Wowza! This chat is so quiet now that we got a discord!

I'll revise Mae'rels post as needed, and reply to in the future. I took a little more liberty to do multiple things in one post so I wasn't waiting for a reply on each thing (IE, the injured man, the commander, so on)

Once the party was shown to the barracks, Mae’rel offered only a small bow to the others and slipped away without further notice. Her steps were considerate and cautious, but not because she was afraid of the territory she was in. It was simply how she had adapted; after all, a quiet step was a kind step in places like this.


(OOC: Assuming the keep has SOME place for worship)

She found her way into a small room for prayer and praise. It wasn't remarkable in any way, but many of the small towns she had traveled to had something much like this room. And truth be told, she preferred a small room for worship over a grand church or temple. Those things didn't quite align with her vows, regardless.

From her bag, she withdrew a soft cloth, unwrapping it carefully, an ornately carved piece of wood, resembling the classic thornless rose that Lysora was represented by, much like the pendant she used for miracles.. She placed it against the wall, knelt, and let her hands rest in her lap, palms up.

There were no words, just her thoughts. Breathe in and out. The stillness that made space for clarity. Her words, though not spoken, were bound to Lysora. She thanked the Kind Lady for the journey they had so far, for revealing the opportunity to help others to her. She prayed for many things, but among them, she prayed for Arathea's father to be gently received.

When her eyes opened again, she let a bundle slide from her arm, this one much longer and larger than the first, heavier as well. The sword. Arathea’s bladesinger weapon, the one she had let fall. It was not broken, not damaged in any way, and yet now that Mae'rel looked at it, it was different than when Arathea had wielded it. She couldn't place her hand on exactly what, or how, as the blade remains in physically gorgeous condition, but it was almost best described as silent. Not like an angry silence, but more like something proud, grand, left out in the rain. Like something forgotten almost.

She admired the weapon for a few silent moments and uttered a few words towards the blade before she wrapped it once more. She carried it across the keep, asking after the commander’s location, and after a few questions to a few soldiers, she was directed toward him. When she found the Nost'kano finally, she approached him and offered a small bow.

“Gentle winds, Nost'Kano Saelron. My apologies for intruding, but I am here to present you with a sword. Madam Arathea's sword." She paused for a moment before continuing, "I am sure you know, but Madam Arathea is a bladesinger, and their weapons must never touch the ground. During combat, unfortunately, hers did.. I must confess, I do not know the full weight of such a thing.. I'm not completely familiar with the culture of these warriors.. but it seems best placed in your care until sh-.. until someone else can determine what's best for the blade."


(OOC: Assuming the commander takes the blade, and with no further inquiries. If he has questions or leaves her with the blade, I will address it in a response post.)

When she left (whether with the blade or without), she stepped back into the open air and moved through the keep’s inner courtyards. She asked gently after the wounded. There was not much to be said about the keep's ill or injured. There was only one man who would need her services. A soldier, mauled yesterday by an animal while on patrol. He was still in the infirmary, and the medics had done what they could.

Inside the infirmary, the air smelled a bit different from the rest of the keep. Like herbs, but there was a distinct smell of sweat if you were familiar with it, especially nearer to the bed. The soldier was lying mostly still, his skin pale, and his bandages soaked with sweat, though not very bloodied. He murmured occasionally, nonsense for the most part, and his breath was ragged, shallow. 

The medics had done well, the wounds were dressed properly, the bandages were kept clean, besides the sweat, ointments were properly applied, but medicine could only take the body so far. Especially if it had been delayed. It was likely that the man lost much blood before reaching the medics safely. The Monk found herself kneeling beside his bed, inspecting further.

Finally, she whispered a prayer as she grasped her pendant and let her fingers settle over his heart. There was no burst of light like many thought of miracles, just warmth as his body sealed its wounds.


(OOC: Mae'rel will cast spells as needed to restore the man to mild or full condition, whichever comes first.)

"You are not lost," she murmured. "Not yet."

She stayed beside him long enough for the trembling to ease, and for his fever to begin to subside. When Lysora's hand seemed to have eased his pain enough, she rose from her position. He would still need to rest. There was more to do. But for now, this was enough.

As the group made their way from the Fae lands, Mae'rel couldn't help but feel a bit invigorated. They had their purpose now, and it relieved her to know that the debt they would be paying was an essential embodiment of everything she took her oath for. Perhaps the Fae had some degree of ulterior motive, perhaps they wanted it more for the personal benefit that it would bring, maybe they were essentially lying altogether, maybe the Speaker extended her life via other methods. The fact of the matter remained that even if the Fae monarchs were perhaps.. wanting to restore the land to have more people to rule over, or wanting it for some kind of personal wealth, or one of the many other reasons, they would still be restoring life to a wasteland, an undeniable good.

Throughout the travels, Mae'rel was a bit more responsive and engaged than she normally was, willing to engage in casual conversation. She was beginning to warm up to the group; this was true, but something to give her proper optimism about certainly did not hurt either. Of course, that said, she still kept personal details mostly to herself. By sharing her name and more of her identity with this party, she had already given them signficantly more information than she had an overwhelmingly majority of others, and while she hadn't broken her principle of anonymity by doing such, she did not want to risk doing such.

When they arrived in the city of Hynda Nost, Mae'rel intended to initially split from the group for a few days, tending to anyone in the city who needed healing, especially those less fortunate, which was perhaps different from the average cleric upon arriving in a city, but far more important to her. Instead, they ran into the Kosta'cora, an elite soldier, a commander no less. Mae'rel did not know much about the bladesingers, but this man's equipment, the way he carried himself, and the mention of the legendary Storm Riders were enough to say he was important. She suspected that perhaps Arathea was about to be enlisted in a crucial battle, or some other duty, but when he spoke, his news almost seemed to hang over the group.

Mae'rel did not have much to offer in terms of words at first, but after a moment, she collected herself and looked to the bladesinger. Her voice showed empathy in its tone, and her words were understanding, "Madam Arathea.. my deepest condolences. I know we have.. a duty to fulfill, but I completely understand that you must go. We will await your return here, unless you would wish otherwise." She spoke for the group in a way with such a declaration, but she hoped no one else would object. That said, Seleniniel asking to go alongside Arathea was most certainly strange, but since it seemed Arathea was to allow it, she decided not to comment.

