When the last of the owlbears fell, a heavy sigh of relief escaped Dak’s lips and he pressed his shoulders against the cave wall at his back, allowing himself a moment to catch his breath and slow his racing heart. For a moment, there, I wasn’t sure that we were going to survive this, he chuffed to himself, his gaze flitting over the other members of the troupe and filling with concern as they settled on Ruadhri and Arathea’s battered and bloody forms, Sheilin smiled on us just in time, I think. His eyes met Isilmewen’s across the cave and he gave the woman a faint nod, a smile forming behind the scarf that still covered his nose and mouth when the sound of her laughter filled the cave…

((OOC: Dak knows Isilmewen well enough that he won’t be the one to ask why she’s laughing, but I imagine somebody else will.))

“We survive a full kinta of these creatures. Nald at once! How can I but laugh, seeing that we live. Is that not reason to rejoice?" Isilmewen replied when her laughter was questioned.

“Plenty of reason for me,” the halfling nodded, pushing away from the wall now that his breath was coming more evenly and his heart was no longer threatening to pound from his chest.

As the ranger made her rounds, offering an apology to Arathea and conferring with Rosariel about what use could be made of the monstrous corpses, Dak made a slow scrutinizing scan of their surroundings now that the frenzy of battle no longer obfuscated doing so… ((OOC: A check to determine if our little guy sees or hears anything of interest from his current position, please.))… Just as his searching gaze completed a circuit around the chamber, he found himself looking up into Isilmewen’s eyes, the grin on her face lighting them like a pair of amethysts.

“It seems fortune favors the bold, this time at least,” the ranger smiled before her own gaze flitted briefly about the chamber, “Think there’s anything else to find in this mess of a nest? Besides its former occupants, that is.”

“I was just wondering about that very thing, Lala,” he smiled back, finally pulling the scarf away from the lower half of his face, “It would be a shame if there wasn’t, I think, given the blood that was spilled in order to grant us a look, eh?” He waved a hand in the direction of the rest of the party where the clerics were tending to the wounded. “There is very little I can do to help with all of that,” he admitted, “but I can do something in the vein of poking about this fetid stinkhole and, perhaps, uncovering a bit of plunder to make our efforts worthwhile…”

As his rage filled him the hammer became light as a feather as he swung it and it cracked the ribs of the Owlbear and roared furiously while lunging out with his fist at the beast, hitting it right in the beak and making it shut up (not doing any actual damage, just in between actions stuff) before realing back to swing at it again but he was interrupted, as massive silk webs coated the floor and attempted to steal his hammer.

He ripped through the webs with ease and the webs yeilded his hammer but the Owlbear beat him to it, clawing him terribly in the chest but he reached forward with his arm to block its beak, which then sank deep into his forearm, he struggled to get free but failed so he swung his hammer again, audably crunching ribs but then its chew toy got much thicker and it looked up massive bull man now towering it but it still clamped down furiously, but this was no problem, Ruadhrí yanked his arm up, pulling the beast off its front legs before prying its beak from his arm and as it tried to get up and scr-SPLAT, boom as the Owlbear hit the ground immidietly as Ruadhrí hammer had planted its entire head in the beast's skull.

Ruadhrí ripped the weapon from the Owlbear skull, splattering most of its contents on him before stomping its head into the dirt and getting the rest of it on his foot before turning to face his other enemy, but as soon as he saw it talons ravaged into his stomach and he stumbled back and fell to his knees, Ruadhrí looked at his chest, his ribs were exposed and crumbs of his sternum fell out, but then he felt better and a blue light shined out of his chest, closing the skin around his ribs as he stood again and poked his intestines back into his stomach as they tried to leak out before the skin closed.

He saw two balls of energy then strike the creature and its flesh rended by increadible elegance, its screached out and reached forward with its claw which Ruadhrí barely had to move to dodge before bringing the warhammer back around hitting the beast with the tool war and a cry of unfiltered rage and it observed the warrior with its only eye - the other leaking out of its head - before falling to the ground.

Even though the battle had ended Ruadhrí still yelled and pried the last Owlbears mouth open and reached his into the beast, all the way down to his forearm before ripping it out covered in blood and a handful of gore he punched into the open skull cavity, he then picked up his hammer and tenderized the monsters head until it was nothing but i pile of gore and then he swung more, his screams of rage drowning out the rangers laughter and all other noise in his head.

