Neverwinter Forest sleep of the sword

The boy made his way while the ghost lingered. Sometimes the ghost would tug his step askew, or rush as heady wind across his back, but never did it pull in any direction with great force - not for lack of desire, but more a lack of power.

And always, that gleam of green.

When the boy came to the forest there was a lull in the presence that had been imbued upon him; almost a softening, for a few moments. There was a mist shifting between the trees which parted from the boy's path as the will of Revui gusted it back.

No, this... not this, take me home! The wind pulled at the trees, plucking debris from the forest floor and pelting it at Fjall. HOME!

The shadow of the mountains swallowed up the forest, and the angry voice of the ghost became a shrieking gale.