Isilmewen’s tracking prowess led the troupe from the diminished tracks she had discovered earlier to fresher and more unsettling spoor soon enough. Over the years he’d spent in the Sylvari forests, Dak had learned that stumbling upon the carcass of a random creature was far from uncommon, but the state of the mangled and mutilated half-corpse of a deer they had discovered lying just off the trail flew in the face of that learning. This was no hunter’s lost quarry, nor had the creature died of natural causes or mere mishap; it was obvious that the poor thing had been torn asunder with great ferocity, and what remained was unscavenged, as if even the boldest or hungriest of carrion feeders had been wary of making a meal of the thing.

“I’m no ranger, arwenamin,” Kithiel frowned as the party examined the carcass, “but even I can see that’s no natural death. Something tore the poor creature apart.”

“We all know what that something was. I have seen it in action, myself,” Thanon interjected icily, the knuckles of the hand gripping his bow gone white with fury, “These are foul, murderous beasts that must be put down.”

“Indeed,” Dak muttered under his breath, leaning on his bata and flicking a glance at the pengron, “and your grasp of the obvious is impeccable, mellon. To be able to put them down, though – a task which I assure you is easier said than done – we will first need to find them.”

~~~

And so, on they went, soon discovering much fresher and observable tracks which Isilmewen attributed to not just one but multiple monstrosities. These marks inevitably brought them to the top of a rocky hill where, nestled into the ridge that ran along its summit, was a wide and reeking cave mouth. “Another gods-cursed brooding cave,” the Cid scowled as they approached, drawing his scarf over his mouth and nose against the stench, “just as I forestated. Sarigraamin…” The foreboding sense of déjà vu sent icy fingers chasing up his spine, but he managed to repress the shudder that threatened to accompany it, “… By Hurgee what I wouldn’t give to have been wrong.”

Rosariel pointed out the ring of sickly green mushrooms, their inner edges charred black, and a pall of sinister tension, nearly as heavy as the scent of death and decay here, fell over the companions. Surely, all of them (save, perhaps, their retainers from Hyanda Nost) were recalling their encounter with the corrupt cleric of Kithee and, with a sense of dread, were certain that the same ancient Syl had been here. It was a cold comfort to Dak, though, that the burnt faces of the fungi seemed to indicate that the old fart had already taken his leave. Sheilin smile on us all, he thought, and let that be true.

Beyond the ring was a scene from a charnel house. The ground outside and around the mouth of the cave was strewn with the detritus of the owlbears’ kills; bits of gnawed bone, ragged tatters of fur and hide, and scraps of putrefying meat. Worst among all this ghastly mess, though, was the crumpled corpse of a Sylvari child so young that the poor thing hadn’t yet reached Dak’s stature before its life was so brutally snatched away. The shudder of revulsion that had been threatening him since they first spied the cave laid claim to the little Cid, now, and he didn’t bother to fight it. Instead, with trembling fingers, he stripped a blanket from his bedroll and used it to cover the boy’s body. “Go home to Ma Meil, little one,” he whispered, “and rest easy in her arms.” This done, he got to his feet and padded just inside the mouth of the cave, eyes and ears keen to ferret out even the slightest sight or sound that would indicate something stirring inside.

Behind him, Thanon was raging. “Waara’thostea!” the pengron cursed. “We will kill every last one of these abominations! What is the plan?” Dak turned to see the man glaring at Isilmewen with angry expectation.

“There may be no need of a plan, ruthaer,” he suggested flatly, moving to impose himself between Isilmewen and Thanon, “I don’t think that anyone is at home…” he pointed at the cave with the iron end of his bata, “… If there is anyone or anything in there, they’re being awfully quiet.”

He turned his gaze to Isilmewen then. “If you would have me delve deeper, Lala,” he suggested, “I will do so but, as I said, by all indications – the silence from within and the blackened interior of the ring – I believe that the ‘Ksher and his pets are gone from here.”

Isilmewen traced the sight before her with careful consideration. Too much didn't add up. What she wouldn't give to just be on some hunt for game, or on the trail making safe the path for some caravan. That, at least, followed the natural patterns. This?