Arathea moved with percision, preforming combat moves like a dancer would preform their art. Her blade swung through the air as she sung her song, it was almost entrancing, which didn't exactly come to her advantage. She felt not only the horrific grasps and attacks of the monster in front of her, but also the arrow from her ally cutting through her skin and wounding her. She didn't linger on it in the heat of battle however, especially as the beast in front of her grasped her and held her in a way where she had no ability to move. Arathea however would not let her song end in such a uninspiring way without some struggle, she kicked and she pushed, though to no avail. She took special care to not let her blade fall, even as she felt the light starting to drain from her eyes, she could not bring shame upon her weapon as long as she drew breath.

When the dust settled and the creatures were finally defeated Arathea took a moment to breathe, grateful for her companions prescence, even if their aim was not always spot on. She smiled at Mae'rel grateully as the modest cleric called upon her Goddess, feeling part of the burning pain in her body being relieved. "Thank you darling, I thought that might have been where my story ended admittedly." Arathea then turned her attention out to other affairs, watching in a mix of awe and anxiety as Ruadri continued to on gutting and goring the beasts. The worry that he may become more of a burden than an asset grew, though she understood she was no healer, let alone for trauma of the mind.

Arathea then turned her attention to the laughing ranger, at first thinking of questioning the joyous attitude but she decided to take it as a blessing that she took a more lighthearted approach to the situation, preferring that over the threat of getting crushed by a hammer. She bowed her head at the apology, appreciating the gesture. "No need to apologize my lady, I understand that percision can be lost in the heat of battle. I'm still here and you did make up for it by putting a stop to that creature before it well... gave me a rather inglorius ending." Arathea turned to look out at the carnage now, letting out a soft sigh as she did, at least it was over now. "I'm truly glad this is delt with now, I'd say we gather up and exit this wretched place before the smell makes me lose my innards anyways."

Arathea moved over to Rosarieal, placing her hand gently on the clerics shoulder before speaking. "I hope you're holding up well after this whole affair, you're aid is truly appreciated." Arathea chuckled a little before continuing, "It's good that you're not as awkward navigating battle as you are navigating conversation." Arathea let go of the clerics shoulder, with a friendly nudge. "I tease, I tease."

Rosariel forced herself to take deep breaths to slow her racing heart as she stepped away from Ruadhrí’s post-battle rage against the mutilated beast. While she hadn’t been the target of any of the abominations’ attacks, their warriors nearly lost their lives, the one pummeling the dead bodies before her seemingly standing only by the force of his own rage. As her heart settled and her breathing calmed, she reached once more into one of the pouches that hung across her chest, withdrawing a small, coarse but straight piece of iron. For now she kept it wrapped in her hand while she watched the bofear complete his own end-of-battle ritual.

Laughter starkly cut through the enchantment of the carnage before her, making her suddenly aware that the others might be too close to the wild creature, “Stay back for a moment, he warned us he could get out of control. Unless you have any harmless ability to assist in halting and calming him, better to keep space.”

Ruadhrí finally finished pummeling the carcass and Rosariel smashed the small piece of iron between her two palms as she spoke a prayer to Taudor Salka to once more help her calm her bofear ally. Her palms twisted in opposite directions, the metal twirling within her hands until she pulled them rapidly away from each other several inches apart. The iron floated parallel to the ground between her halfway curled hands, Rosariel waiting to complete the movement and the prayer until the right moment. The raging bull man reared a ferocious roar, filling every crack and crevice of this cave, and finally looked to where she stood only a few feet ahead of him, his eyes still filled with the hunt, his dripping warhammer still primed for a kill.

As their eyes met, Rosariel’s curled hands straightened and she quickly pressed her palms toward each other once again,  stopping with just an inch left, the iron piece flipping from parallel to the ground to perpendicular, standing as straight and rigid as her hands. With this she completed the last part of her incantation to the Huntress and Ruadhrí fell still once again.

((another Hold Person))

As the metal piece crumbled to the ground, consumed by the spell, Rosariel stepped slowly toward Ruadhrí, much as she had the day before. She released the spell the moment he had looked at her to ensure he knew where it was coming from, and in hopes that seeing his ally attempt to reach him once more would help bring him back.

She kept her palms up as she approached, now within arm’s length. Speaking low and calmly, placing her hand on his torn chest, “Ruadhrí, Ruadhrí, listen to my voice, come back now my friend. The fight is over, you can rest.” His heavy breathing still fueled by his rage, Rosariel closed her eyes and spoke to Taudor Salka, urging her to provide relief from the pain following his magnificent fight. Soft green lights that fluttered like fireflies floated down from Rosariel’s arm and against the injured bofear’s body, closing more of his torn flesh and providing the warmth of healing wounds.

((Cure Light Wounds))

“See?” She said, removing her hand and stepping away again, “It’s Rosariel, I am your friend, Ruadhrí. You are safe.” Maybe, she thought, hoping the others had at least confirmed this space was clear of any immediate danger, “You are here, with me, it is okay.”

