Kelun's Notes

Kelun's Notes are a collection of entries written by the wood elf warlock Kelun, recovered from the camp of the Green Quill Troupe in the Greater Greensong.

## Description

Recovered from the remains of the encampment utilised by the Green Quill Troupe, Kelun's notes seem to detail the both the gathering of the various members of the bandit group, as well as an account of what Kelun believed to be the Archfey Morgaelei guiding him into the creation of a passageway to the Feywild.

## Research

### Completed by Roderick Reman and Arnica

*...there are still those that treat the wilds with the reverence and respect that they demand, they deserve. Those that take only what is necessary, what they require to survive, never growing greedy and claiming more that which can be replenished. One too many fish, the river runs dry. One too many trees, the forest ceases to be. A balance and harmony exists between that of the soil and stone, and those that are set to reside upon it - whether filled with joy at the privilege, or languishing at the efforts. Just as the natural world can restore itself, it extends this blessing to those around it. Long had the pools of water near my home, rising as vast springs from below, soothed ailments, calmed infirmity for a time. And yet we grew too greedy, and the equilibrium was tipped, irretrievably so...*

*...it was not just our folly that has ruined what once was. As I travel, I see the signs of the races in disregard to their creator, clearing swathes of grassland to simply plant other grasses, those more palatable to their tongue. They level thickets to shape shelters from the groves that would have offered them shelter, and with it call it progress. Vibrancy and life echoes from the tethering points between the worlds, and yet with scythe and shovel they are severed, and the warmth and splendour of the wilds grow ever more distant. Soon those with the ancestry will have no connection to their benefactors, and I can but weep. Have not the races wrought destruction enough, blights and scars ravage the lands, echoes of battles where axe fell upon armour and flesh, and those others than wield them to shatter root and trunk. Others weep at my side, but we can do naught save cry out for one to guide our hands...*

*...salvation comes, carried upon the flutter of wings delicate and filled with grace. Upon closed eyes I see visions of a land I have never seen in person, and yet I stir from my trance with a mind filled with memories as if I had. A rose-tinted haze lingers on the path ahead, the skies filled with the messengers of the Alder Queen, watching from afar upon her blazing throne. I hear her call, she hears my weeping, and so I pledge myself to her name, her ideals. Unto me she has granted gifts, and though I may raise my hands to use them, I do so in order for the great regeneration to occur. From afar she can do nothing, but with a return of the passageways lost from lust for silver and gold, growth may return anew. Promises echo through my waking moments, that of orchards bearing more fruit than ever before, Highreign months long and strengthening, so all may see that through the natural world sustenance can be attained, a great feast may begin, and never find an end...*

*...more have heard the call. Their walks of life have brought them here, now, for they too have heard her call, seen her messengers, heard their news of good tidings to come. Never have I felt as empowered, for surely this is the purpose for which I was shaped, for which my ancestors were hewn by the Dawn Matron. A bouquet is made ever more beautiful by its variety, and now this family has never been so sweet to look upon. The Alder Queen approves, her messengers confirm it so, and I await their guidance...*

*...the forest sprawls in the space behind my eyes, and though boot may trample root and leaf, now sooner do they pass do they rise once more. Flowers bloom wide enough for a child to slumber within its petals, stems wider and sturdier than dogwood, hawthorn or oak. The sky burns ever bright, unyielding in brightness and warmth, a paradise for all to enjoy...*

*...though I may resent what must be done, I do anyway. From beyond the veil of Feywild, truth is spoken - the merchants of this land have taken freely what is not theirs, it is from them that payment is enacted to restore what is lost. Who truly laments when a thief is stolen from? Morgaelei reassures me that I will not be remembered as a bandit, for my greatest act draws close. Further direction comes each day, sped along faster still by our newest arrivals. By shovel and spell the space is cleared, down to the stone laid beneath soil by the Lord in the Quiet Places, and with it we will make our mark. Carvell says that further reagents will likely be necessary, powdered and refined through the arcane, and fittingly it seems those abused by others are those that will prove most potent for this task - chalcanthite, cinnabar, galena & torbernite. Only through these can the Principal Races hope to create a tether worthy of binding the Feywild close once more...*

*...it called to them, and unto me they then directed. The butterflies of the Queen guided me to the lone-traveller, and when they whispered into his mind, he fled, leaving it lying in the dirt. We build the doorway, shaped in stone and mineral, standing ready to grease the joints with touch of the fey, but the lock remains - now the key has been delivered unto us. I beg the Queen to remain patient, for soon the time will come, and all may revel in the victory to come. I seek no reward, yet know I have been promised one nonetheless...*