Ba-seldarine coward, acidly, as the hunched summoner disappeared in an emerald flash on the heels of that mocking salutation. She channeled her frustration into the still-simmering sphere, willing it to consume the sinewy web with an annoyed flick of her wrist. Ruadhri made quick work of what remained of the ensnared owlbear, bringing the hilltop glen to an eerie silence–abrupt punctuation to another scrape with death. 

Seleniniel scanned the clearing, checking the butcher’s bill.. adrenaline spiked for a moment at the still-twitching legs of the swollen insects, then relaxed, eyes moved on, hand shielding against the sun as she scanned the treeline for more of the conjurer’s playthings. Wind whipped their leaves into a frenzy, wildly kinetic dance mockingly juxtaposed to the now-sluggish figures ringed within the circle of dancing branches–figures slowly recomposing, stitching themselves back together… as always in such aftermaths. The blackwings remained, now silently watching, but no more. 

Satisfied, she turned to the half-burnt ring of fungi–apparently imbued to whisk their master who-knows-how-many leagues. Aikinaro. All that for nothing. She studied the ring, turned to look over her shoulder at the others, quietly conversing, subdued after such a pyrrhic victory.. if even that. Seleniniel felt.. something akin to sympathy for Arathea’s loss, but now was not the time, nor she the type, to indulge the bladesinger’s self pity.. or loathing. This haun needed to be put down, or they’d wasted time, distance.. loss.. for nothing. He would rebuild, resurrect, repoison the woods they’d so nobly, or foolishly, sought to rid of his taint… Sarigraamin. This is not the end. Impulsively, she took an exaggerated step into the ring, hiking her robehem over the mushrooms, subconsciously holding her breath in anticipation. 

Nothing. Exhale. A look over her shoulder, eyes narrowing in Isilmewen’s direction, but for once, saw no merriment in those eyes–sorrow and sympathy instead, apparently meant for Arathea. She was not the only one. Seleniniel sighed. What a gods damned disaster. She did not join them. She knew of the bladesingers’ bond. Arathea had lost a part of herself today. Seleniniel looked down at her arm… the left.. mentally flexed fingers lost more than a century past, embracing the phantom pain. Nothing she could say would help Arathea… Today, at least. 

Content to wait, Seleniniel sat cross leg in the grass in the center of the circle. She shook her robe sleeve down over her hand, careful to avoid skin contact as she plucked one of the overlarge purple and green mushrooms from the earth, grasping at its base to wrench as much of it loose as she could manage. It left a smear of ash on her robe sleeve as she deposited it into one of her inner robe pockets for later... use. You never know. She then began trying to discern what, if any, magical residual the old syl had left in this pocket of the forest. 

[[begins to cast Detect Magic, focusing on the mushroom ring first but then scanning around to see if there's anything else that might help tracking this guy down]]

The mood around the camp was decidedly sullen if not altogether dismal. Even Isilmewen, whom Dak could always depend on for a laugh, seemed in dour temper and the halfling found that more than a little unsettling. It was understandable, of course, considering Arathea’s perceived dishonoring of her blade and the disturbing nature of the mycelian infection that afflicted Ruadhri’s wounds, but for there not to have been so much as a single quip made to provide a flicker of hopeful light in the post-battle gloom…

This seems more unnatural than even the mad cleric and his minions, he chuffed to himself as he hunkered down at the edge of their meager fire and lit his pipe, Even a bit of condescending snark from Seleniniel wouldn’t be entirely unwelcome, just now… He allowed himself a faint chuckle at the unspoken jape – the gust of it blowing a ring of smoke past his lips which briefly framed the one-handed mage – but it, too, was far from mirthful. The pervading pall, it seemed, was quickly steeping into even his bones.

Puffing away on his pipe, Dak reclined against his pack and set his gaze to wandering about the site. It settled, first, on where Rosariel and Mae’rel hovered about the bofear, tending those wounds that even the blessings of the Huntress and the Blue Lady seemed unable to mend, and discussing other treatments which might counter the creeping fungal affliction. They spoke of herbs and poultices and other things that were beyond the little Cidal’s ken, though he did listen for a time, at least, until Isilmewen offered her aid in foraging for some of the components the clerics had mentioned. “Sheilin smile on you, Lala,” he said, offering her an encouraging nod and appreciative smile as the ranger gathered her things to set off on that endeavor. “I’d offer to come with you, but I haven’t the faintest inkling as to what I’d be looking for,” he added before she slipped out of the fire’s light and into the penumbra between the trees, “The only thing I might provide is company, I’m afraid.”