((OOC: Planning on doing more, pending Octavia’s thoughts and Ruadhrí’s post-held responses. I have a couple more spells for healing available if you need them as well. Will update when I can.))

Rosariel finally took the deepest breath she had since the start of the fight, immediately regretting it. Now that the adrenaline from their fight and a possible incident with their beastly warrior had subsided, the rank of the cave flooded her mouth and nostrils once again.

The cleric finished choking on the thick, sickly air as their jovial ranger approached, “What do you think, huntress?" she asked, "If we drag them out, will we be able to make use of these creatures? I know I could try using their feathers for fletching, but would you have any insight on if their meat is safe?”

“Sorry, what are you saying?” Rosariel poured water from her waterskin and padded her face and neck with the refreshing liquid, Tubs greedily reaching for her palm as she pat the back of her neck in hopes of a post-battle snack, “The meat? Oh, no, do not eat it. They are unnatural beings. Whatever their meat was created from will make you sick.” She settled the waterskin back in its place and made sure to only breathe through her mouth for now.

“I think I am with you, I don’t condone unnecessary waste, but this may be one time it is necessary. I thought at first to offer these things to the wilderness, but I fear it would poison this forest just like it would poison you or me. Take what feathers you can, but I would like to burn these atrocities here and rid both ourselves and these woods of their burden.”

((OOC: assuming Isilmewen goes off to do her thang))

Rosariel spun her backpack to her front and flipped open the top to rummage through for her fire-starting equipment. They would likely want to clear out the cave before she began any ritualistic bonfires in the middle of the thing, but she didn’t want to waste any more time in this putrid place than was necessary.

A gentle hand on her shoulder drew her away from her search, and she found herself staring back into the blue eyes of their bladesinging warrior.

“I hope you're holding up well after this whole affair, your aid is truly appreciated."

Rosariel reached up to squeeze the comforting hand, “Thank you, I’m glad you are well, megilindir. I had intended to provide you more aid at the beginning, but our enraged, enlarged bull friend taking on two of those beasts drew me his way.” She stepped back and looked the Sylvari up and down, “Mae’rel seems to have provided more than enough support though it seems, I’m glad. I did not enjoy losing your song before the end of our fight.”

Arathea chuckled a little before continuing, "It's good that you're not as awkward navigating battle as you are navigating conversation."

An inescapable laugh fled her mouth for just a moment, “I am what?”

Arathea let go of the cleric's shoulder, with a friendly nudge. "I tease, I tease."

“Healing spells are complicated, megilindir, some consider them miracles,” she shrugged, “I’d hate to accidentally forget one in your most dire of needs.” She chuckled along with the singing warrior before returning to her rummaging.

Rosariel looked back to the fallen owlbears and sneered, eager to rid the world of the space they took from it. Her gaze rose and broadened, flittering over the expanse of this room. These things were the failed spawn of thoughtless wizards, negligent in their concern for their deadly experiments or even in cleaning up their own messes. Entitled, worthless lot. She wondered if the lout who had created this batch of monsters lingered near, observing their destructive creations.

Swinging her pack around again, she wandered around the cave room, careful not to stray too far, straining her senses for any sign that more of these owlbears or their creators may be near.

She belayed another volley, clearly unnecessary. The wet thunk of the bull’s warhammer squelched into the carcass, producing a few death tremors from the collapsed heap, but nothing more. The Bofear himself seemed a half step from that. A wonder he's still standing, even with the Lysoran. She eyed his wounds, angry red gouges amplified by his towering height and still being stretched and strained by the repeated hammer blows, apparently intended to reduce the owlbear’s skull to a wet smear on the cavern floor. Gore spattered onto the hem of her robe, prompting a hasty step backwards as Seleniniel realized she too was well within the hammer’s arc. Eyeing around, seeing no imminent danger beyond the Bofear himself, she dropped the enlarging spell, returning Ruadrhi to his normal (still-looming) size, and took another precautionary step back, just to be sure. She nearly backed over Rosariel as the huntress approached, speaking softly, barely audible over the repeated blows that thudded into the ironbrown soup of soil, blood, bone, and brain. Seleniniel glared at the back of her head, eyeing the wiggling lump in her hood with pointed disgust, but the huntress paid Seleniniel no mind, focused on the raging Bofear. As she tried to calm the beast, Seleneniel surveyed the others, realizing the bladesinger too had taken near-mortal wounds, one apparently from an arrow bearing the Laughing Maiden’s fletching. 

