From the diary of Ingun Ambleway, Opener of the Way of It Which Has No Pronounceable Name, Ia! Ia! etc etc:
So, our first meeting with Feywild hill giants (and their ogre pets) didn’t go so well.
After trying unsuccessfully to pull a talk-the-stupid-lunks-into-fighting-each-other trick, the group gave up and let spell-bolts and bow-arrows fly. I hung back and let the grunts do the work. While they almost pulled their weight this time, the wood-elf Einnor got himself dead.
Then this fey child, Ceilidh, appeared. Claiming to serve a creature called “Lady Twilight”, she assured us her mistress will be able to raise our dead druid. The catch: Lady Twilight lay ensorcelled, trapped within a briar prison.
To free her, we were to quest for three artefacts: a book, a bell, and a candle.
Typical. The Fey never make things easy.
We weren’t the first group commissioned to this task; the missing nobles of Waterdeep -who’s trail we’d been on – were involved. Ceilidh informed us that these rakes had violated the Lady Twilight’s person.
They received their just desserts. Some of their bodies we found hanging from treant-creature; the rest were just tattered remains, gnawed on by some hunter fellow and his dire-wolf pack.
(A so-called “Wild Hunt”. Honestly, the Fey and their fancy names.)
Getting three artefacts was easy enough. The candle pushed back Lady Twilight’s briar prison; the bell shattered her glass sarcophagus; the book contained a song to rouse her.
The Lady woke up annoyed and unexpectedly pregnant – presumably by those Waterdhavians.
We assured her we were not involved with that, of course. She was indeed pretty – but quite conventionally so. (I no longer see the appeal. My Master has shown me the delights of less usual fare.)