Healing the Cormanthor

As the weather in the Dales began to cool and summer gave way to autumn, Beltaram left the grove to return to the Cormanthor. He wandered the desolated woods with a heavy heart, speaking with the trees and offering words of comfort. He made his way to the spring where he would spend his nights praying to the Treefather, before the liches sent their armies of undeath to desecrate the soil and vegetation. He stopped to mend what damage he could, whispering prayers to Silvanus for aid in restoring life to the area. He hadn't encountered any walking corpses while he was there, something he had hoped was a sign that the horde's presence was finally dwindling.

Some hours later, he ventured deeper into the woods to the place where he underwent his vigil to become one of Silvanus's forest masters. With outstretched hands, Ram called forth vines and roots to turn and till the soil in an effort to prepare it for new life. He planted seeds of countless variation: Ferns and berry bushes, fruit-bearing trees, acorns to grow into mighty oaks. He summoned a spirit of the earth, a friend he had known for more ages than the elf could remember. The elemental aided Ram in breaking down charred and fallen trees to return them to the soil.

When the planting and clearing was done, Ram dismissed his companion and made his way to the tree in which he spent the night of his vigil. With a soothing hand he caressed the burned bark that concealed its rotting flesh, his face contorted with pain as he felt no life left in the oaken husk. He climbed into the tree once more, staring out at the moon-lit sky and listening to the silence. The night was especially silent to his ears, as the trees had no leaves to whistle in the breeze and most of the critters and beasts had fled to safer regions. He closed his eyes after a while and remained in the tree for the rest of the night.

Elsewhere in the western portions of the massive forest, similar events have begun to take place slowly but surely as the undead begin to disperse or are picked clean from particular areas. While they're not all are entirely gone, the exasperating efforts of those guardians in the woods become visible as land is churned to recycle the dead and creatures are collectively moving.

Plants naked, animals silent and children of Nature in mourning, the western woods are perhaps eerie to behold in its partial emptiness as the work continues.

On the outskirts of the cormanthor young trees are being uprooted and stuck into the ground upside down, a mockery perhaps.

There also seems to be an increased rate of treeinfesting insects and tree diseases in the same areas.

Watchful eyes belonging to the remaining predators and scavengers in the forest behold the person responsible for these acts. They carry the news to the guardians of the wild, and Ram heads toward the locations to repair what is broken. He continues through the forest with keen senses should the defiler reappear. ((Spot 68, listen 52))

A small sounder of boar (two regular, one dire, and one pinkie) led by a rust-colored, non-dire sow traverse the damaged land, turning up dark, ashen soil with their snouts and hooves. They moved in straight lines across the forest floor, almost as if tilling the soil. Trotting along nearby was a much pinker and much smaller sow. A young adult probably and born domestic. She helped, but her smaller stature made her progress much slower. They continued like this for much of the daylight hours, resting during the warmest part of the day. By night, they would be gone from the immediate area only to be present again the next dawn.

OOC Clarification:

Ram continues through the forest, clearing away debris and ruin before planting saplings and other woodland vegetation. He takes consideration to not fill the forest floor with anything foreign to the region. Should he come across the familiar porcine troupe, he would enlist their aid.

Eager and energetic as she is wont to be, Corky and her porcine posse happily assist the old elf in whatever capacity they can.

Old eyes of the gray haired woman regard the restorations of the forest and nature. The Healing of the Woods pleases her. She turns to her panther at her side and comments.
"The hunt shall come again, Enferno , but we will be patient for the strong to rise again. For now, let us assist in all we can, and usher in the the days of glory to come."
Her lean and curvatious body strides off into the brush, as she nurtures both plant and animal. Upon finding a litter of wolves, she examines them, noting the most likely alpha.
"grow strong, little one. .. become worthy. . . .".

Critical eyes would regard the Malarite from afar, dubious of her intentions, their form otherwise unseen or overlooked. Meanwhile, the outskirts are also examined as the saplings are blatantly flipped, branches in the ground and roots splaying towards the skies. A growl escapes the watcher before they gently and caringly ease the trees back over, encouraging the roots to settle back into the soil.

As the old woman comes to the inverters trees, she would try her best to right them, and plant them back properly ... Using a dire bear form when strength was needed.
Plants were not her greatest concern , but she knew well the fullness and interwoven ways of nature.

She would smell , in animal form, for any scent of person on the trees before touching them...
... Seeking any clue as to whom to hold accountable ...

Beltaram eventually makes his way back to Starwood to continue his efforts there. The place is held sacred to him, and so his focus is in that region of the woods. He destroys the remaining undead with ease and returns their rotten carcasses to the earth before tending to the saplings and other vegetation he planted some days before.

A masked and hooded, tall for an elf, looking figure in full plate with a red cloak could be seen around the outskirts of varying wooded areas where the dead were cleaned out and fallen trees were still around. He was only seen at night, wading through the debris, and muttering something in another language (Drow, if you know the language, I can send a PM). The words are often broken up, only spoken if he picks up a branch or inspects a log as if he was looking for a ripe melon in a market.

He'd have a fairly large burlap bag where he'd stow away largish branches (3-6 feet in length on average, and width would be varying in size. Thin when longer and log style when short). When he found a log that wasn't rotting, he'd go about the process of making sure it was dead first and then clear away all the branches so it was just a log. Marking an X on one side and a J on the other. If not stopped, he'd likely be seen trying to smuggle logs away to the Tybold mine. The reason for this isn't readily apparent.

(Assuming that he can by woodcrafting tools from road merchants or something similar to a saw. If not, he'd use a hand axe to remove debris.)