As she waited for the bladesinger to decide–whether to hunt further or continue on their way–the huntress and cleric turned their conversation her way: “Seleninel,” Rosariel called, “Do you know much about this field of magic? The creation of things like these? Do you have any thoughts on why a mage would want to take these thing’s babies?”

Violence, clearly. She tilted her head toward Roasariel, “I prefer more… direct… forms of magic.” “These things seem unlikely to take direction . . . more for sowing chaos.” She looks contemplatively at the humanoid footprints. “That said, they are surely more valuable alive than piecemealed. Yet, such a pet would draw attention–for maker and owner alike.” Nodding at the splayed owlbear, “tamed or not, this is not everyday magic.” After another moment’s consideration, “such an auspicious mage would tend to draw attention regardless of such… questionable interests.” “Yet I’ve no knowledge of such a mage in these parts.” Her slate grey eyes return to the huntress’s. “Further evidence that they are not someone to cross without good reason.” Judging from Rosariel’s look, the existence of these creatures was reason enough. For her own reasons, Seleniniel was inclined to agree, yet she had spoken more than she cared to already.

Seleniniel looked back to the bladesinger, still listening contemplatively. She shrugs, “either way, it seems we’re done here.” Seleniniel follows Ruadhri from the cave, welcoming the warmth of the mid-morning sun and fresh air of Alloryen to the stink of rotting meat. 

I watch the massive bird fly down and look at how tall Dak is. We found Dak's new best friend Ruadhrí chuckles at his own joke before the raven begins a loud group of caws and Ruadhrí unclips his warhammer and moves up. Before he can tenderize this messenger of the dead it flies away.

"We should have killed it. Letting it run will only bring us problems" Ruaghrí squints at the now distant bird "The sindrians use scout crows, this could be something simular. Especialy if this person can tame Owlbears" Ruadhrí contemplates pulling out his sling before sense gets the better of him and he puts it away.

I turn to the rangers "Do you think you could hit it from here?" I question and gesture at the retreating crow. Ruadhrí turns to watch the bird no matter their answer and see what direction its heading as its onyx feathers glisten in the day light, another thing that confuses Ruadhrí as ravens are crepuscular

Quitting the cave was simple enough with investigation as complete as was possible. Isilmewen was full glad to be outside again, breathing deep of the fresh air to cleanse the unsavory smells from the owlbear den from her lungs. Every time she set foot outside dwelling, whether animal, Syl or otherwise, that first breath was always a reminder of the freedom offered by the wild.

After taking that moment to feel, Isilmewen's gaze turned to the ground. Amidst all the foot traffic, the group's included, it was a bit tricky to isolate the prints she was after.

"It's definitely been some time since they were here last," Isilmewen spoke as she looked around the nearby grounds, "For a blessing, that does mean that it's likely been long enough that they've no reason to suspect pursuit. But at the same time, that also means following will be harder. Rosariel, see anything amiss?"

[possible tag: Rosariel]

Between both their efforts, Isilmewen picked back up the trail, and honed in on the path. Isilmewen even took to following the footprints with her own, partially measuring the gait against her own, and partly because...

"This feels familiar," Isilmewen noted after a while of tracking, "In the sense that if I were traveling alone, I'd take similar footings. Whoever it is, they're no stranger to walking softly amidst the forest, even when alone."

[tag: Rosariel to point out that they're not alone because bear prints ] 

Isilmewen blinked at that, a sheepish look crossing her face as her focus didn't let her register the other prints as aligning. Now that her attention was brought to them, she quickly stepped over to examine them. She frowned a bit, "I'm not sure they're just bears," she mused.

"And they travel alongside them freely," Isilmewen didn't need to say more to know the others would pick up on how bizarre that was. 

For her own thoughts, she had to wonder, what did it take for an owlbear to accept a humanoid in such a way? Did they borrow the same scent, perhaps a manner of appearance as borrowing their feathers in their attire?

Many questions continued to fill Isilmewen's mind even as she helped the others with identifying a suitable location and setting up camp.

