Into the Feywild

The morning sun rose over a strange and vibrant forest, its first rays filtering through the thick canopy in hues of warm orange and soft pink. The air was thick with the scent of summer blossoms and dew-covered moss. Birds trilled haunting, unfamiliar melodies overhead. As the Borscht Brigade awoke groggily, it became immediately clear that this was no ordinary woodland.

The trees were too green—luminous, almost glowing in the dim morning light. Some bore flowers the size of dinner plates, colored in brilliant pinks and sunlit yellows. Strange insects danced lazily in the air, leaving behind trails of sparkling dust. Aggar, the group's aasimar ranger, narrowed his eyes and surveyed the flora carefully.

“These trees... I’ve only read about them,” he murmured. “They only grow in the Feywild.”

The word hit the group with weight. The Feywild—land of chaotic magic and timeless wonder, where beauty and danger walked hand in hand. Izutsumi, the elven druid, furrowed her brow. “This place is dangerous,” she said, and Aggar solemnly nodded.

Before the group could gather their thoughts, a scream split the air—a high-pitched cry, distant but urgent. Without hesitation, Dray, the gold dragonborn fighter, and Aggar took the lead, crashing through brush and brambles. The others followed swiftly: Sharkie, the tiefling druid; Izutsumi close behind; and Rufus, their ever-opportunistic rogue, ghosting through the shadows with his blades ready.

They reached a shallow brook, water glinting with an otherworldly shimmer. Across it, two tiny winged figures darted frantically through the air—pixies, chased by seven snarling, goblin-like creatures composed entirely of living shadow. Their eyes glowed with hatred, their clawed limbs stretched unnaturally long.

There was no time for negotiation.

Izutsumi and Sharkie transformed instantly, their bodies warping into massive black bears. The two druids thundered across the battlefield, slamming into the shadows with primal fury. Dray’s greatsword flashed in the morning light, cleaving through a creature with brute force. Aggar danced in and out of reach, his scimitars slicing through shadowstuff, while Rufus used his agility to strike from behind, always vanishing before retaliation.

The fight was fierce. The creatures were fast and their claws sapped warmth with every blow, but in the end, the Brigade stood victorious. Dray and Aggar bore shallow wounds, but they stood tall. The pixies—who introduced themselves as Sadie and Sierra—floated down, eyes wide with gratitude.

“You saved us!” said Sadie. “Those creatures came from the Shadowfell. They’re not supposed to be here.”

“We’re trying to get home,” Sharkie said, brushing leaves from her fur before returning to her tiefling form. “Can you help us?”

The pixies exchanged a look. “Maybe Queen Glug can.”

Guided by the pixies, the Brigade journeyed deeper into the forest. The trees grew stranger still, their trunks twisting into spirals and glowing faintly from within. Fungi the size of shields lined the paths, and time seemed to flow oddly—as if hours passed in minutes or vice versa.

Eventually, they reached a hidden village built into the marshy edges of a glimmering pond. Frogs the size of halflings lounged lazily on lily pads. Lanterns hung from cattails. In the center of it all stood Queen Glug.

Queen Glug was a regal bullywug, adorned in ceremonial paints of pink, orange, and purple that swirled like sunrise on her slick skin. She wore a headdress of woven reeds and pearls, and her voice had a warm, resonant croak.

“You’ve come at a difficult time,” she said, after the group was welcomed and seated in her humble court. “The way home exists, yes—a portal at the base of the Twinfall Cascades. But it is no longer safe. Shadow beasts have claimed the area, spreading blight and death.”

Aggar tensed. “The same creatures we fought?”

“Worse,” Glug said grimly. “Their leader is something... older. A demon of shadow. If you can defeat it, you may pass.”

With few choices, the Brigade agreed.

Before setting out, the group took a moment to rest and resupply. Queen Glug’s village had its own charm—mud huts with enchantments woven into the walls, vendors selling shimmering fruits and bottles of captured moonlight.

Rufus, ever the wanderer, slipped away and found a curious merchant named Noroc, who dealt in questionable goods. Rufus returned with vials of alchemist’s fire and a sly grin. Izutsumi, meanwhile, discovered a shop that carried rare magical items. She was captivated by a curious device called an immovable rod, a metal bar that, when activated, would remain suspended in space regardless of force. But it was far beyond her coin purse.

That night, she mentioned it to Rufus. He didn’t say much—but the next morning, the rod was tucked neatly into Izutsumi’s pack. She didn’t ask questions.

The trail to the Twinfall Cascades was harder now. The forest darkened. Trees sagged with rot. Pools of still water reflected twisted images. Aggar pointed out signs of unnatural corruption—animals slaughtered, plants drained of life. The presence of the Shadowfell was unmistakable.

At last, they arrived.

The waterfall was once a place of beauty—two silver ribbons plunging into a deep glade—but now it was shrouded in darkness. The grass was gray, the water murky. Shadow creatures clustered around the base, guarding the portal like sentinels.

The Brigade didn’t wait. They charged.

Izutsumi and Sharkie once again led the way, shifting into wild forms—this time a brown bear and a massive giant toad. Dray waded into the fray with a war cry, swinging his sword with radiant might. Aggar loosed arrows from the tree line, while Rufus darted behind enemy lines, striking where it hurt most.

They made progress, pushing the enemy back.

Then the water boiled.

From the depths rose a massive, demonic creature of pure shadow—twisted horns, burning eyes, and limbs like smoke and steel. With a guttural roar, it summoned reinforcements. Shadows surged.

The tide turned. Sharkie was battered until her toad form dissolved. Izutsumi, too, was forced back into elven form, bloodied and gasping. Dray took blow after blow, barely holding the line. Aggar shouted commands, trying to maintain formation. Rufus, impossibly, danced untouched through the chaos, knives gleaming.

Just when the end seemed near, the trees stirred.

Help arrived.

A dryad, wreathed in living vines, stepped into the clearing. With her came a band of woodland allies—owlbears, glowing squirrels, even a treant—but none were quite as striking as Finch Glitterbell, a diminutive fairy with wild hair and a tiny sword, riding a flying pig named Snuffles.

Finch zipped through the battlefield, casting healing magic with sparkles and sass. “No one dies today, not on my watch!”

With renewed strength, the Brigade rallied. Sharkie and Izutsumi rejoined the fray with spells and staff strikes. Aggar fired a well-placed arrow that pierced one of the demon’s eyes. Dray struck the final blow, cleaving the creature in two as it let out a soul-rending shriek and collapsed into nothingness.

Silence fell. The blight began to recede.

Bruised, bloodied, but victorious, the Brigade returned to Queen Glug. The frogfolk cheered as they entered. A feast was held in their honor—platters of honey-glazed bugs, fruit wines, and glowing jellies. Finch Glitterbell insisted on giving a speech, most of which involved how awesome Snuffles was.

That night, the heroes rested. Queen Glug gave them the final piece of guidance to unlock the portal. In the morning, they stood once again before the cascading falls, now bright and pure once more.

One by one, they stepped into the swirling portal light, unsure of what lay beyond—but ready, as always, to face it together.