A journey of shame and defeat had been made, one that was as useful as a rusted out blade. Arathea's father was dead, not just dead, murdered, and if that was not enough there was no route to any closure, no way to track down whoever committed this crime. And now what? Arathea was to leave, leave it all behind and let this atrocity go unpunished. Her father, the people's man, the hero who gave a voice for the mute, a shield for the weak, and most of all a dream of peace between the natons, was dead. As Arathea prepared to mount on Tanna to begin the return to where the party had been before she was called to her father's funeral, she looked back, back to when she was just a girl. Her father was always a great inspiration for her, he had encouraged her every step of the way in her life, educated her on the nuances of Sylvari governance, trained her to be able to protect herself, and most of all he encouraged her to pursue the honor of becoming a Bladesinger. She wondered what he would think seeing her now, what he would say, but this brought her back to another moment in her life.

She was sixty eight at the time and in the middle of her training, she had been sparring with another student in one of the many competitions that young trainees engaged in. The boy was as full of youth and energy as she was, as appetent and maybe even more proudful as the young Arathea (if there was such a thing) too. One could even say he was a rival, and this competition in particular was of great importance as multiple high ranking officers would be attending and the winner would get the privilege of of visiting Karythar Nost with one of them. The day came for what was, at that point, the most important battle of her life, and Arathea was overcome; the boy, Kithlassil, simply outpaced her. The young Arathea was crushed, though in hindsight it was quite the minor setback, in that moment it seemed like her world had ended; she returned to her father with her head hung low, told him everything about how she had squandered the greatest opportunity in her life yet, how she was humiliated and crushed.

As he listend to all she had to say, he sat her down and looked at her with that characteristic empathy that was always on the man's face, despite the wear and the scars present from his service in the army. As he spoke there was a firm kindness, the type that you'd imagine from a saint in every word. "You are the bravest girl I have seen in all of my years, every time I get news from your training I am filled with nothing but pride, and you challenge the odds with the courage of a griffin and it's rider taking to the clouds every day. But sometimes when we take risks like that, when you go against fate, you will lose. It has happened to me, it has happened to my comrades, it happens to the fellow dreamers the I work with so often that it could make even the strongest wills falter if they are not careful. But when we lose we don't despair, we look back, ask what happened, and then ask what is the best course of action to move forward with. Defeat doesn't have to block you my child, it can be the gateway to become a better warrior. Whenever you lose it gives you the chance to examine the part of yourself that we scarcely seek to investigate, your weaknesses, and it lets you improve upon them. You will fight another day Arathea, and you will win."

Arathea thought back to those words constantly through the journey in the sky *"You will fight another day Arathea, and you will win."* She had to muster herself, had to muster her courage for the future, there was a quest to recover a lost piece of the nation's soul, there was the fate of history, and if the fae were telling the truth, the world in the balance. She knew what she needed to do, and while the hole in her heart did not close, she looked for the strength to to advance in spite of it. Seleniniel despaired, complained, shouted, but of course she did. Arathea tried not to mind it, except for the mistreatment of Tanna, which encouraged her to remind Seleniniel that this was a gift, and that maybe she should show manners more befitting of a lady such as herself.

They were forced to dismount, Tatheme had done his job and Arathea could not complain, instead she moved forward with dedication, a dedication that continued even in spite of the hell that was navigating the wretched place they found themselves in. But a blessing came, a blessing that came thanks to Seleniniel of all people, who had the knowledge and the wits to recognize this as an illusion. Arathea thought about the woman and her constant antics, she was far from what anyone could call "good", but traveling being alone with her for so long made Arathea truly appreciate her dedication and resilience; she clearly wasn't well, she was paranoid and aggressive, she saw plots and schemes in every shadow, but she was passionate, and every now and then even seemed to show empathy. And while navigating this maze which turned her own senses against her, Arathea took care to watch behind her back to check on her companion which she had grown so oddly fond of.

Then they finally reached their companions, and looking at them huddled around the campfire, hungry and cold, Arathea felt a a chill run up her spine. They had been on a quest of their own, hunting the wytch who they had encountered before Arathea presumed, and it had clearly worn on them. They exhaustion in their eyes and the sluggish drag in their movements told a story of strife and struggle, and Isilmewen and particular looked as though she had carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. "Long time no see," Arathea greeted them as warmly as she could. "It looks like you all fought a whole war while we were off running errands," she joked, aware that she didn't look any better.