(a before-camp post, will add a camp and/or post-camp post as appropriate) 

The sun dappled through the canopy on the second day of their hunt–well, what had started as a hunt. Blood now cooled, the woodswomen muttered and tracked, consulting each other and the dirt, then onward again until some bootprint revealed some hint that, to her, simply meant more walking. For Seleniniel the hunt had long since devolved into another mundane march, the drudgery of which she escaped into her thoughts… They say these things are solitary, yet these aren’t–neither among their own or with this syl they apparently tolerate. They say they don’t linger long in one place… yet these clearly did. There’s an answer here… Magically wrought.. but.. from whole cloth? Could these be cursed souls bound to the form by some singular magic.. Hmm. Residual sentience might explain this. Or perhaps just beasts imprinted with their master’s will. She chewed at a frond from her satchel, juice long extracted. Even without the chemical clarity, it helped her focus as she chewed the thought too. Lycanthropy seems unlikely… but.. possible. Sarigraamin. If some new breed of shapeshifters is loose in Alloryen we’re  walking into more trouble than we’ve bargained for. She eyed the others, assessing their strength, as she often did, to her dissatisfaction. We need more firepower. Her gaze eventually settled on Ruadhri. He contentedly plodded along, occasionally offering a good natured comment to the Cid, but his hand was never far from the hammer. The Cid, too, traded quips but she noticed his eyes stayed on the treeline just beyond the narrow forest path. 

She saw his reaction to it before the bird itself. As the massive black dulin descended to leer at them with its unnaturally keen stare, then departed as abruptly in a squawk that sounded more ominous warning than mindless trill, her hand and mind began to form the gesture to blast the godsdamned thing from the sky, but too quickly it was gone behind the leafy woodland canopy. Ruadhri echoed her thoughts: “We should have killed it. Letting it run will only bring us problems.” She tried to catch another glimpse, but quickly realized the futility, though she curiously waited to see if either of the rangers’ skill… or hubris.. extended to blindly sending an arrow to pluck it from the sky. 

She turned to the bladesinger, watching too through furrowed brows. “I’d suggest we proceed as if whatever we’re hunting knows we’re here… I’m no tactician, but we’re in unknown territory facing an unknown foe.” “Perhaps let the Cid scout this time.” Seleniniel punctuated the last with a raised eyebrow, aimed at Dak, whose attention turned earthward having heard his mention.

[tag Dak and Arathea]

The conversation the clergy gathered from eavesdropping, even if unintentional, did not please her at all. Sylvari traveling into an Owlbear den made her think a couple things, but she still gave them the benefit of the doubt, hoping for an explanation. Sylvari openly traveling alongside the most vicious of creatures had far little explanation. Mae'rel was left with but one conclusion to draw, this person, whoever they were, was a wizard, who was almost certainly practicing magic in a way that was unfavorable to others. It seemed they had created these owlbears on purpose if they traveled into their nest, and alongside them.

The night was uneventful. Though she unconsciously found her way to the bladesinger once more by the campfire, offering a couple words. It was best if she formed an alliance with her allies, after all. "So what do you think, Madam Arathea? Surely this individual's intentions must be.. subpar to travel alongside an owlbear on purpose. At the least.. they're foolish and lucky. At the most.. they're breeding vicious beasts for some unclear reason."

[tag Arathea]

Mae'rel was no stranger to ravens and other black-feathered birds. Ravens were often treated as wicked, evil creatures, but the Monk knew better. Ravens were actually quite smart, cooperative, and compassionate creatures, as far as creatures went. She had a pet raven at a point, if it could even be called a pet. Though she had to admit, the behavior of this raven was strange, even for an intelligent bird. This failed to account for the bird's enormous size, and while it wasn't quite unnatural perhaps by a mage's definition, Mae'rel figured there must have been some tampering due to it's size.

"I’d suggest we proceed as if whatever we’re hunting knows we’re here… I’m no tactician, but we’re in unknown territory facing an unknown foe.” “Perhaps let the Cid scout this time.” The Mage said, and Mae'rel found herself agreeing with a silent nod. Her experience was limited, but she knew at this point, something was certainly off, between the Raven, the tracks, and the Owlbears.

In the owlbear’s den

It was hardly a surprise that, at his offer for one of the magic users in the party to inspect the amulet, it was Seleniniel who stepped forward and offered her austere estimation. “Mayhaps it’s no boon, Master Whisperfoot,” she glowered as she bent over him and scrutinized the trinket, “I’d hate for you to fall victim to a curse beyond my modest abilities to remedy.”