Seleniniel’s eyes narrowed as the ranger’s everpresent laughter echoed in the darkness. No doubt born from relief, but nevertheless the farthest impulse from Seleniniel’s. Still, she took a moment to herself, filling her lungs, holding the breath to try to calm her hammering heartrate. Er, atta, neld… releasing on the usual count. The calming signal released that flooding sense of relief that always accompanied an unscathed visit with death, along with the faint muscle tremors as she came down from the adrenaline. She suppressed the former and hid the latter, tucking her tremoring hand inside the robe–more from habit than pride. Perhaps the bladesinger should let the Cid scout next time. She toed a wet red hunk of meat–unsure whose–from her boots. We strolled into the chum with illuminated bait.

Her attention returned to the huntress, now clearly working some magic… or miracle, hmph. Nevertheless, Seleniniel studied her gestures with more interest than she cared to admit, watching the fingerswidth iron rod as it hovered between hands. As the huntress competed her incantation, the bull’s arms snapped to his side, whole body rigid, only his eyes remained wild.. nearly bulging from his head in panic or rage. A handy trap… suiting, for the hunter god. Rosariel was trying to sooth the Bofear but his eyes still sheened with madness… More from curiosity than pity, Seleniniel pulled her own small metal strip from a pocket–a thin band of copper, a finger’s joint long and hammered flat. She bent the ductile metal between index and midfinger, forming a half ring of sorts, then closed her eyes and manifested the somatic routine, whispering as quietly as she could, “lóme”.

((casts ESP, focusing on Ruadhri))

She was not prepared for the flood. Though she may not share the more parochial Sylvari xenophobias, she still expected from the bullman a primitive bloodlust, an undeveloped emotional governor, and little more. She saw, though, and felt. Shadow, smoke, flame, animalistic screams of panic and pain, the stink of death, buried fear masked by a protector’s determination, rage at his powerlessness to do so. All of it permeated with bonedeep sorrow and souldeep hate–well known sentiments to Seleniniel. Rosariel was not Rosariel. A looming human face, sneering and spattered with the blood of his tread. Unable to fly or fight, trapped in a waking nightmare…

Seleniniel wrenched her mind back. Ruadhri’s eyes careened wildly, nostrils flaring on the verge of hyperventilation, muscle fibers twitching under his skin, still held firm by the huntress. “Rosariel. Wait.” Seleniniel grabbed her arm, pulling her back from Ruadhri. Seleniniel sloughed her pack off and retrieved a small linen pouch from an outer pocket, unwrapping and retrieving a deep purple leaf. She chewed it vigorously for a moment, taking a small phial from her robe and expelled a viscous purple liquid, spitting the remnant of the leaf into the dirt. Her eye caught Dak’s as she moved toward Ruadhri, the expression on the Cid’s face a mix of curiosity, surprise, and then understanding that would have been humorous to anyone but Seleniniel. She levered the phial into the corner of Ruadrhi’s huge jaw and poured the liquid in. “If you can hear me, don't swallow, let it absorb.” Turning back to Rosariel, ignoring her putoff look and clear expectation of an explanation. “Give him a minute, then release him.” Seleniniel retrieved the linen pouch and hefted her pack back on, watching Ruadhri’s eyes for signs that he had returned. 

((The leaf is from a moonshade plant that Seleniniel often chews (and Dak apparently smokes in his pipe from time to time). It's not hallucinogenic, more for stilling and opening the mind, clarifying thoughts and reducing the background mental noise that someone like S (and Ruadhri) carries. She is hoping it will bring him back.))

((I'll let Octavia decide how to fight the internal battle, but assuming Ruadhri comes back and Rosariel releases him))

Seleniniel hands Ruadhri the linen pouch, half her supply. She doesn't make eye contact. “It helps.” She retreats back to her quiet, ignoring the curious looks from the rest.

"No need to apologize my lady, I understand that precision can be lost in the heat of battle. I'm still here and you did make up for it by putting a stop to that creature before it well... gave me a rather inglorius ending." Arathea had replied.

Isilmewen shook her head, "No, no no, if I slack off on apologizing where it's due, I'd never hear the end of it from my family, especially my brother," she gave a soft chuckle, before nodding in agreement at quitting the cave sooner than later, "These creatures' departure is bound to be investigated by scavengers. Most will be content to wait until we leave, but I'd rather not tempt the appearance of those that won't."

So one song concludes, hurt but triumphant. The other's song, however... Isilmewen thought as she looked towards where Rauhdri was, taken aback by their ferocity still on display, but listening to their vocalizations. Pained, and still fighting for life, even with the threat still and gone. The last thing you need right now is to be crowded, to feel cornered and even more threatened. I hope you'll be able to recognize us as allies, if not friends eventually.

