Godsdamned fool. Arathea danced around Seleniel’s shield to slice at the once-ranger. The mage hissed in frustration at the blind conditioning the bladesinger exhibited more and more. The assaults on her doctrine had force Arathea deeper into its grasp…. to Speaker and sword. A good soldier. Seleniniel let the useless shield dissipate as the group hacked the dead flesh back to inanimacy. The creeping tendrils held her gaze. Something was still alive in there… she reached for tallow, began to work it with the heat of her palm, when Arathea interrupted...

“I don't need you to save me, when we finally confront the man who did this I need you to fight.”

The inhale Seleniniel had meant to be calming flared her nostrils as she whipped her head to face the bladesinger and spat “And I need you, Arathea of House Ondolithe, to learn the difference between a soldier and a leader!” She jammed the tallow into the pocketed iron and sulfur, crushed them together with an angry somatic jab in the bladesinger’s direction. “Ruivë.” [[casts flaming sphere, centered on the fallen undead ranger]]

The fire that sprang to consume the corrupted ranger was close enough to heat the bladesinger’s armor. Seleniniel did not care. She continued, “One thinks. The other is just a tool of bone and sinew.”

The mage turned to the fae and the healers, faces half-lit in flickering orange from the undulating flame, still fussing over the doomed ranger. “Work fast, or let me put an end to it.” She nodded towards the mushroom circle. “The longer you spend trying to save one, the more likely you waste the lives of others.” Her hand stretched towards the flaming sphere, ready to do what was needed if the others would simply get out of her way.

An infection like this took time to remove, that much was true. Upon further instructions from the Fae, The Monk changed her method, focused on removing the tissue she could. The poor ranger thrashed against them, something that made the process more difficult. The infection seemed to be almost sentient in the way it fought against the three. With every pick of a piece of the fungus, Mae'rel could have sworn she watched it root and burrow deeper into the skin. Still, she did what she could to root out the corruption, almost performing a surgery of course. 

Upon Seleniniel's interruption, Mae'rel took a deep breath. Seleniniel was ignorant. More so than Mae'rel knew of course. For someone to be Faithless.. a concept the Monk could not comprehend. But the surface was all the priest understood. And she understood that well. What had happened in the Mage's past, the Monk could only imagine. She was deeply hurt, through and through, and she asked for Lady Lysora's guidance to help forgive her for the constant hurt she caused. She did not acknowledge Seleniniel. There was simply no need to. 

(OOC: Mae'rel will focus on removing corruption, and using spells as needed with a max of 3 to help heal. She will only stop if directly attacked)

Fight Ruadhrí... You have to fight! he thought to himself, frozen for a moment as the fighr begun before shaking the feeling out of his head. They depend on you, all of them. With that, he raised his courage, swallowed back his fear, and gripped the haft of his ax, charging at one of the undead. I'll put you out of you're misery. He thought to himself, and with a mighty roar, he raised his ax high above his head, it's blade gleaming in the light before coming down with a sickening Splat, leaving the creature with a gash down the middle big enough to stick his arm down, and leaving it open for another, then another, nearly cleaving it in two before Ruadhrí kicked it to the ground with his mighty hoof.

It's done... it's over... Ruadrí stood above the corpse of the fallen creature, disgust swelling up in the back of his throat as he watched the fungus try to stretch towards the sky and release it's spores in a last-ditch effort to spread itself into something-anything-to try and survive. It made his thick, leathery skin crawl. 

"Come.  Your might will be needed to hold him down while the healers do their work." The fae girl's words snapped Ruadhrí from his mind, he eyes returning to their normal, seasoned expression from the wide circles of fear they were. Hold... hold him down? What if he infects me? "Are you certain he is... yes, of course." Ruadhrí stopped himself mid-question. Now is not the time to ask, we must help him he thought, approaching the injured sylvari and preparing himself to aid in the healing of this sylvari.

“Thirkee thumb my bum,” Dak hissed behind his scarf as the battle came to an end, “That came quicker than expected… Our visit with Tali’Yore must have poked a bear somewhere...”

 He remained crouched and ready for a moment, his gaze sweeping the hollow for any further threats. When none were presented, he returned the unspent dart to its bracer, hefted his bata, and turned his attention to his companions and the bedraggled fey. None of the troupe seemed to have suffered any grievous injuries, Ma Miel be praised, and a greater majority of them seemed to be gathered around Ysmiril and the body she seemed to be protecting. So that’s where he went, too.

He scampered over to the scene, mindful not to tread inside the broken circle, and pulled his scarf away from his face. Making a quick assessment and picking out key parts of the conversation, he leaned on his bata and lifted a brow. “What might I do to help?”

((OOC: Yeah, it's not much, but, hey... I'm posting again!   ))