She sat herself down by the fire, examining the group again... alone and stranded in a maze of madness. "I know I haven't been here with you all, and I don't know the battles you have been fighting, but whatever has happened you have reinforcements. In my time away I didn't get any good news, but that is not the matter of the highest importance tonight. Tonight I see you all, some of the finest comrades I have ever had the pleasure of working with, and the privilege of to call myself a leader for, in the illusion of a madman and running out of food. But as of now I am telling you that hope is not lost, Seleniniel seems to have some grasp of what is happening here, and together we have the pooled intelligence to rival some of the most masterful strategists I have ever served. We will make it out of here, and we will solve whatever the problems you have been facing."

Arathea spoke with a confidence in her voice that she had missed, the confidence of a warrior, she just hoped she wasn't sounding too pompous. Perhaps she had not been on a journey of defeat, but a journey to test her strength, and she was going to reach the end.

Rosariel is gladdened by the return of their fellow compatriots but also wary for them now that they are trapped in the same illusion as they have been. The worry is repressed for their rejoining as certainly everything will work out now that they have a fully returned number.

"It has certainly been difficult set of days. I'm not sure how much you know and maybe Dak should fill you in on the specifics. I'm glad you are back with us. We have found this place a crafty trap and do hope that you have noticed more than we. That said I myself am surprised that the weaver of this little knot hasn't come to see what they have caught."

Rosariel is stuck in the thought now that the world is wider than she had even imagined and that the strength of this illusion is craftier than even the strongest camoflauge she has used or seen.

"If we don't find a way through this soon I fear that even tubs will have to go on half rations." She says as she scratches the creature under the chin. "And we cannot have him loosing weight since that would mean giving him a new name."

"If you have an idea of how to slip this snare I'd love to hear it. It seems to foul my mundane tracking senses as well as the rest of the groups'."

Bundled in his cloak, nibbling at the remaining crumbs of his meager supper, Dak’s gaze wandered over the faces of his companions, reading frustration and disappointment in most and, in one set of eyes, a cold spark of perceived failure or guilt. His attention dipped from Isilmewen’s tormented visage to the map she’d scrawled in the snow-dusted dirt. The pick studied the drawing for a long moment, hoping in vain that something sketched there would help him make sense of this puzzle in which they’d become entangled. Finding no obvious clue or key, Dak sighed, lifted his weary eyes back to the ranger’s troubled face, and chewed on the stem of his empty pipe…

Don’t torture yourself so, Lala, he thought, knowing that saying the words aloud wouldn’t do much to alleviate the woman’s guilt, This predicament is my fault more than yours. Had I not let the excitement of finding Tali-whatshisname take such hold of me, perhaps we’d have not found ourselves here, at all.

…Just as he had lifted a hand, thinking to rest it hearteningly on Isilmewen’s shoulder, the Cid’s keen ears picked up on a duo of approaching footsteps. Rather than the ranger’s shoulder, his hand fell to his bata as his eyes turned toward the sound. At best, he expected to find Ysmiril returning at last; at worst (and more likely, given the state of things) it would be some roving beasty, as hungry as they were, come to fill its belly with their flesh. As it turned out, it was neither. Instead, his gaze fell upon the shapes of Arathea and Seleniniel standing at the edge of the campfire’s glow…

“Gods… you guys look like s#!t,” the mage jibed, “and what the hells is this place?”

“Long time no see,” the bladesinger chimed in, “It looks like you all fought a whole war while we were off running errands.”

 …The astonished expression, which had so thoroughly laid claim to his features that his pipe had nearly fallen from his slackened lips, morphed into a wan but still impish smile as he scrambled to his feet. “Lady Ondolethe! Mistress Isilnari,” Dak grinned, sketching a bow, “Cormamin lindua ele llea! As to what this place is,” he went on, giving an uncertain hitch of his little shoulders, “It’s a trap… or a test… or some kind of paching puzzle that we’ve yet to figure out…” There was a desperately hopeful glimmer in his eyes as he regarded Seleniniel and wagged his pipe in the air between them; “Please, gods, tell me you have moonshade! There has been nothing but crumbs and dust in my pouch for days!”

((OOC: Room for back and forth here if you like. ))

Arathea, looking and sounding much more self-assured than he could recall her being in quite some time, sat herself amongst them and launched into an encouraging motivational speech. “I know I haven't been here with you all, and I don't know the battles you have been fighting, but whatever has happened you have reinforcements. In my time away I didn't get any good news, but that is not the matter of the highest importance tonight. Tonight I see you all, some of the finest comrades I have ever had the pleasure of working with, and the privilege of to call myself a leader for, in the illusion of a madman and running out of food. But as of now I am telling you that hope is not lost, Seleniniel seems to have some grasp of what is happening here, and together we have the pooled intelligence to rival some of the most masterful strategists I have ever served…”

Here, Dak caught a flicker of movement from Seleniniel that drew his eye. She was peering at him sidelong and had spiked a taunting brow at Arathea’s last words. He puffed out a little chuckle and, in answer to her raised brow, lifted a finger and offered a wink. “I’ve missed you, too, arwenamin,” he snickered inwardly.