"Heren'salkya, you're making my head spin with this twirling," she murmured to herself, her fingers brushing the star ring brooch she wore.

Come on, put it together.

Behind them, Thanon was raging. “Waara’thostea!” the pengron cursed. “We will kill every last one of these abominations! What is the plan?”

"First, we steady," Isilmewen replied, her voice soft as she offered calm to the others, "Still the fire in our breast, that it won't smoke our vision to what we must see if we are to avoid the worst. Monstrous, yes, but not without purpose. Our adversary's purpose... So then, what can we tell from their tracks?"

"Two bodies, now, that we've seen," Isilmewen frowned, "The first ravaged by might, but body left behind. Not food, so why?"

Untouched even by scavengers. That... that told her something.

"If even rejected by those that would eventually return the body to the ground, what does that tell us of the state of the body?"

Something amiss. Either the body was unsafe for even them, or... perhaps claimed.

She nodded to Dak, "The 'Ksher, probably. But all left, probably not." She pointed at the body laying outside the cave, "What do you know of the ones that scavenge? There are animals, yes, but so too there are other things. And after what we've seen, after what Raudhri's endured... I hope I'm wrong, but be ware of the one that is still. If growth stirs inside of it, unseen, then make ready to move quickly, dear shadow."

"Let us see to preparations as we can, with what little we do know," Isilmewen added, "Even as Dak acts as our eyes, the rest of us best cover the entrance; if some of the beasts yet linger, we may force a halt to their advance if we pin them there. That will stay their numbers, if there is more than one. At the same time, heed your senses. If you see fungus bloom, if you hear overlarge bee, call and be ready to reposition if our flank is threatened."

Arathea had struggled through her stay, struggling through dreams reliving her past with her father; running through the forests, practicing bladework, reading stories. When she had finally awoken she felt the pulsing pain on her side, a reminder of what had happened. She grunted, but this was far from the worse of what she had experienced, her mind returned to when she had lost her blade. *How many times must I fail,* she wondered as she raised her hand to feel her injuries. She was told she was lucky to be alive, told that she should be glad, but all she felt was guilt and a creeping anger, anger at herself for failing, anger at the news she could not fight, anger at what she was becoming more and more certain was a plot to attack her family.

–

Outside, the other paced. Begrudgingly. Biding her time, chewing on the nagging shadows circling Arathea’s town… Arathea’s family. Circling closer. Arathea might have been cursed, if the gods could be bothered. It would be like them, rewarding someone like her with this. But no. They didn’t care that much. But neither was this the product of that all-consuming entropy they had let loose on mortals to navigate. These were.. machinations, of something… not so distant. But what godsdamnit. The erestor had his enemies, no doubt. But he was gone. What threat did his progeny pose… or inherit. Or had the erestor stoked a grudge deep enough to outlive him… No. Whatever stalked this family wasn’t politics. What connected the Speaker.. the erestor.. the fae… She turned it over and over like a blacksmith’s puzzle as she paced. The solution defied her, even as she grew more certain of its edges…

The old crow finally interrupted her stalking.

“You may see your mellon now” . . . “But she is still weak. You will leave when I tell you that you must leave.”

We’ll see about that. She silently followed, resisting the urge to shoulder past this stubborn old treestump.

Arathea looked worlds better than last Seleniniel had seen. The fallaner had pulled her back from the edge… thou.gh she’d taken her sweet time doing it. Seleniniel side-eyed her. The other priest would’ve done it better… and without so much carrying on.

Looking down on Arathea, “you look like s***.” Seleniniel killed the smirk before it could find the corner of her mouth. “And I only owe you one now.”

When Seleniniel entered and made her remarks Arathea chuckled lightly. “At least there aren't any mushrooms sprouting from me,” she jested, the first words she had spoken since awakening. “We've both seen worse.”

On a century-old impulse she’d thought dead, Seleniniel fished out the mushroom plucked from that ba-seldarine woodswytch’s circle… and threw it at Arathea’s head. “Not yet,” she deadpanned, though she couldn’t kill the grin.