Perhaps these monarchs were just as crooked as many monarchs were. Perhaps they were lying or excluding critical details. But at it's core, the debt said they only need to pay it. They did not need to know all these details. The idea the Fae would lie about the details they further provided was foolish. Unless the Fae were these truly awful creatures, which Mae'rel struggled to believe. She was much more inclined to believe that was the seemingly immortal Speaker. 

Her view did not change. Her passion did not change. Yes, they still had a duty to fulfill their vow, regardless of the information provided. The Fae were simply stating that. The group had willingly bound themselves to these terms by saving Ruadhiri. As such, Mae'rel was unbothered by their statements, but she felt that perhaps they weren't meant to bother her, and moreso the Mage, who had repeatedly expressed her distate.

"Of course, your Majesty. I must ask one last question, if you would allow me to."

(OOC: Assuming they ask)

"Will you maintain any contact before we reach the Tomb? And further on that, how will we return to you once we have the pendant? After all, capable as we may be, we are not able to reach this place on our own."

Entering the lands of the Fae was quite an experience. Some spells and remedies used for healing could induce dilusions or hallucinations, and with all honesty, the Monk wasn't sure she hadn't perhaps contaminated her morning tea with one such remedy. The lands were simply not natural, not according to another Mae'rel had ever known. Trees that glew all kinds of colors and seemed to sparkle, water that was the most beautiful colors she'd ever seen. Though, after the initial wonder slipped away, she noticed that in the deep distance, that same blur of the shadow land remained. Like the land itself was dying, or being forgotten. It did not resonate with the Monk.

As they entered the Castle, Mae'rel found herself humbled once more, as she had been when first accepting the mission, except this time, this building was somehow even more grand than that of the Lord who had called upon them, though for good reason. She hardly paid mind to the Fae who taunted the group that Ysmiril dismissed, as she did not do anything without Ysmiril's instructions. Once the Fae had introduced them to her 'soul friend', Mae'rel simply complied with anything she said, mainly still in awe from the Castle and the lands themselves. 

The outfit that Isilmewen bore was stunning, just like that of Ysmiril. But of course, Mae'rel adverted her eyes when the initial staring was completed, as Isilmewen essentially presented herself as a follower of Oriana. She could not help but feel a slight rush to her cheeks as a result of the Ranger's new attire, but quickly, her attention focused instead onto the two Fae that entered, and she quickly bowed.

As the King and Queen told their story, Mae'rel couldn't help herself. She believed everything, at least, regarding their mission. It was so fantastical, the world they were in, the details they shared, and yet, Mae'rel didn't think it fantasy at all, and that was because of one core, deeply believable aspect. Greed. The greed that the Sylvari, the speakers, had to extend their life. The greed that Humans and Khords and Sylvari all held for the resources and space of the world. The greed that kept on taking, that did not care for those it left dead, that did not care for those it took from. The greed that only cared for itself. The greed which all mortals had, to some degree or another.

The details they provided, and the questions they answered, all made sense. Arathea may not have believed such, but of course the Sylvari would keep such from their history. Life was a gift meant to be cherished, preserved, but eventually, all would be called to their afterlifes. Lysora and Solanis's gift were not meant to be hoarded, taken from others, stolen. And yet, the Speaker seemed to have done just that. They were to kill an entire being of people to what? Simply extend their own lives a few centuries? They must be worshippers of Tyrannis herself. With each word and thought Mae'rel had, the Monk's heart grew sicker, and she prayed to Lysora, asking for her blessing to assist these people. She knew the Blue Lady would sympathize. She knew what she had to do.

"Your Majesties. I have been raised among children of the sun, but I am myself a child of the stars. Though I hold no position to do so, I offer my sincerest apologies for all the wrong both have done to you and your kin. Had you only found me sooner, I would have helped in any way I can, regardless of a debt. I owe no allegiance to the houses of my native land, so I will return these seeds to you, or I shall meet my Goddess."

Mae'rel stood up straight, and offered a bow as she held her pendant in her hand, pledging her allegiance and her life to such a cause. 

Mae'rel was so exhausted the previous night that, while she had processed much of the information on a surface level, she didn't actually pause to think about the implications of such information. Her first thought waking up in her tent was that this incident wasn't actually a dream, and she wasn't dead. With many of the implications Ysmiril had put forth before their travels, Mae'rel honestly didn't rule out the possibility that last night could have been an illusion crafted by some horrific monster that had caught them. But a full sleep in normal senses restoring her mind had wiped such paranoia from her conscious, and now she was fairly certain all of this was real.

Her sleep was restless at first, as she struggled to fall asleep, finally being still after such a seemingly infinite amount of time. It didn't feel quite right. That neglected to even mention the fact that everything was still far more overwhelming then she could have accounted for, it was like trying to sleep in the middle of the sunlight, looking straight at the sun, in the middle of a town square, essentially. Once the Monk finally fell into Valdorn's domain, though, she did not wake, as much as she may have stirred. And her sleep was dreamless, as it seemed even the Gods above recognized the need for absolute rest.

Her second thought, which came after she had exited the tent, was that she hadn't slept at all, or maybe it really was a dream, because it seemed as if no time had passed. When she saw the Fae though, the thought of Valdorn conjuring this experience left her mind once more, and so she approached their guide, to inquire more. Were they perhaps in another realm, and they had misunderstood her? Or did she bestow some kind of spell to allow them to rest faster, something to do with the Oldest Magic? "My apologies, Madam Ysmiril, but it seems as if no time has passed at all. Were we only asleep briefly, or is there perhaps another explanation?"

"Of course not, ystäväni," the grinning fae trilled.  "The way was long and arduous.  You have slept all of the day and all of the night!  This place is safe, so I allowed you to regain your needed energy."