~ ~ ~

“I think I am with you, I don’t condone unnecessary waste, but this may be one time it is necessary. I thought at first to offer these things to the wilderness, but I fear it would poison this forest just like it would poison you or me. Take what feathers you can, but I would like to burn these atrocities here and rid both ourselves and these woods of their burden.”

Isilmewen pondered at Rosariel's response a moment, before nodding, "We're of the same mind, then. If you think even the scavengers won't find sustenance from these things, then the best we can do is burn them, that their ashes may yet nourish the soil. I'll just be a moment, then."

Keeping her own distance respectfully as Rosariel and Seleniniel tried to ground Rauhdri's senses, Isilmewen drew her carving blade and began taking feathers from the owlbear by Arathea for use as possible fletching, while also retrieving the arrows or at least arrowheads for future reuse.

~ ~ ~

“but I can do something in the vein of poking about this fetid stinkhole and, perhaps, uncovering a bit of plunder to make our efforts worthwhile…”

Isilmewen tilted her head towards the Cidal, "We made far safer this breadth of the forest for its inhabitants, predator, prey or otherwise alike, to say nothing of those at or abound Hyanda Nost. I'd call that worthwhile..." she paused a moment, just long enough that she might seem completely serious, before she smiled, "I wouldn't say no if we do end up finding something else amidst this putrid mess, though."

I can but hope that if we do find any traveller's remains, Isilmewen thought as she cast her eyes around, if nothing else, perhaps we can give explanation to any persons missing, if any still look for them.

(not sure how well Isilmewen can do so, but she'll try to assist Dak's looking around. Perhaps even check for any unusual tracks at its entrance that indicates a clothed humanoid body was dragged in, or anything similarly out of place)

Seeing her Bofir ally being torn into by the vicious beasts, and the Bladesinger face extreme challenges, Mae'rel debated internally for a moment, before charging forth, no longer able to delay herself. The healer was faced with steep resistance, the cave being drenched in slick red metal, which coated seemingly every surface of the floor and the webs, which themselves made it extremely difficult to move forth, nearly catching her at several points. The Monk finally almost lost her footing for good when she tripped on a stump of Owlbear flesh, which made her realize just how massive and dense these beasts were. If she had to guess, they were no less than a ton a piece, and that was being generous on the weight of these massive creatures. She evaded both friendly fury, and the beast's beak as she sought to reach her comrade, and finally, she evaded a swipe from the massive claws of the monster, before laying hands on her ally, which she hoped would not turn too fiercely on her.

Narrowly avoiding a strike from the Owlbear's massive set of claws, Mae'rel reached out to Arathea and uttered the words, "Let my Lady nourish you, my friend. Your body is strong once again.", seeking to identify herself as an ally so as to avoid any instinctive swing in her direction. On the bright side, she was not struck intentionally, but on the downside, the Owlbear continued to rip into her ally, making it very difficult for her to sustain the warrior, even if she was strong, and Mae'rel herself a powerful cleric. Lady Lysora's magic was powerful yes, but it was not meant for a priest of her renown to use as a way to outpace a vicious beast's hunger.

Stepping back now, Mae'rel sought to reach the Bofir who she saw was being ripped apart by the Owlbears in a way that made it very difficult to reach her. As she began to make for Ruadhiri, she stopped when she saw The Huntress lay her hands on the Bofir, instead deciding to focus on keeping the Bladesinger alive despite the dire condition she was in. The Owlbear was unrelenting, crushing Arathea, and Mae'rel heard the crack of bones and saw blood seep viciously from open wounds. In a controlled environment, one she was used to, healing these wounds was slow, elegant, so as to not induce pain or rapid symptoms, but in an environment like this? There was no time, and so Mae'rel channeled The Blue Lady once more, and mended Arathea's wounds, and under her hands, she felt the bones crack and mend themselves, a feeling that made her stomach stir.

Finally an arrow soared through the air, and Mae'rel realized as Arathea hit the ground, that the battle was over. She stepped back, looking at the damage that had been done. Quickly she noticed the Bofir, and while his rage would be terrifying to most, Mae'rel was more concerned about what it would do to him, his anger, it wasn't natural. Perhaps he was afflicted with a great wound, mental, or perhaps he was much a beast himself, and his anger was just that, unnatural in the way of beast. But regardless, Mae'rel sought to help. That said, she didn't want to distract the Huntress, or interrupt her efforts, once she had begun trying to calm the man, and so, she instead turned to Arathea, offering a small bow when she thanked The Monk.

"Of course, my friend. The Blue Lady shall always mend you; as her hand, it is my duty. You need not thank me, I only ask you to include her in your prayers." Mae'rel responded, her voice soft as ever, despite the foul stench of the cave that seeped into her tastebuds, and the hastened breathing between her words.