Some blades don’t dull easily. Arathea’s hand flicked from the blanket, catching the mushroom easily, several inches from her face. The shriveled fungus pitifully puffed out of existence in Arathea’s swordhand, leaving a crumbling cloud of sporous ashes with an acrid smell that immediately drew the moisture from her mouth.. and mingled with the herbs of the healer’s cottage into something altogether awful. Seleniniel wrinkled her nose, reflexively bringing her robesleeve to mask the sharp melange. Arathea winced and then let out a mix of laughing and coughing. “Gods that smells awful!” She threw her good arm in the air. “But clearly I still have it, even after being crushed!”

“See,” Seleniniel coughed, waving the cloud away with her robesleeve, “she’s fine.” She did not bother to face the healer. To herself, She’s not her. She took a breath. Not her. Dispelling the off-kilter levity, to Arathea, with returned impatience, “listen.. can we finally talk about why we’re here?” Seleniniel flicked her eyes to the healer again, still hovering, arms crossed like a petrified knot in an oak stump. Seleniniel turned, about to shoo her out, when she interrupted. "You wished to ask about the death of Moreuron Ondolithe, yes?" Seleniniel glared at her presumptiveness.. and incorrectness. The healer rolled her eyes at the expressions on their faces… and proceeded to earnestly tell them nothing Seleniniel didn’t already know. Ba-seldarine useless.

. . . “It does not feel right to me. But I know of no way to prove anything else . . . ask what you will. Then, Mistress Ondolithe, you must rest.”

Arathea sighed on the information, or rather lack thereof that was offered by the healer. Though she was grateful for her her rescue she was frustrated by what she had heard; every account seemed to say the same thing, that the death of her father was just an accident, terrible and strange but nothing more. Still every instinct in Arathea’s body told her that there was something more, something sinister at play. “Thank you for all of your service to me, I owe you my life,” Arathea spoke in a respectful tone to the old healer. “And for your information.”

Seleniniel barely let Arathea get her thanks out, “Nothing about this is right!” It came out sharper than she intended, directed just as much at bladesinger as fallaner. She paused, took a breath, tried to soften her words. “Which is why we’ve no time for rest.” Seleneniel nodded down at Arathea, ignoring the look directed up at her impoliteness. “She needs to be on her feet, if not today, first thing tomorrow.” Say your prayers, priest, I’m hauling Arathea out of here at first light. She took a half step towards the healer, gesturing down at the bed, “every minute she lays in this bed, shadow hides erestor’s secrets… and Ondolithe’s enemies marshal to finish what they started.”

“Please, calm yourself Seleniniel.” Arathea's voice was firmer now, though an exhausted rasp was present. *I want to leave here too, I want nothing more than to get to the bottom of this and protect what remains of my family and my father's legacy, but shouting gets us nowhere.* “I agree, I want to be up as soon as possible, if not to fight than to at least investigate. But yelling will make no progress, and this is not the time.” She looked back at the old healer, then turned back to Seleniniel, exhausted determination in her eyes. “We can speak of a plan when we have privacy and a moment to breathe, we can start with what you saw before… it happened.”

Seleniniel straightened her robes, ignoring the urge to return her robesleeve to her nose. She leveled at the healer, “We need fresh air and privacy.” “Please,” an afterthought. Gesturing to Arathea’s armor that lay, useless on the healer’s floor “healing broken bones won’t do her any good against knives in the dark.” “I trust your sense of duty spans to more than bones.” She coughed as she inhaled the settling cloud. “It would do us all some good… considering the noxious state of your cottage.” Seleniniel smirked.

(Big props to Alan for the colab post!!!)

