Spirit Hunters
Startled from their rest, a murder of crows took flight, their harsh cries seemed to claw at the ears. As they winged their way south through the forest, Captain Argos scowled up at them from the forest floor. These damnable creatures would probably bring word of his troop to their filthy elven masters in the depths of the wood, but there were bigger fish to fry at the moment. He turned back to the center of the clearing where several large steel cages had been anchored to the ground. Had it not been almost evening, one would have thought the cages were reflecting sunlight, but it was the innumerable spells cast during their forging that gave off light.
Within the confines of the smallest, dozens of tiny spirits swirled together in a breathtaking tornado of color, and they kept well away from the bars, screaming in pain whenever one accidentally brushed against the bars. Some cried for help while others screamed warnings to others to stay away lest they too be caught. This was the Lure of the Spirit Hunters, both trap and bait for any spirit. It had taken years to capture this many but the number had already doubled once they had entered the woods.
But it was the other cages that concerned and excited the Spirit Hunters. One held a small pack of enormous, black hounds, their eyes glowing red with hellfire, that raged against the walls of their prison as they attempted to shatter the numerous protective barriers covering the bars. Another cage barely contained a swirling maelstrom of tentacles, jagged white teeth, and hideous yellow eyes. This was a Shoggoth, a rare, powerful, yet simple eldritch creature, that his men had managed to capture when it stumbled into their trap, but it was doubtful whether the cage would hold.
Even now, several mages maintained numerous barriers as slivers of steel and magic splintered off as the Shoggoth applied its numerous mouths and rotating teeth to gnash at the bars. One of its keepers, a scrawny old man dressed in crimson robes, nodded to his colleagues and they raised their staffs in harmony as they began chanting. Sensing something was amiss, the Shoggoth redoubled its efforts and several mouths opened to scream when it was struck from all sides by blinding jets of light. Slowly, its many eyes glazed over as its limbs and mouths closed and shrank until the beast resembled a harmless, egg-shaped thing, smooth and devoid of color. Stunned but not dead.
The researchers of the Babyl Institute would surely pay a handsome price for such a healthy specimen, if they managed to keep it captive for that long. The other cages in the clearing contained numerous other species, many of them weren't native to this area. Many of the lesser spirits weren't intelligent enough to be interrogated, but there was one that would be an incredible trove of information if they could break it. Luckily, that was something at which every Spirit Hunter excelled, some more so than most.
Argos called over to the old man beside the Shoggoth cage, "Bertram! Quit ogling the filthy creature and come with me. Our special guest requires service." Bertram tore his eyes from the sleeping Shoggoth, which he'd been staring at with a greedy expression on his face, and he cackled, "Kahaha. I hear ye, young Argos. Well, we'd better not keep our guest waiting shall we? I am sure it will provide us with the most beautiful singing as thanks!" At this Argos let his face twist into a rather unpleasant expression but that was nothing compared to the look on Bertram's.
Quickly they made their way through the camp, passing dozens of men preparing all manner of weapons and armor for war. The Blights, a small contingent of men and women, were preparing their poisons, and the toxicity of the fumes ensured that all living creatures and plants withered and died upon breathing it. Their work was just as dangerous to the men as it was to the forest spirits but they were necessary. Templars had been recruited from various other sects so demons were of no concern. They would also double as the primary damage dealers to creatures forced into physical bodies. Spiritualists and Shamans stood together in a circle as they poured spell after spell into the piles of weapons and armor at their feet, causing them to glow an eerie orange shade.
Finally, Argos and Bertram reached a tent of middling size guarded by two brawny guards who quickly stepped aside as Argos and Bertram made their way inside.
Inside, a gruesome scene greeted the two men. A figure knelt with its arms stretched out behind it, the limbs impaled with glowing, steel hooks that were chained to pegs driven deep into the dirt. It resembled a tree or some other plant grown into the shape of a man with small twinkling lights in the sockets where its eyes would be. Its legs were similarly restrained with enormous steel spikes that pinned it to the ground. This was a treat they had managed to subdue before it could call for help. As a caretaker of the forest, it was their best bet as to discover where all these different entities were gathering and why.
Sensing their presence, the treant wearily lifted its head as it watched two new torturers arrive. Argos and Bertram began to circle it slowly, showing their prey that they had all the time in the world to make its existence a living hell. The treant, gathering its courage in a brave front, hissed, "Do your worst, human filth! I'll not betray my guardian nor my fellow spirits!"
Argos and Bertram stopped, as if shocked by the treant's bold front before they laughed and continued to circle, but now tools of torture flashed in their hands. Argos suddenly slashed its chest, the knife in his hand cleaving through the tough plant fibers as it were butter before stopping in the tougher wood that made up the treant's true skin. As quickly as it had been rent, the shaggy layer of vines regrew and Argos nodded, pleased that they could go all out with this one.
The treant said, "Enough with your games, humans! Release me before my guardian senses my absence and comes for me. She will make forests out of your corpses and flowers will sprout from your skulls!" Bertram, tired of the chatter, suddenly plunged a red spike into its back, causing the treant to arch its back and scream as the surrounding plants and wood on its back began to burn and disintegrate. But the plants and vines began to slowly regrow, the treant still fought to survive the ordeal. Just as the treant was about to recover, Bertram cackled as he slammed another spike in, causing the screams to redouble in volume as the burns continued to spread across its back and the spikes to burn deeper.
Argos knelt so that he was face to face with the treant and took on a light, cheerful tone, "You know, treant, I recently heard from my colleague over there," he gestured at Bertram, "that you woodland spirits have a seed in your chest, a heart you might say. Now, I say that it is quicker to cut it out of your chest while he says it would be more efficient to burn you up from the back and then pull it out from there. We're still debating it so we decided to try it out on you. Of course, we'll leave this little experiment for now if you tell us why so many are coming to this forest. Who is calling you?" The treant thrashed as it attempted to break the bonds but its fate was sealed.
Half an Hour later
The treant suddenly screamed as Bertram was about to impale it with the seventh spike, "Wait, please! I'll tell you everything! Just please, no more!" At this Argos and Bertram put down their tools causing the treant to slump in relief. It said, "The forest is in turmoil because my guardian received a message that the Great One has entered this world in an attempt to save it. He desires attendants, only the finest will serve. We have no choice but to attend or face his wrath. The meeting will occur in the largest clearing in the forest, and the elves know naught of it. Even now my guardian works to prepare a proper throne worthy of him."
Argos nodded, pleased with this information, then thrust his hand into the treant's chest. The treant's mouth opened in a silent scream as he withdrew his hand, a glowing seed the size of a fist clenched in his hand. Deprived of its 'heart', the treant burst into ashes, but from the ashes of the fallen spirit new life began to sprout in the form of small trees and bushes. Argos stared at the seed then wordlessly handed it to Bertram.
Bertram, practically salivating, quickly withdrew an obsidian dagger from his robes and plunged it into the seed. Immediately there was a rumble as the forest sensed the true death of one of its protectors, but Bertram didn't care, so entranced he was with draining the life out of the seed and pouring it into a gem around his neck. Argos said," Great One, it said? How much energy do you think a spirit of such an arrogant title will give?" Bertram cackled, "Don't know until we find out, will we?"