Soon enough, Mae'rel found herself back at the Bladesinger's side, after the unusually polite warrior offered her thanks not just to her Clerics, but the rest of the party for their support. Mae'rel didn't have much adventuring experience, but she was certain this was odd, that this wasn't normal, and in Her Lady's name, even the other warrior of their party didn't do these things. She had heard whispers of the Bladesingers, but Mae'rel didn't grow up in The Empire, and spoke Sylvari, this was true, but she wasn't as educated on the culture. Finally, she decided she would inquire more, and so as the Ranger and Huntress discussed what to do with the bodies of these creatures, Mae'rel spoke to the Bladesinger.

"Forgive me for my ignorance, Madam Arathea. I must admit though, I am curious. I was not raised in the lands of The Empire, though my accent I'm sure betrays this, and as such, I am not very familiar with your type of warrior creed. You never part ways with your blade, you dance through a battle instead of using more brute methods, and even under extreme agony, such as facing that monster's claws, you keep an unquestionable level head. I must ask, Madam Arathea, why do you do these things? And why have you chosen the path of such a creed?"

As Isilmewen wandered the cave, taking care in her step as she examined the ground for any other steps she could identify, her expression turned oddly serious when she saw them. The imprints of deliberate steps, taken in an owlbear cave?

"We're not the only ones to have entered here on foot," Isilmewen spoke, putting voice to her thoughts as she worked through them.

"They're scattered, but unrushed, I can't put a time frame to the when on this firm and sheltered ground," she continued, moving from set to set as she found more samples, "Prints from multiple trips, that's the only way to explain the lack of a pattern. They're... Calm. Far too calm."

Isilmewen stopped at a print, perhaps the best impression she had found of the set, "Shape, size... Suggests Sylvari. A Sylvari here, several times, calm, the owlbears ignored them ... Why?"

Her gaze turned to the corpses of the owlbears themselves, a burning question nagging at the back of her mind, "This is a nest, and yet..." she returned to the huntress, "Rosariel... Do these creatures have a tendency to eat even their young?" she couldn't help but hope that explained the absence of such.

(tag Rosariel ) 

"Then the only explanation that remains is..." Isilmewen grit her teeth. It was one thing if these creatures had, by happenstance, found shelter and made an unfortunate home here. It was quite another if it was premeditated.

"Someone bred these creatures, and claimed their eggs."

When the din of battle and Ruahdri’s raging bellows died down, Dak and Isilmewen focused their efforts on a thorough and, at times, rather unsanitary search of the den. The pair’s exploration wasn’t entirely fruitless – yielding up a rather common knife, a decent stack of silver coin, an agate that might fetch a fair price, and a finely-worked silver necklace from which hung a pendant with a stunning ruby set in its center – but the haul was far from a fortune. After a hurried rinsing of the treasure with a few squeezes of his waterskin, the Cid relegated the lasser to a pouch on his belt, tucked the knife away in his pack, and gave the gems a more scrutinizing inspection…

“Fine quality, these,” he mused aloud, poking the jewels around in the palm of his hand, “both likely to fetch a decent payout from their sale or…” he squinted at the back of the pendant, noticing the inscription, “…from their return to those from whom they were lost, eh?” He held the thing aloft and read the etched script; “‘For my beloved.’ Certainly some sentimental value attached to this one above and beyond just the craftsmanship and the worth of the stone. Doubtful that it’s enchanted seeing as its wearer ended up supper for these beasts but, should any of you more magically inclined folk care to inspect it for such a thing…”

((OOC: Anyone want to try a detect magic or some such? If so, Dak will offer the thing up for that purpose. If not, both the agate and the necklace will disappear into his pouch.))

With the valuables sorted and stored, the halfling embarked on an inspection of the cave itself which resulted in finding nothing more than a single, dwindling and unused passage leading from the main chamber and into nothing. He returned from his foray into that tunnel to find Isilmewen studying some tracks in the hardpack of the cave floor; her expression curious if not concerned. “Something of interest, Lala,” he queried.

“We're not the only ones to have entered here on foot,” the flame-haired ranger answered, causing the Cid to raise a brow.

“They're scattered, but unrushed, I can't put a time frame to the when on this firm and sheltered ground,” she continued, moving from set to set with an interested Dak at her heels, “Prints from multiple trips, that's the only way to explain the lack of a pattern. They're... Calm. Far too calm.”

The wizard responsible for their making, perhaps? He wondered, not bothering to give voice to the question as Isilmewen went on with her observations and deductions.