Upon coming up on the cave, Mae'rel spotted the body. She remained silent for several long moments, allowing Dak to do with the body as he wished, covering it. She looked to Isilmewen, heeding her warnings about a possible contamination of the body. She nodded her head. She was likely right. Owlbears were malicious creatures, yes, but it didn't make sense that they would kill some child and not at least eat it. The Ranger made a good point, it felt wasteful for predators that needed to maintain their weight, their energy. Now, it could have been that the child had approached them and this cave was their layer, but she wasn't quite sure. Regardless of what happened, Mae'rel approached the now covered corpse, gently lowering to her knees as she placed one hand on the corpse, and the other on the thornless rose hanging around her neck.

As she placed a gloved hand on the corpse, she felt herself drift back to those younger years. This could have been her. It nearly was. It should have been. A young Sylvari, unremarkable seemingly, alone and passed on, before they could ever properly live their life. This child though, ravaged not by disease, but by beast, was different in that aspect. Still, she felt great sorrow. There was no sense at all in this kind of violence, and for what? These horrible beasts were being used by the witch why? Because he wanted power? Because he wanted to cause fear? It was utterly pointless.

Mae'rel muttered her prayers quietly to the lost child, praying for Lysora to receive them, that even though they may have been young, she would take them in her arms and give them an eternal life of health they never were able to have on this mortal plane. When she stood up again, she was just as silent as when she had gone down, but a close look into the priest's eyes would show that even despite all they had seen so far, she wept quietly for this one.

Her mind once again went to the old Syl who had to be responsible for this. Who had corrupted his heart with such twisted views, what perverted evil force had instilled in him somehow that he was doing good to wield these awful things? Or was he completely aware of his wrongdoings, and lacked all care?

Mae'rel did not want to find out. But she knew one thing. That even despite her vows, the Blue Lady would too wish it.

He had to die.

Ruadhrí’s grip tightened unconsciously on the haft of his ax as his eyes told the scene to his mind, the corpses of syl’s repossessed by the same fungus that would have claimed him if not for the mysterious fae. This feeling, though, of escaping danger only to feel it continue to loom over him was more than familiar, and he could control it… somewhat.

Despite his familiarity with it, it still loomed in his mind, stirring anxiety behind his seasoned brown eyes that contradicted their cool neutral tone. His skin tingled with the faint mimic of the unimaginable, needle-like pain of fungi piercing his leathery hide. His throat dried with memories of dust-esque spores pouring from his mouth and nose with every breath and cough. Despite this, he stood unmoving.

“Calm yourself,Thanon, for we cannot afford emotions in this bout” Ruadhrí said as he placed his comparatively massive hand on the ranger’s shoulder. “This filth requires your utmost focus and planning. You and Kithiel will stay to either side of the cave mouth” he said, his eyes never leaving the cave mouth. “Me and Isilmewen will form a line just in front of the cave mouth” Ruadhrí continued “allowing you to fire as they come out to attack us while still not giving enough room for them to get out.” Finally, Ruadhrí’s eyes went to Mae’rel instead of the cave mouth, with a suppressed plea in them. “You must promise me you will not let me or Isilmewen fall, for the better of all of you.”

“Promise?”

Rosariel stands poised to act but as the minutes of Dak's investigation slowly tick up her attention wavers. At first, the looks to the side are accidental thinking she see's movement at the corners of her vision. And a minute later it is turning more fully as she begins to realize that having placed herself at the back of the group also means that she needs to keep an eye on their rear.

 

(OOC If Tubs is trained enough, Would try and direct him to scratch for attention if the party moves while she is scanning behind.)

 

She holds off saying while they wait at first but as more time passes without a pressure relief she finally turns to Isilmewen. "Isilmewen, based on this terrain, How easy do you think it would be to sneak up on us now... If they are not in the cave...?"

 

(OOC if Iselmewen indicates easy to medium then she will regret the spellcasting preparation and will actively scan behind relying on the party and Tubs notifying her if there is a need to face back front.)

 

She whispers just barely audible in response. "Well, let's hope that shiver down my spine is unrelated. Taudor Salka let us not be in your sights today but those which are sighting instead." Her hand begins to move towards the antler at her neck unconsciously.