“…We will make it out of here, and we will solve whatever the problems you have been facing,” the bladesinger finished.

“It has certainly been difficult set of days,” Rosariel confessed in the wake of Arathea’s pep-talk, “I'm not sure how much you know and maybe Dak should fill you in on the specifics…”

The diminutive sneakthief gave a nod of assent at the suggestion but waited until the Huntress had finished saying her piece before offering any insight in that regard.

“…If you have an idea of how to slip this snare I'd love to hear it,” the cleric of Villy concluded, “It seems to foul my mundane tracking senses as well as the rest of the groups'.”

“As would I,” Dak concurred, taking a languid puff on the pipe which he had refilled with the 'crumbs and dust' that were left in his pouch, “I’m usually fairly astute at solving puzzles, but this one, as you can see, has us all flummoxed. I suppose, in order to provide you with proper context and perspective,” he said, his emerald eyes flitting between the mage and the bladesinger, “I should start at the beginning…”

((OOC: Info and lore dump from Dak here to recount his finding of the report of the ruhue in the commander’s office, the legend of Rin Thistleknot and the Great Old Owl, and the related events that have led them to the here and now… ))

“…and, so, here we are,” he finished, blowing an undulating smoke ring toward the flames of the campfire, “I have no doubt that there is a key to unlocking this little conundrum but, Thirky stab my eyes, I have yet to see it.”

Mae'rel had travelled many days in her time. She had heard of many magical tales. Caves of wonder, illusions of grand castles with nothing but dirt beneath them, the living dead. She had seen many things too. Disease that ravaged so it turned the skin of even the most tan man to ash. Boils that oozed darkened and deathly liquid. Fevers that leaked blood out of the nose, mouth, eyes and ears. Yet never had she heard-- most certainly never seen, such a thing in her life. 

These were two of the most capable women she had ever met. Sylvari that were truly at home in the woods, in nature. Yet they were as clueless as she. And worst of all, the creature that dwarfed their experience, the Fae, had disappeared with no sign of return. No matter how they progressed, it seemed they did not at all. And slowly that had begun to burn at them. Now it was not just a question of if they would find the Ruhue. It was a question of if they would even find the exit and survive.

Nevertheless, Mae'rel remained mostly silent, offering an ear and a word to those who had slowly become striken by the sorrow that their exploits and mission would end here, unremarkably, on an empty belly. The truth was Mae'rel was not yet completely worried for food. At lower rations, they had just a few more days, but it would be a few more days after that still before the weakness completely washed over them. Mae'rel was one of the first to go onto the half rations, as the Ways required fasting during certain holy periods. But she could feel her Goddess's worry for the health of the group, and it had still imparted her a degree of anxiety.

Something that lifted the spirits of her, and seemingly the whole group was to see their companions find them. While the rest seemed to rejoice to a degree, happy to see their return, Mae'rel kept her distance, and muttered a prayer to her Goddess. Their rations would buy them slightly more time, but in their seeking the group, they may have doomed themselves too. The Blue Lady would give them their bodies the health, their brains the function to find their way out of this. Mae'rel just needed to wait and see how.

"Good to see you again, Madam Arathea and Madam Seleniniel. It is good to see your health. We are in quite the.. situation, as one would see. Some kind of magic I do not understand, and even Madam Ysmirel seemed not to has taken us, for lack of a better term, captive.. I hope Madam Seleniniel can help to solve this problem."

This predicament was certain to only get worse in Ruadhrí's seasoned brown eyes, for they had seen nothing like this in all of their years. This forest did not feel like it had ever been meant to be walked in by mortals, for it was unnaturally dark, coated in pale white trees and thorns, and this creek had been dancing the same flow of minimal twist for days. His maps made no sense, his wayfinding experience had failed him, and now they were hopelessly lost in a forest where an ulchabhán could swoop down and eat their souls at any second for the sake of consuming the knowledge of their eternity.

Then, as the sun rose and fell again, though it made little difference due to the thick canopy, Ruadhrí had an idea. It was an illusion that masked the entrance to this demigod domain, yes? Illusions are made to keep people out-usually, at least. So, what if these woods were just one illusion? The fae could easily get them out to where they could be back to clibbering owlbears-and she disappeared into thin air. How come all the magi disappear when you need them?