As the group traveled alongside Ysmiril, she narrated almost everything, as if the group were isolated children that had never been out of their mother's room. She explained how these lands worked, how the land of the shadow and the land of the mortals overlayed, and somewhere in there, Mae'rel heard a mention of fable creatures. She didn't think much of it at first, until she caught wind of what Ysmiril said next.

"These are beings that could belong in both worlds.  To you, they may be bedtime stories, they may be legends... but rest assured, they are very real."

And as if it was as simple as opening a door, Ysmiril seemed to summon the creatures from their hiding. But of course they were real! A Fae had just saved one of their companions from certain death and taken them between the very seams that sewed the worlds together! These things being real should not have thrown Mae'rel off, and yet, she still took a step back when the creatures showed their existence. But who could blame her? The stories of such creatures often made them off as simple monsters, creatures who would enslave men to do tasks much like men would enslave a horse, only they delighted in the man's suffering as an intelligent creature. 

When The Monk realized the creatures were of no threat, though, she reluctantly continued forward with Ysmiril, though her hesitation faded quickly as she had come to trust their guide, who had seen them through many times. 

Mentally, Mae'rel had long since been preparing herself for this inevitable meeting. It was something she often thought about on the road in the shadow path, as a way to occupy herself. Ysmiril had spoken countless times about being presented to the ones she served before they had embarked on the journey, and a few times in the shadow-path, though for the most part, she rarely talked. In fact, everyone rarely spoke. As a result, Mae'rel's nerves were not as high as she imagined some of the groups were, and that suspicion was confirmed by witnessing Isilmewen. Gods above, she was distraught.

The simple fact was, Mae'rel had audiences with many people who had sought reasons to hate her, to justify their distaste for her. The rich and powerful did not take kindly to their sect, as it often meant refusing service to them, as they would demand services before the poor who needed it more, or those who were already receiving it. But their wealth and status had no sway, and as such, they despised Mae'rel and those of her path. Still, many times she was to stand before them, or seek their blessing, and so forth. As such, she was not frightened by the concept of being on her best of manners, as she had many times before, and in fact, she almost always remained in such manners. The only one who seemed truly distressed was the Ranger.


Moving beside Isilmewen, Mae'rel observed their ranger for a moment, seeing if she would take note of Mae'rels presence. When she did not, she silently noted such. Their ranger was attentive, even in combat, and well-perceived. To ignore Mae'rel meant that she was truly in a rapid state of mind, and so the Monk knelt beside her. She reached up, removing the scarf that often concealed her mouth so that Isilmewen could perhaps find stronger comfort in clearer words. Her words were concise, but gentle not unlike that of a mother. "Madam Isilmewen, why do you worry so? You are one of the most flowing spirits I have ever met, yet you are so in distress."

Isilmewen kept taking out a brooch shaped as a circle of stars, turning it over, shaking her head, putting it back in the cloth which held it, and back in her pack, as if she could find something else to wear. The red dress lay half unfolded in her pack as she was taking off her wilderness friendly attire.

"Okay, be quiet unless spoken to," Isilmewen muttered, "But last time I did that, I was called cold. The time before that, too eager," she examined her red dress again, "Too plain? Or is it too-"

Mae'rel's words made her jump, "O-oh! Mae'rel! Hi! I, uh, hi. Just getting ready," Her voice trembled, "Yes. Getting ready."

Listening in to Isilmewen's frantic attempts to prepare herself gave the Monk more insight as to what seemed to trouble their normally carefree ranger. It seemed she was not afraid because this was her first time before an audience, but rather, one of many times, and judging by her mumbles, the previous times often went wrong. There was a form of trauma here, and though Mae'rel questioned more about it, she knew this was not a matter for now, and instead simply placed her hand onto Isilmewen's shoulder, and reached for Lady Lysora to bless her touch.

(OOC: Casting Soothing Touch)

Mae'rel spoke again, Lysora's voice guding her own. "Why must you get ready for such an occasion? As you are now, you are Madam Isilmewen in her truest form. You are magnificent, and you are a skilled Ranger who has seen us through our journey. You need not change anything."

Isilmewen's eyes, which had been distant even looking back at Mae'rel, regained their focus. Her breathing slowed, and though she still trembled, it was as if she were being pulled back from falling.

"We're being..." Isilmewen breathed slowly, "Entering a gathering. That means I need to change," she gave a wry smile, "We're not going to be traversing the wilderness in there."

Seeing the spell reach Isilmewen allowed Mae'rel something to go off. Though the Ranger kept herself somewhat enclosed and did not exactly disclose the source of her distress, she had allowed Lysora's hand to reach her, and as long as she maintained her calm, she could keep any secret she saw fit.

Maerel offered a giggle in an attempt to lighten the mood, her masked golden eyes meeting those of the Ranger. "You make a good point, Madam Isilmewen, though I suppose I would not know, as I have worn this outfit and its variants for many years." She paused for a moment, bringing them back to the topic, "If you fear the court, I understand. I imagine everyone among us does, to a degree. Simply follow me and Madam Arathea, and what we do. If you have any other questions, you may simply grab my shoulder to gain my attention, and I will answer." Mae'rel placed her hand onto the pendant that she wore of The Blue Lady. "Worry not. You will not make a fool of yourself. Not under my watch."

Isilmewen's breath caught slightly, and she gave a slow nod, "I think it's good that you do not know," she replied, her voice a bit tense, but still managing calm, "I'm just sorry to my sister, that she has to fill the role I was supposed to."

Isilmewen offered a gentle smile, "It's not myself that I'm worried about. I'm... I'm used to it. The dinners. Gatherings. Representing on behalf of everyone. Putting one's best face forward, right? But, I'll be glad for your presence, Arathea's too."

Passing comments about her sister gave the Monk a hint of the storm that stirred beneath. She would not press on the matter now, but she would later offer an ear for the Ranger, if she wished to share, though her remark about not being worried about herself left Mae'rel backtracking.

"Of course. However I can help, Madam Isilmewen, simply tell me." The Monk stood, gently remove her hand from Isilmewen. "But otherwise, know that you have bested many beasts. You will best this one, too."

(OOC: SHOUT OUT TO RERALAE FOR THE COLLAB! It was an honor to work with an Inn Legend on a post B) )

It was quiet. Piercingly so.