When the ranger asked for Rosariel’s input on the matter of owlbears eating their young and the response came back in the negative… ((I assume))… “Then the only explanation that remains is” the terse expression that laid claim to Isilmewen’s features sent a portentous chill down the halfling’s spine, “Someone bred these creatures, and claimed their eggs.”

“On purpose?!” Dak scowled, chasing his thought as to why someone might do such a thing. “For what mad reason?”

Arathea chuckled at Rosariel's response, offering a flap of her hand and a false scoff. "Oh the clergy, tsk tsk." But outside of teasing and playful banter, Arathea saw the struggle with Ruadhri, she saw the bofear break and cry out and agonize. She saw Rosariel and Seleniniel struggle with him, work with to try to calm his mind. Arathea had some experience with soldiers left in shock by the effects of battle, on one mission hunting enemies of the crown she spoke with other... less prepared forces who were recovering from an ambush. When she camped with them she heard men waking up in the middle of the night to scream and cry, only to realize they had simply had a nightmare. "A beastly rage or something more complicated, either way it will strike terror into our foes. But if it's not only foes he targets..." Arathea's thoughts trailed off as she pondered her partners afflication.


Arathea's trail of thought was broken by the lady in the mask, the one who had been oh so quiet. She smiled at Mae'rel, offering a respectful nod before beggining what she knew would be a long speech, she always was excited whenever the history of her order was brought up. "Well darling my order is ancient, it goes back generation after generation. We Megilindar are keepers Yaara'menie, ancient traditions that others in our great nation have forgotten. We have served Sylvaria and it's crown throughout her great struggles, during the great war against the human kingdoms we didn't just desperately hold onto territory. We always took the fight to our enemies, we always charged in for the glory of our people, we always made the greatest sacrifices so Sylvaria could live in peace. We are not just soldiers, we are the right hand of Her Majesty, we protect her honour and enact her will."  Arathea paused, thinking of her home Sillarion, envisioning the grand palaces and ancient constructions. "As for the traditions? The song puts us in a trance, we go into a deep focus. Time slows and we get the space to calculate our every move, it's a form of magic itself really, and it takes us decades to master. We don't use brute force, we practice a series of steps in combat that to you may look like a dance, but I assure you it is very lethal. We don't allow our blades to touch the ground due to the fact it dishonours them, they are ancient and they must be protected, no exceptions. The traditions must be upheld, there are no exceptions about it."

Her voice held strong conviction as she spoke and explained her order, this was her entire life, her reason to exist. Being a Bladesinger was all Arathea knew, and it's ancient traditions and rules mattered more to her than almost anything else in her life. "I show this path because my father serves the nation, today he is a prestigious and famed erestor. If in your short time in the empire you've heard people complaining of 'flacid pacifists' and other such things, he is one of the leaders of that force in politics. But before he became a politician he served in our military, when I was a little girl he told stories of how the Bladesingers were the greatest soldiers in all Sylvaria. The tales captivated me, I made the decision to attempt join the order, and in the greatest blessing of my existence they decided to train me. I learned almost everything I know during that training, history, art, diplomacy, and of course the way to properly wage warfare." By the time Arathea had finished there was something sentimental in her eyes, something deeper than just talks of history or warfare. Her lips were in a soft, content smile. "What brought you to the Blue Lady if I may ask darling? You must share a devotion close in depth to my own, I am curious of your story."


Outside of personal business there was an urgent manner to attend to, outside the sting of death and few valuables in this cave there were footprints, Sylvari footprints. Upon hearing of them and taking a moment to examine them Arathea sighed, this was not over yet. "What was it said about mad mages yesterday?" She turned her attention to the wizard within their own party, placing a hand on her shoulder to catch her attention. "Seleniniel, do you know anything of the magic or power required to creat these walking atrocities?"

She studied the Bofear silently, brow furrowed. Slowly, his pupils appeared to regain focus, popping veins receded into the thin fur of his neck, grip on the warhammer slackened, breathing slowed. Rosariel too seemed to recognize he was back, releasing the spell. His ramrod straight spine returned to a more natural posture, shoulders and neck moving, rolling tension away. 

((Will leave space for any responses))

Satisfied that Ruadhri wasn't a danger to himself or others, Seleniniel turned her attention to the others, apparently having now sifted through the cave’s detritus. The Cid was pawing a glittering pendant, clearly about to squirrel it away. 

“Fine quality, these, both likely to fetch a decent payout from their sale or… from their return to those from whom they were lost, eh?”

Hmph, to be pawned at the earliest settlement for drinking money, no doubt. 

