It smells faintly of basil, and tastes fresh and clean.
Thick, lush grass and moss covers the area quickly, especially around Aca’s corpse, with tiny yellow flowers springing up here and there. This glade smells sweet, and fresh, and clean. And though the sun does not penetrate this place you see a single sunflower with ten petals in the middle. (a petal will drop every hour.)At the end of ten hours, the bark peels away to show Oakfeld’s sleeping form, and the rest of the trees grow in reverse until they shrink back beneath the sand, leaving no trace but the massive hole in the ceiling that leads to the top floor. Faint rays of light can be seen above from morning sun. That is the Alchemists Gate, and all that stands between the group and the surface.
Sorry, I just looked at that and realized that was a lot to read. If you made it this far, thank you so much for your help! I know my spelling and grammar isn’t very good, but I’m expecting to be interrupted or thrown from “script” by the player and/or their friends so I didn’t focus too much on that more than capturing the emotions I want to evoke.