“I’m sure you would,” Dak replied from behind a dubious smirk as the wizard palmed the thing and played at assessing its arcane properties.

“Definitely magical,” she announced after the gibberish spell fell from her lips and her eyes opened, “but I’ll need to study it without these...” nodding at the carrion cave “…distractions to discover its purpose.” The Syl woman’s tight lips twitched up into some semblance of a smile (or, more aptly, a sneer) and, with a gentle tug, relieved him of the pendant to secret it away in her robes. “Best if I keep it safe, for now, Master Whisperfoot.”

“But of course, Mistress Isil’nari,” the Shawlin shrugged, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he lifted a brow to match hers, “Far safer with you than me should it truly be cursed, hmm?” Besides, he mused, giving a curt wave of his hand and letting his attentions drift back to the others as discussion of the owlbears and their creator/keeper continued, should I want or need it returned at some point, it’s not as if it would be too difficult to just ferret it back into my own pocket.

Once the conversations and conclusions came to an end, leaving Dak with a plethora of ideas and insights to muddle over on the next leg of their march, the troupe put the cave to their backs and dogged the tracks of the enigmatic Syl who had apparently walked among and with the monsters for quite some time. As they travelled, following Isilmewen and Rosariel in their trailing of the sporadic prints, the little thief maintained a scrutinous eye on their periphery, watching for signs of trouble more distant than the footprints they followed. No such worries assailed the party for the remainder of the march, though, and, while there was an underlying air of tension and disquiet around their camp that night, the sun rose on them the next morning with little having transpired aside from some fretful sleep.

Back on the trail

Having broken camp and set back out in pursuit of those mysterious tracks, it seemed, at first, that the start of this day would pass much like the end of the last. That presumption was quickly quashed though when the serenity of the woodland was sundered by the ominous beating of great black wings. Dak’s gaze lifted skyward and watched as an enormous raven plummeted through the canopy and settled itself imperiously on the path ahead of them. “Keithee’s nuts,” the Cid muttered as the bird’s head cocked to one side and fixed the group with an evaluating obsidian gaze, “That thing’s nearly as tall as I am… No ordinary dulin, that… ” His staff dipped to scoop a stone from the trail and into the sling. Before he could line up a shot and let the bullet fly, however, the raven squawked out a series of cacophonous caws and took flight northward, vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared.

“We should have killed it,” Ruadhri rumbled as the ebon-feathered bird disappeared into the forest’s shadows, “Letting it run will only bring us problems…”

“Problems are one thing we have in surplus,” Dak agreed, slinging the stone in the direction of the raven’s retreat, knowing it was unlikely to hit anything but a tree or the forest floor.

“…The Sendrians use scout crows,” the man-bull continued, “this could be something similar. Especially if this person can tame owlbears.”

“I’d suggest we proceed as if whatever we’re hunting knows we’re here,” Seleniniel interjected, drawing Dak’s gaze from the distant trees into which the bird had vanished, “I’m no tactician, but we’re in unknown territory facing an unknown foe. Perhaps let the Cid scout this time.”

“As if I’m more suited to tracking in these environs than Lala or Rosariel, there,” Dak returned, gesturing to the ranger and the huntress and quirking a brow of his own at the wizard, “Though, I suppose, if the thing snatches me up, the rest of you can follow my screams to wherever it takes me.” When the masked monk nodded in silent concurrence to Seleniniel’s suggestion, though, the halfling’s gaze skimmed over the remainder of the party. “Very well,” he rolled his shoulders in the semblance of a shrug, puffed out a faint sigh of resignation, and started off in the raven’s wake, “Quickly and quietly, hm? And remember, follow the screams…”

Arathea watched the tracks with great curiosity, now she was no expert in owlbear behavior and she did not ever intend to be, but she understand owlbears and people were not great working partners. The tracks showed a man walking side by side with these animals which had shown themselves to be incredibly aggressive, Arathea decided the most likely conclusionwas that the beast master was clearly an incredibly threatening force but decided to let it rest until there was more evidence, no point in overanalyzing footprints. Arathea kept her head cool until camp was reached.