The charnel-house stink that pervaded the air outside the cave only worsened as Dak probed silently deeper into the interior and, even before he reached the main chamber, the shadelin found himself wishing he’d had another length of scarf to wind about his mouth and nose or, at least, some camphor laurel leaves to stuff in his nostrils against the smell. When he did reach the brooding chamber and verified that none of the terrible beasties were lurking in the dark, he lit a torch and almost wished he hadn’t. The twigs he had imagined crunching beneath his practiced steps weren’t twigs at all, but bits of bone and, like the spread on the daylight side of the cave mouth (if not worse), scraps of deteriorating flesh and other offal carpeted the place. The worst of the smell, though, seemed to emanate from a nook which the residents of this cave had reserved as their litter box -  a pile of composting ‘thost’ near the back…

 

You’ve smelt just as bad in the culverts and sewers of Bayris, he reminded himself, perhaps misremembering just enough to keep himself from gagging, but, certainly not worse.

 

…He examined the chamber with greater scrutiny, now that the torch illuminated it more clearly, and scowled beneath the folds of his scarf as the body of what appeared to be a Syl ranger was revealed. Ma Meil keep you, as well, he thought, slinking closer, his eyes on the exquisite bow tangled in the poor soul’s cloak, Do us a kindness and give us something that might, at least, lead us to your kin, hm? They’d like to know what happened to you, I’m sure. He unraveled the bow from its fabric trap, slung it over a shoulder, and moved to inspect the tortured corpse. Beyond a meager purse-full of coin, Dak found nothing on the body that he could see leading to identification. As such, he tucked the purse away and turned his attention to the nest in the chamber’s center.

 

It was built from furs and fabrics – some from the wild, and some stripped from hapless passersby, he was sure – and, after careful examination, the little Cid was all but certain that the old ‘Ksher hadn’t rigged it with traps. He poked tentatively with his bata at the clutch of eggs nestled in its center, decided against breaking them outright. Instead, he fished a bottle of oil from his pouch, doused the nest and eggs with it, and started backing toward the tunnel which had led him into this hellish place. He had unstoppered another bottle of oil and, as he retreated, used it to draw a fuse in his wake. “I’ve got the corpse of a ranger and half a dozen eggs,” he called, as loud as he dared, “as well as a giant pile of s#!t and the usual atrocities!”

 

((OOC: If Dak needs to use his last vial of oil to complete the ‘fuse’ to the nest, he will. I’d like to hope he’s got enough to get him at least a foot or two outside the cave mouth. If not… what’cha gonna do? With luck, he can re-up at Hyanda Nost.))

Mae'rel shook her head as Dak exited the cave, looking to their companions first. 

"I assume this ranger would belong to your group?" Mae'rel spoke, though the question was practically already answered, as it was unlikely it would belong to some other group of rangers, or a solo just passing through. She looked to Dak, "Eggs and a corpse suggest recent activity in the nest, being used actively, yes? We could be at threat by just being here." She paused for a moment, looking out into the forest before continuing, "Of course, being at threat is not exactly new to our group. My point moreso is that we should consider preparing ourselves for battle at once. We've seen what these beasts could do before."

She was just about fed up with these creatures. In Lady Lysora's eyes, life was meant to be sacred, a belief passed down to her Son, and to all her followers. These creatures may have been living, but they certainly did not value life. And while death was a natural part of said life, of the cycle, it was not such that these creatures killed to survive, or killed to protect themselves. No, they were intelligent enough to enjoy suffering, to enjoy the destruction of the most sacred aspect of the lands. Why would someone willingly create such horrible beasts, continued to press Mae'rel. No benefit would come from this, and unless one was a follower of either The Corruptor or The Devourer, she simply would not understand what could remotely convince a person to ally with such beasts.

Isilmewen nodded slowly, making gesture to borrow one of the other's blades - if she were to hold the front line with Raudhri, she'd make use of that. Arathea had her blade, after all. Maybe at some point she'd be able to share with Arathea what the sword carried. If she knew the sword'd story, maybe it'd make it easier on her? Isilmewen wasn't sure, she was no singer, but it was a possibility she thought about.

 

Not important to the now, though.