That was the first thing that Mae'rels brain screamed at her when she entered the Shadowpath. It was natural for humans and demi-humans alike to always be stimulated in some capacity. But the shadowpath lacked that. It was almost like sensory deprivation. It was dark. It was quiet. It was cold in a way that did not correlate to temperature, and in a way that did. The air itself seemed disgusted, bitter, thick, like the very nature of being was altered here.It simply, beyond and above anything, did not feel right.. as if mortals were not supposed to know about a place like this, let alone, dare tread it.

Once Ysmiril conjured light, Mae'rel found herself pulled from that sense of impending, indescripable doom and terror. The light and sound of the Fae allowed her brain something to focus on, no matter how light and vague, and so she did. That was all she focused on for the next hour.


And then the next day.


As her eyes began to perceive the path she walked in, she too began to perceive the false lights in the distance. She struggled to make them out, but she dared not look at them long enough to learn more details. Ysmiril had warned against such things. The lands here felt like an echo, an indescribable reminder of what once was. She wondered if once upon a time, these lands had been glorious places. Or if these lands represented something. She wondered if the strange lights she had seen were souls of some type. Or maybe these lands were some kind of after-life.. she did not truly know, she knew too little, and with the lack of varied stimulus, her mind continued to wander.

She remembered those heavy thuds. The vibrations.

They called it Garghas's Tread, because the sound of the heavy bells sounded as if a powerful being were walking. A god. Garghas was evil, undoubtably, but there was one thing about him that one could appreciate in a twisted way. He did not discriminate.

When the Beggar's Plague struck Calestra, and the city sealed it's own grave shut, none were safe from The Poisoner. The rich council of merchants and their children died. The poor dock workers and their mothers died. The store-workers and the blacksmiths died. Even despite the efforts of other clerics to change the outcome, to protect those of higher status, it did not make a difference. The Lord of Rot laid his claim, whether they would cooperate or not. And once he had, the city was left like a distant memory. Like an echo.

These lands felt like that echo. Forests that seemed warped and vague, they might have perhaps been filled with life and trees, but were now instead barren wastes. Like the streets that were once feeled with travelers and city-goers, colorful booths and vibrant smells, they became empty, rotting streets. Calestra recovered with time, but the poor parts of the city, the slums, they never quite did. Some places were still empty. Some places even murderers would not go.


In some twisted, awful way, these lands felt like home


And then the next week.

At least, that was how she felt. The longer they seemed to stay in the shadow path, the harder it was to understand time. The longer they seemed to stay in the shadow path, the more her eyes adjusted to the tiny lights in the distance, or sometimes, the very near, the more she hurt. Her body ached, it was tired in every way she could imagine, and yet, she was not truly.. tired. She did not need to sleep. She simply needed to lie down. To collect herself. To rest, but not truly. She was exhausted, yes, but she was not tired. Others seemed to struggle with the same thing. The more hardened of the group, like The Ranger and The Bladesinger, they were more trained for such exhaustion. But others like herself, like The Burglar, they struggled more. The Mage had been struggling, but come to think of it, she hadn't seen the Mage recently.

She hadn't seen the Mage recently. Mae'rel quickly looked around, worry racing into her exhausted mind, adrenaline shooting across her skin. When she did not see the mage, she considered casting light, but she did not know if that would draw wretched creatures to them. Soon enough, in her frantic turns, she realized not just Madam Seleneniel, but Madam Arathea was missing as well. Half considering back-tracking, instead, she called out, trying to keep quiet but loud enough to gain the attention of the others. "Ysmiril! Seleneniel and Arathea are missing! Do you see them!?"

Then she saw it. The golden light. And the horrible creature that wielded it. The mists made it unclear. But the creature itself was wrong, simply perceiving it at all felt wrong. Wicked. Evil. It was indescribable, and yet also, Mae'rel could describe it with every word. Just as the creature began to grab The Mage, and Mae'rel considered rushing in to try and aid in any way she could, she watched Arathea strike it with her sword. When the creature did not relent, she struck again, and forced her way between the monster. A hero.

"And she'll die for it if I don't help." Mae'rel thought, and she began to take steps towards it, letting go of the rope. Then the bright light rushed across the shadow path, like an explosion of life into the barren wasteland, but in just a moment, it was gone. Ysmiril spoke to the horrible creature. Commanded it away. And she scolded the two as she quickly ushered them back in line.

And then, just like nothing had happened, they continued onward. There was no time taken to confirm the two were uninjuried. No time taken to confirm that they were ready to move. They simply moved. Mae'rel did not find this satisfying, and so she attempted to confirm that the two were alright the best she could, but it was hard to do so. She concluded she would confirm once they exited the shadow realm, that she would examine them.


And then the next month.


Or maybe it had been multiple. She simply could not tell anymore. Her entire body screamed in exhaustion. Mae'rel was certain that she just could not take another step at this pace. And yet she forced herself to, as she had been for some time. Time.

What even did time mean? Was it simply a concept of mortals to comfort them? In a place like this, did time even exist? Or was time more of a chain, something that limited portals? Did the Gods make it to limit them? Because they were afraid of what mortals could do without needing to sleep? Without time? Is this what you could become capable of if you did not have such measly restrictions, something so meaningless as time?

Her thoughts were interrupted when Ysmiril's song changed and they halted. Finally. An exit. 

She did not hesitate. The disgusting feeling that the portal provided as you pushed through it was almost like a comfort to Mae'rel. That was, until she had actually come through the mortal. Immediately her hands went to her ears as she nearly collapsed, quickly pulling her cloak further, over her eyes as she struggled to keep balance, forcing herself to sit down. The deafening noises. The blinding light. Even the air was overwhelming. She pushed herself over to her knees, and removed the cloth from in front of her mouth, though her face remained covered. After a dry heave, and another, the Monk's stomach gave out as her stomach voided it's contents. Several further heaves followed, before she caught her breath and forced her body to collct itself. Slowly, the noises became less loud. The air felt normal, and eventually, she realized it felt right again.

Finally, they were home.