Trying to keep his mind off of his own theory, Ruadhrí decided to break camp for coming up on... he forgot... the days just seem to blur together in this thicket. Lennox gave an unimpressed exhale as Ruadhrí dug through his bag for the rest of his dwindling supplies. Although the sylvari and himself were excellent trackers and wayfinders, Ruadhrí had a feeling that patience would be the key to getting out of this forest. So, he lit the fire, began to eat some of the last of his rations, and waited...

“This has to be it,” Dak insisted, crouching down to peer into the twisted tunnel of thorny branches and knotted roots, “I can feel it!” The pick’s excitement was a palpable thing now; he practically vibrated with it.

He popped back to his feet, a broad grin of enthusiasm plastered on his little face, and began snugging up his gear, tightening straps and lashing items more securely to prevent them from snagging as he made his way through the snug passage. “I’m going in,” he chirped, emerald eyes sparking with unbridled eagerness as they skipped over the faces of his companions, “Anyone else?”

His brow creased then, as if a thought had just occurred to him, and his gaze darted to the tunnel’s entrance and, appraisingly, back to the others in the party. The syls might manage passage easily enough, he decided, but Ruadhri, large as he was, might have a struggle of it. “If you doff your packs,” he suggested, still grinning gleefully, “most of you should be able to wriggle through…” his eyes settling on the bófear, “…but you, mellonureamin, perhaps not so much. Shall I go first? Alone?” he queried, anxious to do just that, “See what there is to be seen and report back to you?”

Skepticism and curiosity fought, eventually drew, as the pick wound down his fantastical tale. A demigod... She looked to the canopy through a new lens, ears prickling for the call that had beckoned her here… makes measure of sense. However it wandered, most folklore had roots in real soil. A sly plan began to form as she contemplated the possibilities of truth. She kept the budding thought shrouded. “A quaint tale,” loaded her eyebrow with as much “bulls***” as she could muster.. “perhaps some crumbs of authenticity have survived your… folk-y… retelling”... corroborated as it may seem by an imperial ranger. If anything, Dak seemed buoyed by her disbelief… Typical. “A shame your kin gave away such a… wealth.. of knowledge of your kind.” She eyed the pick, those everywatching green eyes, “I trust you've some mysteries remaining to barter.” She had her own that might serve… if it came to that.

The dwindling coals stingily spread their dying warmth across the others’ flat stares. They looked… beaten. Arathea’s rally had roused a glint of… something… but it felt fleeting as the dying embers. She returned to the only bright face. “And no… I’ve no moonshade left,” she sighed, cursing herself again for the rashness, “but we are otherwise reasonably provisioned.” She untied the neck of her pack and tossed a few of the wrapped hardtack bundles to Isilmewen, who it seemed had taken up Arathea’s mantle. The maiden quickly divvied it among the group. Seleniniel eyed Dak, letting him see her eyes flick down to his still-ample belly… perhaps he had cinched the belt a little… She cocked her head at him as Isimewen offered his share of rations, but said nothing. Then turned to answer the huntress’s query, suppressing a look of disgust at the wriggling lump in her cloak. “I’m no woodswoman, but this is no wood.” she widened her gaze “Did you not hear the owl?” Puzzlement and frustration. Gods… can they really not hear… Waiving the universal gesture of “hush,” she waited. It came. “There” pointing skyward and a little… north..ish... maybe west. “Always at equal intervals, regular as the morning cock.” The looks did not resolve to understanding, and, judging by their wanderings, perhaps they couldn’t perceive as she did. Perhaps only she, with the arcane eye, could navigate this masterful illusion that twisted the world in on itself. She fought a smug smirk. “It led us here,” gesturing to the camp, “If there’s more to find, perhaps it” perhaps I “will lead us onward….”. She still felt like it was tugging her forward, but she and Arathea had wasted hours tramping the riverbank, her body reminded her. She suppressed a yawn, finishing the thought, “... tomorrow.” Raising no objections to their new guide, Seleniniel nodded, and promptly unfurled her bedroll, curled up under her robe, and fell into self-satisfied sleep.

–

F*** it to all hells. 