“Doubtful that it’s enchanted seeing as its wearer ended up supper for these beasts but, should any of you more magically inclined folk care to inspect it for such a thing…”

She took a step toward him, studying the ruby slowly rotating at the end of the silver chain. “Mayhaps it’s no boon, Master Whisperfoot” fixing him with a severe look tinged with the mockery evertwinkling in his eyes, “I’d hate for you to fall victim to a curse beyond my modest abilities to remedy.” She bent toward him, slowly pulling the silver chain up, examining the ruby. Useful focus, if nothing else. She flipped it over, noting the inscription. Hmph. Sentimental bulls***. Closing her palm around it, eyes too, she mutters a few meaningless words, opening her eyes after a few seconds, focusing back on the Cid. “Definitely magical… but I’ll need to study it without these...” nodding at the carrion cave “distractions to discover its purpose.” One corner of her compressed mouth quirks up, ever so slightly, as she gently tugs the chain from his grasp, and the  pendant and hand disappear into the charcoal robe. “Best if I keep it safe, for now, Master Whisperfoot.” Her hand emerges and pats the robe, raising an eyebrow to the Cid, as if inviting him to object. 

((She will probably not react Dak’s objections or quips, if any, but you never know))

She turns her attention toward the efervescent ranger, voice quite serious at the moment. The ranger continues, now with Seleniniel’s and Dak’s full attention: "Then the only explanation that remains is . . . someone bred these creatures, and claimed their eggs." 

“On purpose?!” “For what mad reason?” The Cid exclaims.

The same as always, because they can. The bladesinger too is listening with her usual earnestness.

"Seleniniel, do you know anything of the magic or power required to create these walking atrocities?"

Seleniniel takes a moment to consider the dead hulks, hand subconsciously drifting into a somatic routine as she concentrates. Whoever or whatever created this is well beyond my abilities. Looks to be something the Oak might be able to produce, but excommunication would be the least of punishments for something so twisted and perverse... Aikinaro. Also strikes me as something the Bones might tinker with, but to let it loose on the world…

Eventually.. “anyone who made these” she kicks the closest feathered paw “is not someone I'd tangle with lightly.” “That said” she locks eyes with Arathea, “I'll not argue that Alloryen would be better off without such as that.” An eyebrow arcs, putting the unasked question to their brave bladesinger– if her nerve remained after her recent visit to death’s door.

Once Arathea had finished her explanation, Mae'rel offered a smile. "Thank you for all your explanations, Madam Arathea, though I must admit I still have a few questions, I suppose it's only fair you ask a few in return?" 

"What brought you to the Blue Lady if I may ask darling? You must share a devotion close in depth to my own, I am curious of your story." The Bladesinger questioned, and Mae'rel supposed she could offer an answer, though for now, she would keep the full details limited.

"When I was a young girl, plague came down on my town. Viciously. My family, what little I had, was destroyed, and I was left to die, as the clergy would rather have healed the rich. I met a man, who aided me and guided me. He was part of an order of Monks, like myself, who were sworn to help those not as fortunate. We often work closely with the Clergy of Falloes if we see them for that reason. Anyhow, he traveled alone, but he was looking for an apprentice, and so I joined him after he had showed me the way of Lysora. She was there, and so was he, for me, when I had no one else, when it was all gone." Mae'rel paused, hesitating for a moment, "And admittedly, I've committed many sins in my life. My Lady offered me forgiveness. A new beginning. So I took it to serve her."

The cave stunk, viciously. At first, her lavender mask prevented the disgusting smell from being so unbearable but now it induced gags. It reminded her of the cleanup duty she used to have back at home. Bodies sometimes didn't smell too bad, they were fresh, stiff, and troublesome to move, but often, it was days or even weeks after death, and she would find herself reeking no matter how hard she scrubbed. She still disgusted herself, the fact that she could ever hurt other people, even take their own lives, and yet, The Blue Lady would be benevolent enough to give her another chance. She would never question her Goddess. And yet, sometimes she wondered if she deserved that chance.

In sort, the stink of death was not a welcome familiarity. 

As they reached the core of the cave, Mae'rel found herself avoiding the various bones which were certainly human or demi-human, instead leaving that particular duty to those who were less disturbed by such a thing. That said, she found it peculiar that there were no young in the cave at all. She didn't know much about Owlbears, but she thought they reproduced often enough they should have found something, especially for this many, when they normally travelled mostly alone according to legend she'd heard. Four Owlbears and no young was strange.. and then she saw the footprints.

“Someone bred these creatures, and claimed their eggs.” their ranger stated. "Is it possible this could have been for wealth? Do Owlbears have any kind of valuable hide, or something the rich may view as a luxury?" Mae'rel inquired, hoping to understand the motivation of this clearly deluded Sylvari responsible for this.