It wasn't until after a long, well deserved sleep Mae'rel actually attempted words at anyone. A quick glance to The Mage and The Bladesinger revealed they lacked any urgent wounds, but she already knew that considering they continued successful travel through the shadowpath for what felt like ages. Her entire body still ached, and she felt absolutely famished. It was as if all the sleep, all the rest, all of the necessary care for her body that she had neglected had caught up to her, and now demanded to be seen to. She knew the others took a wash first, but it wasn't until that morning she did such.

(OOC: Specifying now, Mae'rel stays very reclusive and keeps herself covered best she can in the rare times they bathe. She prefers to do it without anyone around.)

The Fae's method of storing their item's was most interesting. For some odd reason, Mae'rel had thought that perhaps she would excavate the ground, or conjure a chest, or even stash them in a sack with seemingly endless capacity. But of course, all of that did not match the style of the Fae, especially not this particular one, Ysmiril. Of course she would bend nature to protect their items instead. Regardless, Mae'rel trusted the Fae, taking the sword and placing it within the wood. It was extremely interesting, to say the very least. It was almost as if pushing through a tough cloth, but the inside of the wood.. or maybe the tree? She wasn't sure if the wood was solid, or if it was hollow, it was hard to say. Whatever it was though, it was cold, and stale, something she felt even through her covered hands. She quickly retrieved them after letting go of the weapon, a look of discomfort hidden by her mask.

"Beware any strange lights or sounds.  Follow them not, no matter how beguiling they may appear; there are... things that roam the tabupolkuja, cold things that seek warmth.  A child of the stars or the sun would be very appealing to such things.  Your death would not come for a very long time - even by the standards of my people.  Were they to claim you, I would not be able to counter such a claim... and I fear that you would forget your name long before your agony ended."

An agonizing death that lasted long even by Fae's standards didn't sound very appealing, the Monk could say that for certain. She was sure that, one way or another, they would have an encounter with these wretched creatures, she only hoped that they would have some way to wound them, or at least flee from them, when they did. The fact that Ysmiril essentially gave the vow that she would not interfere should one of these creatures claim one of their members.. it sent a shudder through Mae'rel. She understood that the Fae had to look out for itself, but it certainly didn't help her nerves that were increasingly building. Of course though, the Fae instantly changed her tone again, as she had often done so many times before.

"Be brave, ystäväni!  Nothing may harm you as long as you tread where I tread, as long as you follow my light, as long as you ignore the nälkäisiä.  I will guide you through safe, I give you my word."

"If you are ready to lead, then I will follow, Madam Ysmiril."

Finally, the protests of their mage seemed to break their Fae guide's patience, even if just slightly, as Ysmiril finally issued something vaguely resembling a threat, but more keen to a promise. Mae'rel had been issued many threats, but the threat of doing nothing and still causing someone's death was frankly far more threatening than the downright threat of violence or death. She could credit the Fae for that.

Mae'rel made sure to visit Ruadhiri early in the day before they set out alongside Rosariel. While the Huntress's servant was more light-hearted with her review of his condition, Mae'rel was more stoic. It was often difficult to read how she felt beneath her mask, but an attentive Ruadhiri would notice her mouth seemed to curve into a soft smile as she asked several questions about how he felt and inspected him. She was relieved, indeed.

When they continued the next day, the pace was indeed relentless. Mae'rel had traveled in her life much, and while she was not as well traveled as their Ranger was, she had been all over Coria, and the other human nations, even occasionally to Sendria. Her days and nights were often made up of treading through commonly walked paths or streets to reach those whom Lysora called her servants to aid, those she called Mae'rel to heal. Even with all of this, she struggled to keep herself disciplined as she did her best to keep pace.

Mae'rel did not have much trouble adapting to being behind the Fae, that said. When she had first begun to travel with the party, her almost rushing demeanor often put her ahead of the group, so she had to adjust her pace, something that caused her discomfort even now, as she often felt the group could move faster than they did. In fact, that was not just in her travel; that aspect of haste seemed to be in everything. Her walking, her speech, even the way she was to drink water, she simply did not savor the moments as much, as if she had not much time left to live. This, unbeknownst to Mae'rel, was because she had been raised among creatures who did not have much time left to live, not compared to a syl, anyhow. A sylvari could reach maturity after multiple generations of humans had been born, matured, grown old, and died. But to Mae'rel, every moment of life was precious and to be pushed to its fullest, much like the common human's view. And this often made her behavior strange, at least compared to other Sylvari.

Ysmiril was incredibly fast, but there didn't seem to be much she was not skilled at. It was good she had decided not to show Seleninel up, indeed. This Fae was a fascinating creature, and she had many questions for it, truth be told, and many things she wished she could learn from it. She wasn't sure exactly what the price would entail, from Ysmiril's answer earlier, but again her mind wandered. She pondered if the skills the Fae could teach, even without Wytchwood, would allow her to help others better than she ever had. Of course, Mae'rel would never do such a thing without the Blue Lady's guidance.

"Only if to prevent further harm, may you do harm unto another."

It was one of the lines of the simply-worded, yet complex vow Mae'rel had pledged to follow to the best of her ability. It was not like a paladin's oath, in the sense that, without properly following it, her magic would be stripped and she would be abandoned. It was not even part of her duties as a cleric. It was part of her order, something her sect believed was the best way to worship the Blue Lady. There would be no life-changing consequences forced upon her if she failed to uphold it. And considering their order lacked much formality and union, it was likely no one else from her way would ever know. And yet, Mae'rel followed it just as intensely as a Paladin. So when the Fae said one would need to dispose of their Iron and Steel to walk the path of the shadows, Mae'rel simply chuckled to herself. She did not carry such things, save for perhaps a single spell component or two.

"I carry no iron or steel, Madam Ysmiril, besides the one I carry for Madam Arathea. I will walk this path alongside you, but I must ask a question. Can our items be guaranteed safe until we return? Even though Madam Arathea deems herself unworthy to carry this sword, I am sure she would not want it stolen in our absence. And the rest of the group, they value their items much the same."