((OOC: Anything or nothing here as Rer (or anyone else) sees fit. Replies and/or reactions can be addressed in follow-up posts as needed.))

Clenching the stem of his pipe between his teeth, Dak leaned forward, took up a stick, and stoked the fire with it before adding it to the flames. When his eyes lifted from that task, they fell upon the bladesinger where she sat brooding, the sword loaned to her by Isilmewen resting across her knees, and the one she had ‘lost,’ still wrapped in the shroud Mae’rel had provided it, lying nearby, little more than arms reach away. She bears her misery well, he thought, watching as Arathea cast a melancholy glance at the bundled blade before refocusing her attention on attuning herself with the borrowed one, Outwardly, at least, she doesn’t wallow in it. He would have given a handful of silvers for a glimpse at her inward thoughts, though, if only to see just how much of the swordsmistress’ stoicism was but a mask. He’d have doubled that handful, too, if he could find his way to any words that might assuage her grief, but Dak had a feeling that all the silver in Antaron would buy such a thing right now.

He hid a discouraged sigh behind the façade of blowing another ring of pipe smoke into the air and forced his gaze to travel on. It settled, of course, on Seleniniel where she sat, huddled in her charcoal-colored robes, her stern visage shifting only occasionally as she mulled over whatever dark musings might be snaking through her mind. “You’re unusually quiet, tonight, Mistress Isil’nari,” he observed, a wry smirk forming around the stem of his pipe, “Not that you are terribly verbose most times, of course, but it has been hours since you’ve cast so much as a disapproving scowl my way. I’m beginning to feel invisible. A copper for your thoughts?”

((OOC: Again... anything or nothing, here. Just figured I'd get the ball rolling, so to speak. I made a few assumptions while writing this out, so if I need to edit or adjust anything, feel free to let me know.))

Mae'rel had dealt with fungal infections in the past. While it was true that a Cure Wounds spell did not heal these 'infections', getting rid of them was often quite simple. A combination of local herbs, salt, and heat would do the trick almost always, and when it did not, Master Ignacio used a greater miracle in order to cure them. Fungus were fascinating at the least, more similar to animals then they were to most plants, but they functioned different from both. She had always been interested in them, as many types were useful in healing, or at least, in health. Something like this though, she had never seen before. Most fungus couldn't survive in the body and if they could, the immune system kept them at bay, and a quick fever would kill them.

She contemplated her options. The location meant that, even desperate, amputation wouldn't work. The nearest cleric which could heal something like this also was likely too far if it was to keep progressing. The thought of a fully-controlled barbaric bull didn't exactly sit well either.. The best bet would be to cauterize the wound aggressively, and admittedly, painfully. Follow up with a generous application of salt, and a medical poulitice made from local plants. Keeping him in the sun or heat as much as possible after that would hopefully reduce the effects, slow the growth, or even kill the fungus until they could reach a cleric, if they hadn't been able to fully handle it.

"Madam Isilmewen. I do not know these lands as you do, but if I'm to slow this growth, I will need plants. I'm not certain, as I said, of what grows here, but I first will need either garlic, 'Ignixavo', or Shineleaves as a base. I'll also need common river moss, 'Eyndra' , 'Feyilux', and 'Naelinda'. If some of those aren't local, I can provide substitutes. Is this in your skillset to find?"

(OOC: Assuming our fair lady will find them, Mae'rel will provide substitutes if some of them aren't local.)

"My thanks. Ruadhiri, I'll need to cauterize the wound in order to slow, possibly even kill the fungus, then salt it. I'm not certain, your people have the phrase, but 'putting salt in a wound' is based in truth. This will hurt, though I trust your strength will not be thrwarted by myself and a bit of heat?" She offered a gentle laugh, the first she had actually made since she had joined this group, at least in their presence, hoping to bring the mood up.

(OOC: Assuming Ruadhiri accepts)

"Very well. Here, I'll attend to Madam Arathea. In the meanwhile, I suggest you should prepare. When our Ranger returns, we'll purge that blight from your wounds." Mae'rel vowed, before deciding it would be worthwhile to check in on their bladesinger, who was likely struggling still with her own wounds, which were also no doubt, difficult to heal.

"Your skill with a blade is quite something, Madam Arathea." She started, before contemplating her words, deciding that was perhaps not the best route of conversation. "I'm not sure.. if they have time for such things in the Royal Houses, but.. something that often helps me clear my mind is to look up at the Heavens. The stars. To think back on the good I have accomplished, rather then to think on my failures."