Once it was decided upon to settle down fire was set up Arathea elected to spend her time running over The Eighty Nine Steps, at least until she was rudely inturrupted. The raven was not easy to ignore, it was a curious sight and she saw how it consumed the whole parties attention. The Bofir brought up the possibility of a Sendrian spy, which Arathea believed to be an interesting yet fairly unlikely theory

She nodded at Seleniels statement, "I suppose there is wisdom in letting the boy scout ahead in this case, as long as he doesn't stray too far and stays out of trouble." She looked down at the halfling, letting her hand down to pat his head. "Try not to die, alright? It would be a tragic affair finding someone to replace you, plus you're stature makes you a wonderful thing to rest my arm rest." She chuckled and turned her attention elsewhere, specifically to Mae'rel and her question.

"Well if you like making company out of monsters that seem to want to eat anything that moves I predict that whoever is their friend probably is not very pleasant." Her mind drifted back to the battle, another near death experience to add to her own story. "They're almost certainly malicious, which means I have a duty to stop them. Though I take it we all agree on that."

Isilmewen frowned as she looked at the bird. Though wariness may prompt the instinct to fire first, she hesitated. On the one hand, she understood Raudhri's words, but at the same time...

"If it is scouting behind, then not returning is as much a message as returning like it is right now," Isilmewen reasoned, "And on the offhand chance it is familiar to someone who could be called friend, I'd rather not have to explain its loss to them. That said, I'm in full agreement with Mae'rel. But as to how we go about this..."

"It'll take longer, but rather than scouting straight ahead on this trail to close the distance, we might instead consider traveling parallel while checking the trail on occasion to ensure our heading as we go, similar to the predator stalking elusive prey. As benefit, none of us will be headed straight into ambush if they indeed try to set something directed towards their tail and this exact path known to both them and us."

"I can check the trail as we go, and if we notice evidence of camp or settlement, then our friend Dak might be able to gleam information on our possible quarry without alerting them then" Isilmewen offered

“Yet I’ve no knowledge of such a mage in these parts.” Seleniniel explained, offering her mage knowledge to Rosariel’s inquiry, “Further evidence that they are not someone to cross without good reason.”

“Indeed,” Rosariel returned, “someone who could not only create, but coexist with these monstrosities,” her nose scrunched in disgust, even more so than at the stench, “I would very much like to rid the forest of their blight.”

Few conversations remained within the cave before their group began to file out, Rosariel remaining behind to do what she had been waiting for since they had learned of these creatures’ whereabouts. The Syl sat near one of the oozing creatures, the one the bladesinger had finished, a far cleaner kill than what remained of the bofear’s mess. She pulled a torch from her belongings and set it upright between her knees. Holding flint in one hand and steel in the other, Rosariel rested her forearms on either side of the torch and lowered her head, whispering off a quick prayer to Taudor Salka. Not much need be said for the extinguishing of an abomination.

With the small bit of heat at her back, Rosariel emerged from the cave, joining Isilmewen once more in distinguishing the peculiar tracks.

“Rosariel,” the taur'ohtar called to her, shaking her out of the thoughts that kept taking her back into that cave, “see anything amiss?”

She glanced once more at the shamble of tracks just outside the entryway and shook her head, “Nothing more than your keen eyes have found. Perhaps more will become clear once we’ve followed them further from this busy space.”

A statement proven true after following their sly mage’s tracks for a way. They had not made it especially easy, but with a ranger at their helm they were never far off course.

“Whoever it is,” Isilmewen said now, “they're no stranger to walking softly amidst the forest, even when alone."

“They were not alone, taur'ohtar,” Rosariel commented as their ranger focused on the humanoid prints, “See? These… enormous bears? They traveled alongside this mage.”

"I'm not sure they're just bears," Isilmewen replied and the implication sent a chill down Rosariel’s spine, "And they travel alongside them freely,"

Rosariel felt her face twist with disgust once again, “I’ve never heard of such a thing but, maybe if this mage is their creator then they are less inclined to attack? Or perhaps some sort of compulsion magic?” She groaned in frustration, “But to what end?”

Normally Rosariel loved a hunt, the excitement of it, the anticipation, the clues that she was getting closer, that her prize was just within her grasp, and then the takedown. It was all very thrilling. But this was different. This was a hunt, but every moment they wasted was another this perverse mage and their monstrosities were able to roam Taudor Salka’s lands, poisoning them with their existence. The thrill would come with the elimination of their prey, this was just the first time she hoped for a swift hunt.