Healing the wound was not as uninvolved as Mae'rel would have thought. The creature did not accomplish it without help, and it likely would have failed if not for the two clerics. Mae'rel had known that making a pact with this strange being wasn't going to come without it's downsides, but as soon as Ysmiril revealed her true nature, The Monk felt a lump form in her throat.

The Children of the Shadows, the Wild Ones, the Fae. They went by many names, but there was rarely any good about them. Some fae were mischievous, and not inherently malicious, instead finding everything as a sort of game. Thankfully, Ysmiril seemed to be one of those Fae, but they still had their threats. It was better then the type of Fae that would take your firstborn, or take your eyes because you complained of the brightness of the sun. Realistically though, Mae'rel knew only the tales of Fae, as most did, so she wasn't sure what all was real, and what all was simply fairytales. Funny.. that saying came from a type of Fae. They really were living in a fairytale.

The creature's personality most certainly was something. And her appearance was confusing, furthermore. She seemed like an illusion, an unrealistic expectation of what the most perfect woman should look like. Almost as if she was some sort of deity herself. She wasn't, of course, though The Monk could admit, this creature's magic was most certainly powerful.
Still, Mae'rel sat in quiet observation, curious about the substance that she had retrieved. She wondered what it was, but as if the creature felt all the curious eyes on it, it explained. Wytchwood.

Mae'rel did not know much of the fabled wood. And as Ysmiril explained a bit more, she understood why. Such a valuable tree had likely been completely and utterly harvested, and the fact that they had to pay such a debt now made sense. This was not just magic that would be restored when the being rested. This was a healing substance that would never be harvested again, and had an extremely finite amount left in existence. It was in unbelievable demand, nobles cried for it when their children fell sick, or when they themselves did. In fact, often, criminals would con the rich with it. And the rich were often dumb, making them easy targets for it.

She wanted to ask more questions, but before she could, Ysmiril moved on, and Mae'rel studied, as if she was watching Ignacio once more. The healing occurring was incredible, but it wasn't going to be enough, and Ysmiril confirmed that. "When my treatment is complete, you who bend the ears of the gods must pray to them with all of your might.  This medicine is powerful, but I fear that he is too far gone without their intercession."

And so Mae'rel did. She clutched her pendant, and she waited with bated breath as she watched the group hold Ruadhiri still. The compliment the Fae passed her had not fallen on deaf ears, but Mae'rel could not thank her before she continued. The fungus seemed to fight, causing extreme pain to the Bull as he fought to hold himself together, and thrashed against the group. Finally, the Fae hissed at the clergy, commanding prayers.

So the Servant called out to Lady Lysora. She desperately prayed as she channeled the miracle into his wound, fighting to seal it as she placed her hand on the rotting flesh. And when she finally stopped, when she finally opened her eyes, it was healed, and their warrior could finally recover. Her eyes went again to the Fae, curious behind her mask. The fact she struggled to heal the affliction of Ruadhiri, even with such power, made Mae'rel take pride once more, even if just internally, in the fact she had slowed the progression of the wound. She wondered if any healer in the city would have been able to heal this wound, even if they had made it.

---

For a while, Mae'rel allowed herself to rest. While the magic was not drawn from her being, making it different from Ysmiril, it was still exhausting to channel the energy of the Gods so intensely. Such power, even in microscopic fragments of it's full form, was tiresome for even the most legendary of Clerics to wield for prolonged periods. When she had found herself with enough energy, and had finished her prayers thanking Her Blue Lady, she found her way outside of the tent, just in time to see a conflict reaching it's peak.

(OOC: Assuming Alan and Esther don't mind me inserting Mae'rel here)

Arathea stood inches from Seleniniel's face, and it seemed as if in just a moment Seleniniel would strike a flint behind her back, igniting the Bladesinger, and starting a full out battle. Mae'rel hoisted her cloak over her mask, covering her hair as she rushed to the two, quickly wedging herself between them the best she could as she spoke, her voice as calm as ever. "Seleniniel, Arathea, we are still recovering from the battle between ourselves and the Wytch. We need not create more enemies between ourselves."

(OOC: Assuming no interruptions from Arathea or Seleniniel on both of these speeches)

She turned to Seleniniel, trying to reason with the wounded Mage. "I understand you find this creature.. unsavory. It's methods and vagueness unsettle me as well, but without your assistance, we may not complete our task, let alone even fulfill this debt. Your skills as a mage are unlike any I have seen in my life, but combat with this being could very well spell your end, or at the least, set us back further while we wait for you to recover. You are above this battle, there is no need to take it. The detour is no doubt frustrating, but we knew we would pay a considerable price."


And then, to Arathea, attempting to reason with the Dancer. "And Madam Arathea. I know you do not often agree with Madam Seleniniel, but you must see from her perspective and realize she is not trying to put us in harm's way. There is no need to threaten Madam Seleniniel, I've often found that persuasion has better results. I agree completely that we need not make an enemy out of this ally, but that means we should also avoid making enemies with our existing allies, as well."


The Monk stepped slightly to the side, and hoped that her words would be enough to put the matter to rest.

It was an ugly truth, one Mae'rel did not appreciate. Lady Lysora promised for her followers, her servants, an afterlife with a body ever young, ever beautiful, and most importantly, ever healthy. A reward for those who put their faith foremost into the Blue Lady. And yet, it was so different in the mortal plane. Mae'rel herself tended to stay in better health these days then the average person would, but even she would eventually succumb to her mortality, as would all other clergy of Lysora. Ruadhiri's brutal state reminded her of that.

First the fungus spread into his limbs, the areas his immune system would consider the lowest priority as the body fought to protect his organs. And that slowed them some. But then he developed a fever as the body desperately tried to cook the fungus. And finally, his organs began to give way, his fits of coughing making such obvious. He had a day. Two if he was lucky. But they would not reach the city even still, as he had become far too crippled.

Then that strange thing approached.

Thing truly was the best way to describe it. It was difficult to discern if it was even a male or female, let alone something they could understand. Mae'rel had heard tales of the Fae who ate children and stole your eyeballs if you ventured alone into the forests. They struck horrible bargains, and they were never what you expected. But they were left without an option right now, and Mae'rels highest regard would always be those in her party, under her care.