The godsdamned owl was there again, regular as the cock, to be sure, and beckoning her in a direction that seemed to continually circle back on itself… but this time they too folded back on themselves. “I see it” she spat at Arathea’s questioning glance. Ignored Dak’s. She knew what it held. He’d managed to cling to that sardonic humor amid the rapidly retreating hope… still treating this like some delightful afternoon adventure to add to his uncle’s whimsical tale. The sour taste in her mouth was more than spoiled pride. They’d doubled back on the godsdamned campsite again. Not a shield… a fly trap. The acid in her gut churned the thought, lending new clarity to how easily she’d found the others… the campsite… where they’d too found themselves stagnant… stuck in the eddy, unable to catch the current in any direction. She’d simply been washed to the same place… now scrabbling to keep her head above water. To what end… to drown in this place? to whither away? What kind of spider are you…

The pick’s cry stabbed through her stewing. Her hand flashed to her robepockets before she registered the tone of excitement. “I can feel it!” she heard, from the general direction of his ass, pointed outward from a thicket of brambles. It wriggled backwards, and the rest of him shot up, as the little pick bounced on the balls of his feet, both gesturing inward and apparently readying himself for a spelunking expedition. “I’m going in!” as if there was any doubt. She studied past him, the opening she knew hadn’t been there a moment before, looked up to the moons. What the hells rules does this place follow. The others shared her hesitation, weighing the narrow mawed path. Gods… she’d have to drag herself through it. “Shall I go first?... and report back?” He seemed to be barely able to contain himself, normal demure mask cast away in favor of unbridled curiosity. The authenticity from him added to her sense of paranoia. Seleniniel cast a sideways look to Arathea, who too seemed to be weighing their options. Risk one, or all? That was the question... but not for her. Seleniniel strode to the thicket, crouched next to Dak, peering inward. Deep breath, shutting out his vibrating energy. Eyes closed, forming the shape with her inner hand. “Galada,” in a whisper. 

[[OOC: Sel casts Detect Magic, will decide what to do next depending on what she detects, if anything. She is inclined to let Dak scount ahead and report back, but she will also defer to Arathea’s lead]]

Isilmewen hadn't believed it at first. Selineniel's voice and Arathea's voice had seemed like a waking dream. Dreams she knew she was slipping into far easier than not of late.

Here to mock my trusting shadows, I'm sure.

It wasn't until Isilmewen saw the others respond as well that she finally turned, staring almost in disbelief. And guilt.

I told her she needn't worry about us. That we wouldn't sit idle. And what does she see when she finds us? Us, sitting idle.

The thought came unbidden, and Isilmewen set her jaw lest she speak it aloud.

"It's... It's good to see you," Isilmewen's voice was quiet underneath the others.

I had hoped you'd return to our triumph, that it would uplift you. But that it should be the other way around... Is that how this dance goes?

Isilmewen staggered to her feet unsteadily, and would do her best to appraise Arathea and Selineniel of the situation, adding to Dax's explanations. Isilmewen's voice sounded about as she looked, almost frail with overexertion. She wanted to keep pushing, wanted to see everyone safe, but she had to admit that everyone needed the rest.

The following day after, Isilmewen kept pace with the others as they followed the owl calls at Selineniel's instruction. It would be a lie to say that she didn't find some small measure of satisfaction in Selineniel's frustration as they rounded the same bend once more. Isilmewen didn't know if she'd be able to handle that smugness mocking her failure to find the path if it were so simple.

Then they found something new. Dak's excitement was palpable, but Isilmewen was reserved as she approached. Isilmewen regarded the passage, if it could be called such, that Dak found carefully.

"I don't know," Isilmewen offered softly, "We passed by here many times, I'm sure. That it should appear now..."

Why now? What had changed?

The group was together again. That was one thing. The time might be different, as following the calls put them on a specific time in relation to the calls. But Isilmewen wasn't sure. All she really knew was what lay before them. If that.

Isilmewen inspected the plant itself, testing the shape of it, the texture, the leaves, against her memory. She didn't expect to be able to identify the bramble, but it would keep her focused.

"This feels..." Isilmewen muttered, "This has the feel of a rather specific invitation."

She leaned back on one foot.

"Our presence here cannot be not known to the conductor of this song. This place probably has more in common with music than anything else." Isilmewen reasoned, "Stage direction, solos, chorus, loops..."

Was the path available now only because the full band was present?

Isilmewen knelt to see what she might be able to see through the passage, if her gaze might meet its end. In absence of seeing anything, she'll agree with letting Dak scout first.

Seeing Raudhri heft his blade to widen the path, Isilmewen tilted her head, "I don't know if damaging the set dressing is a good idea," she offered, her voice soft, "As uncomfortable as it's been, nothing's been hostile as yet. Wielding a weapon might change that."

Truthfully, she was second guessing near everything now, even her own suggestion. But, even if she wouldn't call this experience courteous, she felt that the group should attempt to keep their composure. Perhaps then they'd be granted hospitality? Maybe.