Isilmewen pulled her out of her sudden brood as she continued forth after the disturbing tracks, and Rosariel made her way to follow.

The rest of their day proved far less rousing and as the sun set they made camp and settled in for another quiet night. Restless with thoughts of the day and what lay before them muddling her mind, she decided to occupy both herself and Tubs for a while, emptying all the contents from her pack, arranging them and some of the larger sticks she found around the camp into a makeshift maze. The little guy would have to work for once in his short life for his dinner, but Rosariel provided an extra helping tonight for his effort, and for how hard she laughed whenever he ran full force into a barrier.

Tubs’ trials forgotten in the mountain of crumbs of his prize, and Rosariel’s mind and chest a tiny bit lighter, she fell asleep looking forward to eliminating their prey.

They started early the next day, Tubs still fast asleep in her hood an hour or so into their trek when a burst of black energy descended upon them in a massive heap of feathers. Rosariel jumped out of their line for an angle on whatever had landed before them, her practiced fingers already at the pouches that adorned her person, ready to take on any threat that had presented itself.

Unsure immediately whether or not it was a threat, what she did find was the largest raven she had ever seen, even in the deepest parts of the woods near Dor’ghen Loth, where colonies of them would thrive unmolested, able to grow to whatever height they deemed appropriate. It was almost unnatural.

((OOC: would like to do a nature or survival or whateve- is-appropriate check here to determine if this size is possible for a raven or if it’s likely been magically or otherwise… beefed up, so to speak))

The raven regarded them as ravens often do, their eyes more intelligent than most beasts she’s come across, though normally they do so from afar and not after crashing into the earth before her. She felt more than saw some of her allies begin to act around her, but before they could attack, or Rosariel could decide how she wanted to proceed, it flew off once more, just as suddenly as it had arrived.

A spark of conversation erupted at this. Should someone try to kill it? Rosariel was not so inclined. Not without more information at least.

“It may be safe to assume that the raven is another creature affected by our mage,” she glanced quickly at Seleniniel, “the one we’re hunting, I mean. If they have the ability to create and possibly control an owlbear, then creating a raven like… that… wouldn’t be too far out of the realm of possibility. I’m guessing.”

She nodded at Isilmewen’s suggestion, “I don’t like the idea of taking even more time to find our prey, but I like the idea of being caught off guard even less, considering the sort of creatures they have in their corner. And, Dak may be swift and sneaky, but Isilmewen knows the forest and how to traverse it better than he does,” she turned to the Shawlin and held her palms up apologetically, “No offense, of course, it’s just what she was brought here to do for us. I concede to the group, but that is where my suggestion lies.”

Discussion continued only a short while before they were on their way once again, the irritation of this hunt and the growing complexity tightening the ball of anxiety growing in the pit of Rosariel’s stomach all the more as they moved forward.

Cidal and sylvari, ranger and rogue - the mismatched pair of lightfooted travelers moved to act as scouts along the trail that the rest of the party vacated.  

After the over large raven dissapeared, the forest seemed to go very quiet - unnaturally so.  Isilmewen and Rosariel could both feel their skin nearly crawl at the unexpected silence, like a calm before a storm.  

And yet, nothing happened.

The main group continued in a parallel course to the trail - at least, as close to one as they could muster - while the dedicated scouts roamed back and forth, keeping an eye on the path ad the group moved.  As near as the ranger cold tell, the tracks - both sylvari and owlbear - continued along the trail with no breaks in them.

Gradually, the path picked up elevation, grew steeper, more rocky.  Eventually, it wound its way up to what felt eerily like a natural fortress - the trail slipped between two large boulders, making it impossible to take any reasonable alternate route.  It felt like a trap, buy Dak could find no traps, Isilmewen could find no snares.  So despite their misgivings, the group made their way carefully through the pass.

And still, nothing happened.

Once behind the natural stone walls of the boulders, the group found themselves on a more thinly wooded hilltop, with much more space in between the trees.  Indeed, near the center of the summit lay a natural clearing, offering a ring of grass for the sun to cast its gaze down upon.

