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Scent (Ex): This special quality allows a creature to detect approaching enemies, sniff out hidden foes, and track by sense of smell. Creatures with the scent ability can identify familiar odors just as humans do familiar sights.

The creature can detect opponents within 30 feet by sense of smell. If the opponent is upwind, the range increases to 60 feet; if downwind, it drops to 15 feet. Strong scents, such as smoke or rotting garbage, can be detected at twice the ranges noted above. Overpowering scents, such as skunk musk or troglodyte stench, can be detected at triple normal range.

When a creature detects a scent, the exact location of the source is not revealed--only its presence somewhere within range. The creature can take a move action to note the direction of the scent.

Whenever the creature comes within 5 feet of the source, the creature pinpoints the source's location.

A creature with the Track feat and the scent ability can follow tracks by smell, making a Wisdom (or Survival) check to find or follow a track. The typical DC for a fresh trail is 10 (no matter what kind of surface holds the scent). This DC increases or decreases depending on how strong the quarry's odor is, the number of creatures, and the age of the trail. For each hour that the trail is cold, the DC increases by 2. The ability otherwise follows the rules for the Track feat. Creatures tracking by scent ignore the effects of surface conditions and poor visibility.

The cloven hoofed Fey monarch Ebyron's smile is both indulgent and condescending. However, his handsome eyes cannot hide his awareness of the true odds.

"All this time," he begins, "I knew you'd cling to that crown. My dear Queen, did you think I would not anticipate this? Did you entertain the foolish notion that I would come meekly? Be your puppet?"

The satyr king gives a sharp stamp of a hoof. Nearby branches veer away fearfully, only to return, swooning, as he stretches wide his arms.

"See the power I have! See nature's love for me! You have neither the right, nor the strength to deny me!"

Ebyron turns slowly, his arms still outstretched, his fingers beckoning. Energy gathers at those fingertips - a wisp of flame, a tiny cloud of sand; drops of moisture and the tiniest, perfect little whirlwind. With such small gestures, the entirety of the Wold comes to rest - no wind, no rain, no fire, no tremors of the earth. The elements gather around their king, cloaking him in mist.

"You want me tame and compliant, my Queen?" comes his voice through the billowing cloud. "Then first, you must catch me."

The blast comes without warning, bringing with it a power that only Maab could withstand. Across continents, dwindling fires burst again to life, seas and lakes thrash, the earth shakes, and howling winds tear at all in their path. Fragments, each a mote of Fey light, an essence of Ebyron, burst from the cloud. Each piece of the Fey King is carried away by the elements.

In moments, it is over. But not before the Queen acts. Swiftly she gathers light into tiny, dazzling stars.

"Show me," she commands. On the heels of the fragments of Ebyron, the stars hurtle outward.

"You can't hide," she whispers. "Not from me. Now, show them. Let your own power betray you."

It takes seconds for each pin point of light to find its charge, to track it to the place at which it lands, and mark that spot in its the core of its memory. Once done, the motes of light withdraw, fly up into the air and converge ... on Plateau City.

Within the walls of the Cathedral of Light the Room of Artifacts suddenly bursts into life. Great risk was taken and noble lives given up to return Ebyron's orb to this place from a time gone by. Colors and shapes reflect on the walls as the Fey King's own power swells and grows outward, to betray him. The Orb becomes the great disc of the Wold and on it land the motes of light flickering here and there, scattered across the Land and marking the places where each piece of Ebyron has gone to ground.

Back in the Valley, the Fey Queen Maab uncurls her fingers and looks down into the palm of her hand. Three small acorns lie there, all three inscribed with a unique rune - REFORM, SLEEP, DIE.

"The choice you should have made, will now be left to others," she says, her voice tainted with a raw sadness. "Let the runes find those who will decide your fate. I have done all that I can. I can do no more."

The three acorns fall listlessly from her hand and from the Valley, they land onto Ebyron's Orb still stretched in the disc of the Wold. And it is the Wold that swallows them. And it is the Wold that spreads their power, to the far reaches, where the fragments of the Fey King hide.