The Monk offered a bow, "I will be in your debt, should you save my companion. Lady Lissentoria's Servant is at your hand for any resources you may need to do so. If all you need is my word, then I declare, you have it."

It had been an hour, maybe more before their ranger returned with the herbs requested, at least, some of them anyhow. Mae'rel didn't know exactly what she was going to be able to do against this affliction with things that only treated your standard fungal infection, but she hoped that she could buy time if nothing else, and so that was exactly what she moved to do.

Approaching Ruadhiri, she gave a subtle nod of her masked face. It was poor bedside manner, in many's eyes, to hide your face from someone you were tending to. And yet, it was both part of her identity as a healer, her anonymity, her vow to keep the good she did associated not just with Lady Lysora, but with the concept of empathy as a whole. When people thought of Mae'rels deeds, she didn't want their thoughts to be of her. Master Ignacio always said that if that was the case, you had failed. That by keeping yourself as simply a messenger of good, others would pass that same good along.

When their horned warrior prepared himself, Mae'rel applied a slight numbing agent, a remedy of some non-local herbs, which she always kept a bottle of. It was almost like a gel, as opposed to a thick plant concoction. Of course, once she pressed the heated blade against his itching wound, it did very little to help the pain, a hiss immediate, and steam shooting from the wound with a wretched smell. After properly cauterizing the area, she applied salt directly after, which would make the pain even worse, before finally applying the now orange poultice, made with the herbs that their Ranger had brought forth.

It would be difficult to tell immediately whether there was any relief. It could take minutes. Hours. It could even take days to see if it stopped or lessened. But if it took that long to see any improvement, that did mean that, at the least, it had prevented it from worsening.

The only other solution Mae'rel could propose was a fabled plant. Aranthea's Heart. A powerful healing flower, unassuming, made from the essence of one of the Blue Lady's very own servants, after she had passed. The flower wasn't quite mythical in rarity, but Mae'rel had never seen one in the wild herself. However, Master Ignacio allegedly had used some when he couldn't procure anymore miracles for Coria, to ease the illness on some of the many poor in those wretched slums. If nothing else, in some cases, it eased their passing.

She would look for it, where she could. And a description of it to their ranger wouldn't go amiss either.

(OOC: I have no dialogue brain right now so, Mae'rel will provide a description of the plant to Rosariel and Isilmewen. )

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."

Mae'rel did not know the true, most deep value that a Bladesinger's legendary weapon meant to them. No one could quite understand this, even native Syls, she imagined. A bond so unimaginable, training so deep, only other Bladesingers could sympathize, and she imagined from what Arathea had told her, that most would not being willing to sympathize. Arathea was a noble, which meant the blade she bore was likely an heirloom, or very expensive, more than likely both.

The Blue Lady did not just specialize in healing the wounds of the flesh, though. Monks of her order also traveled and helped to heal the grief that the many peoples of the realm felt. A lost family member, friend, or even a pet, Mae'rel had many times consoled and eased the pain of people who felt the pain caused by Death. Never before had she healed a wound like this though. The pain Arathea must have felt, it caused a stinging within Mae'rels heart, but she decided she would do her best to provide a console. No words would be able to heal the wound their Singer had felt, but perhaps, an action.

Taking steps away from the group, Mae'rel took a deep breath in as she approached the Blade which lay on the ground. Retrieving a cloth from her bag, the Monk leaned down, before going to her knees, gently slipping the cloth beneath the blade. She wrapped it tightly, knotting it so that the sword would be fully covered. 

She stood once more, her hands gently gripping the cloth covering the blade. Mae'rel approached the Bladesinger, and spook, her voice gentle. "I know not words to ease your pain, Madam Arathea. For I fear there are none. Though I believe this blade still has many stories. A piece of history for your noble origin. You may not feel fit to bare this blade, but I feel, the last honor you may do this blade, is to return it to your people."

She did not offer Arathea the blade necessarily, more so presented it to her. The Monk did not know if she had just committed an act of heresy greater than the Bladesinger by letting the weapon touch the ground, or if she had offered the greatest honor the blade could now receive. And regardless of that, that was not what she was most concerned with.

Instead, the Monk just simply hoped to offer Arathea comfort. She simply felt that was best obtained via an honoring of the sword.

Mae'rel found her way between the swipes of the abominations, rather effortlessly, considering they were unaware of her presence thanks to Her Lady's cloak. The battle became chaos practically as soon as it started, the Bull charging into the monsters and furiously battling them, and the Bladesigner joining him. Behind lines, their Ranger found ways to make sure her arrows soared true, striking the man behind these monsters, and Dak was.. he was Dak, though he seemed to struggle to keep track of the Hermit at first. An orb of fire into the battlefield, no doubt the work of their Mage, scorched towards the man and his monsters, and she watched a faint blue glow wash over their foes, the work of The Huntress, no doubt.

Quickly the monsters and the Hermit showed the Monk they meant harm, it didn't take long for both the Bladesinger and the Barbarian to be injured severely, and so Mae'rel placed her hand onto Ruadhiri. Warm crimson seeped into her hands, the dark red soaking into their skins, and she muttered a prayer. Soon, she felt the flesh begin to join, the tissue begin to heal with a faint glow, and a melching sound that always accompanied it. The bull would no doubt feel as if he had flees after such an injury, but she was sure he would have preferred such itching to death. Just as she finished the spell, Mae'rel sought to back up, narrowly avoiding the rage-filled elbow that Ruadhiri pulled back as he viciously wailed into the abominations.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud buzzing toward them, and somehow, Mae'rel had missed the entry of three dog sized wasps into the battle. Three wasps came blitzing towards them, one of them splitting for Arathea, and the other two maintaining towards her and Ruadhiri. She took a step to avoid the beast targetting her, and thankfully, her Lady protected her, as for a moment, the monstrous insect seemed confused when she disappeared from it's view. As for Ruadhiri, though, the massive stinger pierced him, and not only was it like a sword, it was still a stinger. Undoubtedly inflicted by a venom, Mae'rel knew she would have to tend to that area after the battle, but unfortunately, her spells were for healing wounds and slowing poisons, there was nothing she could do to outright cure a venom such as that one, and slowing it would only delay the inevitable.