In the center of the clearing stood a lone sylvari.

Before the companions could confer as to what to do about the figure, a scratchy male voice spoke up.  "There is no point to skulk about, I have known of your presence for some time now."  As he spoke, he chuckled absently.  A chorus of raven croaks - more gutteral than any crow's caw - seemed to join in laughter from among the trees.

"Bah, do not stand there and gawk!" he exclaimed.  "You seek me, so approach!"

The figure was that of an ancient sylvari, old even by the standards of the long-lived children of the stars.  His unkempt long hair was gray, knotted, and bespeckled with dirt and twigs.  Over his gaunt frame, he wore a robe that once must have been green, but had clearly seen many seasons out of doors; dirt and grime were deeply ground into the cloth.  His rheumy eyes boasted irises nearly devoid of all color even as he fixed the group witha calculated gaze.  He leaned on a knotted wooden walking stick as the party approached.

"You stand in a sacred grove!" he proclaimed emphatically in a voice that sounded as if it was nearly unaccustomed to speech.  "Why have you followed me, why do you despoil this place with your presence?"

Mae'rel noticed the disk around the old syl's neck - it was made of stone, but had the image of a tree etched upon it.  This would mark the elder as a servant of Adoran, lord of nature.  And yet, something of this talisman seemed amiss.  Every time she had ever seen such a symbol, the tree seemed vibrant, alive, growing.  The tree on this symbol was instead twisted, bent, blighted.  

Seleniniel shifted towards the back of the pack, or rather, let them filter around her as she stilled, glaring against the sun and in concentration as she studied the milky eyes, the withered frame, scanning the treeline that ringed the bald, eyeing the squawking blackwings speckling the branches, then back to the stooped figure.. the pendant. Vaguely familiar, yet not. Seems not the Oak. Gods.. he’s filthy. Her nose wrinkled, imagining the smell that was thankfully undetectable so many lengths away. Her eyes flick to the twigs tangled in Rosariel’s robe, the lump at the nape of her neck… sheltering from the nervous energy.. the huntress too, fingered her bowstring. Not yet. I want answers. Seleniniel could see the others gathering themselves for a fight. Hold… we didn’t come all this way just to kill a mad hermit… or be killed. Jaw clenches and eyes return to the old… ancient... man. Power drawn over a millenia, perhaps... aikanaro.. such lingering would drive me to this too.

“You stand in a sacred grove!” The voice, as withered as him, like leaves cracking underfoot in late fall. A zealot? Intensely watching his gnarled hands for the first twitches of somatic routine. Perhaps exiled… or perhaps lost his mind with civilization. Her own hand moves slowly into the charcoal robe.. sinking fingers into the pocket of fineshaved iron, rubbing the shavings between thumb and forefinger as she watches. The rest of her body still, coiled energy waiting for the first hint of aggression. Trying to ignore the oppressive feeling of so many black eyes upon her.

Without moving focus from the hermit, Seleniniel peripherally watched the bladesinger, waiting for her to probe this… trap. It certainly felt as much. Muttering quickly from the corner of her mouth, to Ruadhrí, “If this goes to hell, get the pendant off him as quick as you can.”

An old man? Alone? He is no threat... ordinarily. Ruadhrí studied the man, his hand loosely gripping the hilt of his battle ax, though mainly out of insticnt. Ruadhrí made his way to the front of the party took a few steps forward, his hand drifting off his weapon and in front of him in a sign of peace. "We do not seek to disgrace your grove" Ruadhrí's voice echoed out, loud yet unthreatening - or at least as nonthreatening he could be - Ruadhrí tried to seem as unwavering as possible as his ears rung from the chorrus of cawing.

Ruadhrí continued to advance "I have great love for Darvem, without him I would not be standing in front of view" Ruadhrí got to about 1/3 of the grove before kneeling. "I do not request conflict, great nature shaman. I only wish that you hear us out" Ruadhrí bowed his head, awaiting the hermits response.

Ruadhrí had faith in Darvem for they were his chosen deity, but he was not familiar with his fellowships, nor the evil they were capable of. Ruadhrí was blissfully unaware of the danger he had just subjected himself to, now his tongue his only valid defence against the crazed hermit

“There is no point to skulk about, I have known of your presence for some time now.”