 

"They're not much for being lightfooted, at least normally," Isilmewen offered her reassurance to Rosariel, "Even that one leading them won't change that aspect of their physicality. Still, being ware of our surroundings is never a bad thing. I'll do my best to notice anybeast's approach." she offered a gentle smile.

 

She'd look after them. She wasn't Arathea, but she would still do what she could.

 

On hearing Dak's abrupt whisper, Isilmewen's eyes hardened.

 

"So that's what it is. That explains why they guard this area - it likely serves as a place of reinforcement. I shouldn't doubt that, being as experienced as that one is, they could make warbeasts of a clutch of eggs if the need arose." Isilmewen voiced her thoughts aloud.

 

And even if such were beyond their means, that they were setting up such a site told Isilmewen that they fully intended to seige Hyanda Nost, and would do so easily with sufficient nesting in such relative proximity. By her guess, the bodies left behind were for when the eggs hatched. A first meal to teach them the taste of Sylvari flesh and blood.

 

Isilmewen's throat tightened at that thought, and she didn't give voice to it.

 

"Fire may attract any nearby back to this point. Let us reposition so any rushing to the cave may pass by, allowing us to hit their flank if their number is few enough that we can take them," Isilmewen offered by suggestion, "But we best not stay overlong. They may have numbers at their disposal, even if spread out in the surrounds, and we'd best not misstep our back to a wall."

 

To say nothing of the elder's knack for navigating spaces rapidly. But when trying to avoid a hawk, if staying out of sight wasn't an option, the other method available was to move frequently, a winding path that would be difficult to lead... Isilmewen wasn't sure how well such metaphor held up here, but she was inclined to cede as little advantage as she could to their adversary. 

As Ruadhrí stood at the mouth of the cave, both is grip in has ax tighten and his hooves planted themselves deeper in the soil, already bracing for the massive beast to come stampeding out of the cave. Ruadhri's eyes, usually calm and observant, even before a battle, darted around the darkness looking for any tiny sign of movement or glint of light reflecting off the eyes of the beasts. To his surprise, though, there were no sounds. No shambling footsteps or occasional scratch of claws, or even a low huff or groan. Nothing.

Suddenly, Ruadhrí saw movement coming from the cave. Small, too smal to be an owlbear, and as the thought of fighting a shambling mushroom spawn becoming imminent closed in, his breath caught, then sped up. He stepped back and twisted his body, already preparing a strike that would almost certainly cut the beast in half when he heard Dak speak.

“I’ve got the corpse of a ranger and half a dozen eggs, as well as a giant pile of s#!t and the usual atrocities!” despite the picture the words painted, Ruadhrí eased knowing it was the shaedlin and not a corpse. As the half-ling immerged, Ruadhrí calmed but did not fully still. His ax was rested, but in both hands rather than put away, and his breathing was still quick. Despite the immense size of the bofír, even the thought of fighting more monsters while knowing they weren't around was enough to shake him to his core. Finally, Ruadhrí turned to face the forest, back to his mindset of protecting the others and preparing if the beast came back.

The waiting is familiar, comfortable, like the silence of sitting with an old friend. Which, if Rosariel was being honest with herself, she might eventually see these people as just that. Provided they all lived through this little romp. One egg in the cave would have been too many and Dak said there were six eggs which indicates more than one owlbear. Before her head could run away she took a few calming breaths and added then relaxed some tension on her bow string. This is just another hunt, if you ignored the fact that the creatures would be raging after having their eggs destroyed...

 

Rosariel stayed crouched and hidden waiting for the signal to stand and loose. Even Tubs was still in her hood. Curled up but not asleep by the pace of their breathing on her neck. Counting the breaths steadied her mind until her focus was taught and ready. She let her planned actions roll through her mind. 

 

Stand, Aim, Loose, and repeat. Be ready to interrupt the cycle when the owlbears have closed the distance.

 

Rosariel looks around at everyone else to see if their are ready when the shriek pulls everyone to attention. Rosariel focuses on Isilmewen waiting for the signal and for the battle to begin.