Mae'rel sought to seal the wounds of Ruadhiri again, knowing that the Bladesinger was struggling deeply, she internally declared this would be her last time, as she desperately needed to focus on Arathea. She quietly found Rosariel at her side, aiding her, and with that, most of Ruadhiri's wounds were sealed.

Unfortunately, that was when she heard the screeching. All she could muster was "Owlbears, from the treeline!"

Priority 1. is to cure light wounds on Arathea, then heal people who can benefit to the fullest (meaning little/no HP from the heal would be wasted, no using it on papercuts) for the rest of this sequence.

Priority 2, assuming people get stable enough (as in, no one is moderate health or lower) she can step away, is to cast Aid on our bull man to support him a little better.

Priority 3, if somehow heals and aid are finished, is to move in pursuit of the man, if he hasn't already been stopped/gotten away

I'll go ahead and make a fun post now

And it was true. Mae'rel never did negiotate quite as well, or speak as good, as she could heal. Even beyond The Blue Lady's blessing, Mae'rel was quite skilled, more than even an average healer without miracles, in healing wounds. Herb ointments, grafting, surgical workings, and suturing all being skills she used throughout her time assisting Master Ignacio, but he was the one who did any speaking to political figures or even the religious ones who were members of their church. She was, in a way, charismatic, but truly she was only appealing to those who understood her more, otherwise she often provoked, as she did just now. The old man seemed to take her words offensively, though if he was supporting inherently evil creatures, such as undead and owlbears, she wasn't sure she would have done things differently, even given a do-over.

(OOC: Casting sanctuary on self ASAP, hopefully before full combat breaks out)

Retrieving a small silver mirror from her bag, Mae'rel grasped the rose around her neck, and it's thornless stem, before uttering a quiet prayer as she passed the hand clasping the symbol in front of her face, and once her hand had passed infront of the mirror, she disappeared from view, at least to the creatures who were none the wiser. After that, she took a moment to actually analyze the situation. The ravens seemed to be with the man, at least to some extent, so it was possible they were a threat. As for the undead.. he clearly controlled them, though they were admittedly strange, different from normal stories she'd heard. This was her first time confronting such a threat, so she supposed that stories perhaps had just simplified the undead, but she'd never heard of fungus being involved. Master Ignacio would have been most intrigued by such creatures, after all, in his early days, he was an adventurer before a Monk, and so he had seen many things, including undead.

The man was obviously the largest threat, due to his loose mind, and his powerful magic, it was clear that it would be difficult to end the battle without pacifying him. She worried about the fungus covering the undead, if it possessed poison, or would allow the undead to pass it, which would be worse still. As such, she decided she would support the two fighters once again, as a spectre along the frontlines, unnoticed by any who did not sense her presence, and that she would trust her warriors to snuff out those who were aware of her interference.

So she prepared herself for chaos to begin, keeping an eye up and her hands ready to seal the wounds of her comrades.

Mae'rel had many times traveled the forest in her journey alongside Ignacio, but never had she traveled the forest and ended up in a place like this. The grove itself, while beautiful, hinted something was a bit wrong. Adoran's servants always guarded sacred groves as she'd heard, but they were beautiful, they were grand, filled with flowers and life. Instead it seemed like this grove wasn't even quite alive, like it was on it's last leg and grasping. Ravens were a bird associated with disease, after all, and death, and it seemed fitting that such a group of animals were the only noticeable life, outside the plants and the man.

The man himself was the biggest problem, more so than the state of the grove or anything else. If he had been nurturing owlbears and called them sacred, it was clear his mind had long since departed, and he was beyond any reason or healing. His appearance was rugged, and Mae'rel was under the impression he had long since abandoned society and tried to make himself one with nature. Perhaps in some ways, he had succeeded, thought it most certainly cost him.

He claimed himself a servant of Adoran by wearing that necklace, as judging by it's structure, it seemed something more than just anyone would wear, and his words reinforced this further, yet, she struggled to believe he was a servant. If nothing else, she struggled to believe he still was indeed a servant. His necklace was twisted and corrupted, not just worn down by time, it looked as if it at been mutilated, but how exactly that had happened? She wasn't quite sure. What she was sure of, though, was that this didn't look to be going in the correct direction. 

The Monk decided she would try to de-escalate the situation, and so she spoke to her colleagues, keeping her voice hushed, "This man seems unwell. I do not know what he wants, or who he is, but he seems to serve, or rather, served the Keeper of Seasons. His necklace is not right, it should not be ravaged as it has been, and this grove is not right either."

And then, the monk made herself known to the man, offering a bow. "My apologies. I am a servant of the Blue Lady, and I take it you serve Keeper Adoran?" 

(OOC: Assuming he confirms, read further down for if he denies/does not answer)

"We did not seek to disturb your grove" Mae'rel continued, "We only sought answers to the strange behavior of the Owlbears within the area. I sincerely apologize for any disturbance caused." She halted, hoping the man would explain the strange circumstances without her prompting further.

(OOC: ALTERNATE DIALOGUE if he denies/does not answer)

"Regardless of who you serve, even if yourself only." The monk paused, contemplating her next words, "We did not mean to intrude upon your privacy, and I apologize for any disruptions we may have caused. I ask only if you know anything of the owlbears which live nearby."

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.

Hm hm hm. Big bird, but not magical eh? Sounds like a wizard training a VICIOUS ATTACK BIRD!! I'll have mae'rels post up soon

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.

Working on my post now. Expect it up by tonight.

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?"

Post is coming up! Let me ask Octavia and Arathea for a little bit of collab writing potential before I do though, I'd like to start a small interaction since I've MAINLY just followed along.

Hello hello! I'll be getting my post up either sometime this afternoon or tomorrow morning, but welcome to our game! If you want to go back and slot in any interaction so it doesn't seem like Isilmewen had just been quiet the entire time or had unspecified unremarkable dialogue, I'd be happy to make a couple posts for some kind of past interaction or something.

Glad to have you on board!!