Bugger! Why am I not surprised?

At the first sight of the lone, ragged-looking Syl, Dak tensed, slowed his pace, and sought cover and concealment even though the party had obviously had eyes upon them all the while. Slipping into the shadows behind the trunk of one of the few, widely spaced trees that peppered the hilltop, he palmed a dart from one of the bracers at his chest, let his gaze sweep the boughs he could lay eyes on to pinpoint the chorus of ravens which had joined in with the ancient elf’s laughter, and then listened and watched to see how events might unfold.

“You stand in a sacred grove!” the unkempt watcher demanded,  “Why have you followed me, why do you despoil this place with your presence?”

At first glance, the Cid had imagined the old man to, perhaps, be a cleric of Kith-Jora but, on closer albeit still distant inspection, something about that assessment didn’t seem right… And, if you’re the one responsible for that nest of owlbears, sir, he mused, it may very well be you despoiling this place, not us… Something about this encounter and the hermit’s appearance felt wrong. A quick darting of his eyes over the rest of the party seemed to confirm his suspicions, too. Seleniniel, herself, had stopped, her hand disappearing into her robes, likely in search of spell components, and several others seemed more than a bit trepidatious in response to the ominous invitation to approach.

Not Ruadhri, though. Despite his initial hesitation and Seleniniel’s cautionary advice, the bold Bofear strode forward, dropping hands from his weapons and holding them out in supplication. “We do not seek to disgrace your grove,” the beast-man bellowed, his voice echoing through the coppice as he trudged slowly forward, “I have great love for Darvem, without him I would not be standing in front of you…” The minotaur crossed a third of the space between where he’d started and where the old Syl stood and then, surprisingly, took a knee, “…I do not request conflict, great nature shaman. I only wish that you hear us out.”

Well, pach, bull-man, Dak hissed inwardly, flicking a pointed glance in Seleniniel’s direction during the thought, where’s that mindless, slathering fury we’ve grown accustomed to, now? He puffed out a faint sigh and, for Seleniniel’s benefit, ticked his eyes in the direction he planned to go. It’s a distraction, if nothing else. Enough, I hope, to mask a bit of strategic maneuvering…

((OOC: Assuming Ruadhri's advance draws a majority of eyes on the old Syl's side, Dak is going to try and slip stealthily into a "flanking position," in hopes of providing additional angles of attack should things go sideways... and, let's face it, why wouldn't they?  )

Arathea felt immense unease following the trail, this was clearly not aboding well. A man does not simply walk amongst monsters yet all evidence pointed to that having been exactly what had happened not so long ago, and now with the raven? Something was incredibly wrong. The forests felt more oppressive, Arathea constantly scanned for watching eyes or signs of another beast, her hand rested upon her blade, ready for battle at any moment. Yet it seemed nothing bad came... yet.

The man that appeared was frankly a disgrace to sylvari elegance and pride in Arathea's eyes, the term 'witch' quickly came to mind. His unkept nature and wild eyes showed him as more of an animal than a child of the stars, and Arathea understood that Adorans followers were not as clean as the nobility but... this man was clearly no normal priest. Arathea stood at the ready for any sudden moves, but despite her disgust she understood that negotiation remained the best option, battle with a man who seemed to be able to tame monsters could become extremely costly.

"We come not to despoil this place your grace, we are merely passing through. We are on important business in service of the nation, we got side tracked after we fell under attack." Arathea carefully considered her next actions, aggression could cause battle which could be devestating, yet the freedom of this man could be a danger to any civilian that wanders these woods. "We encountered a beast, an owlbear. We do not intend to taint this grove but as a servant of the people I cannot allow such... things to cause anymore harm."

She analyzed the man, he did not seem dangerous but knowing even her own current companions showed that magic does not require the body of a warrior to be an incredibly powerful force. As far as Arathea knew this man could summon beasts and raise walls of thorns, and so she kept great caution. "I am sure you understand your grace, such creatures are also threats to natural life as well." From this point she was ready to charge this man down and simply try to cut him down before he could cause too much harm, in the case of combat she came to the conclusion that the longer the witch lives the more of a threat he could become. If he proved that he was indeed a danger her goal was to cut him down and stop him before he recieves the chance to properly respond.