Arathea looked out at the cave in front of her with a sigh, it was perplexing but more than that it was frustrating. One of these things was able to be handled with relative ease, but multiple? That's where the issue would lie, without proper strategy even this rather formidable group would be turned into bear lunch faster than they could blink.

"I'd advise we advance as a group with caution, if we split we can be easily picked off." Arathea explained, giving her own strategic view on the matter. "You clerics can make light yes? Torches can suffice if necessary but I feel if there's something better we should use it, it would be... not very advantageous to see a monster only when it's right in your face."

Arathea examined the tracks once more, she had faces many enemies and remained confident that this group could handle the threats in this cave, but intelligence would be required. She believed any splitting up would be a massive blunder, everything she knew about these monsters was that they were formidable and intimidating. 

"And halfling, I understand you like to go off on your own little adventures in these affairs but this is not one of those times. Even the most quiet thief or fiercest warrior can be torn apart in seconds without allies." Arathea's tone was serious, the normal lighthearted sparkle it had was gone. She seemed more like a soldier relaying a command, talking as if what she was saying could not be disputed.

Tubs stirred for the first time since the owlbear encounter, the feathered beast and their own enraged friend keeping the little rodent frozen in place for the majority of their evening. Only with the familiar movement of her hand toward her Tubsy snack pouch did he dare move from his nook in her collar down to the palm now filled with cracker crumbs.

As her fuzzy friend nibbled, Rosariel gazed around their camp at the capable group she now found herself a part of. She eyed Ruadhrí and Lennox, and wondered briefly what the old cat thought of its companion’s rage, and how the Bófear himself imagined controlling that angry beast inside when they came up against even more feathered foes. He had told them all to just clear a path for him, but that didn’t seem too sustainable in the long run. She would try to remember to keep enough energy for a post-battle spell or two in case he got too out-of-hand.

Their tricky little halfling friend seemed not to worry much about it, or about anything as far as Rosariel had mustered. Unlike some in their group, she was grateful he had sought safer positioning in their battle from which to fire his bolts from. It seemed clear he was meant to join them for reasons other than combat, so reducing the amount of people she and Mae’rel would need to keep track of during an encounter was welcomed. This seemed to be the case with Rain as well. They had been travelling for quite some time now, and while she was often weary of trusting her path to those outside her village, he was quick to prove himself a remarkable scout and tracker. 

Her eyes rested once again on the bladesinger. It was rare at this point in her life to feel awestruck by another’s abilities, but she had grown up with stories about bladesingers, mixed in with those that had to do with her everyday life. The stories turned them into legends in her eyes, ones she’d never see back in Dor’ghen Loth. She had appreciated the isolation of her village from the trials and tribulations that seemed to befall many houses and territories within the Sylvari Forest, but it did lend itself to a sort of monotony and repetition that, while reliable, did not off many chances to engage with legends or stories beyond the great hunters of their past.

But now, somehow she had found herself working with one of those legends. She wondered if all bladesongs were the same or if they made their own. She wondered if they sang a different one for each encounter, or used them for other things. She wondered if bladesingers also enjoyed singing like normal, or if they were too exhausted from their training to find joy in it otherwise. She also wondered why she didn’t just go and ask their resident bladesinger these questions herself.

Tubs had fallen asleep in the remaining pile of crumbs in her palm, and stirred irritatedly as she picked him up by the scruff with her other hand and dropped him onto her shoulder to run around up there as he pleased. Rosariel then stood with the intention of making her way to Arathea but instead bounced off their mage, whom she hadn’t noticed walking by with her focus elsewhere. Tubs flew off her shoulder and into Seleniniel’s chest.

Rosariel hastened to retrieve the rodent but the livid mage already snatched him herself and threw him back at her, which meant Rosariel accidentally slapped the sullen Syl’s chest instead as Tubs careened into her throat.

She coughed, “Ah, pardon me,” she now stood face-to-face with the Syl woman who’s back-of-the-head she had become the most accustomed to on their journey. Now that she was freezing under her icy gaze, Rosariel couldn’t wait to be out of it again, “I am so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. Are you well?”

((OOC: Cannot wait for any response or glare or anything from the mage herself. Leaving this part a little empty to see what S does, assuming a cold response, but will alter as necessary. Either way for now… ))

Rosariel reached behind her head where Tubs had hidden, a cool breeze seemed to follow the intense mage as she stormed off. She gave Tubs a scratch to reassure both him and herself that he was going to be alright after this encounter. They had been travelling more than two weeks together at this point, and somehow this had been their first interaction. She felt okay to wait two more weeks for their next one.

Distracted and lost in thought once more, Rosariel skulked into the woods to check on the traps she had set up nearby earlier in the day. The vermin inside would provide her offering to Taurdor Salka for the evening on her makeshift altar. The woodland dancer didn’t require any frills or waste, simply an ode to the hunt and provisions for her followers. After the blood was spilled and her request for a blessing on their hunt in the morning, Rosariel dressed the rest of the creature, taking what it was able to offer her and her group, and leaving the rest for the forest to swallow.

***

The path to the cave was surprisingly trickier than Rosariel had expected, taking them through rocky paths harder to track than had the owlbears stuck to softer soil. What was more curious was the multitude of tracks outside the cave when they found it, and how long it seemed this had been occupied by the same beasts.

"I'd advise we advance as a group with caution, if we split we can be easily picked off." The bladesinger said, and it wasn’t until then that Rosariel remembered all the questions she had wanted to ask her before Seleniniel had ran into her. A chill ran down her spine once more at the though, "You clerics can make light, yes?” Arathea continued, “Torches can suffice if necessary but I feel if there's something better we should use it, it would be... not very advantageous to see a monster only when it's right in your face."

“Agreed,” Rosariel responded, then gestured to the tracks. “And we should be extra cautious, not only does it seem like their may be multiple owlbears in here, their behavior is curious. They rarely stay in one location for longer than a season, and even more rarely in packs. Something must be keeping them here for some reason. Either way, you’ve seen how vicious these things can be on their own, prepare to take on several.”

She turned to Rain, “Have you seen anything like this? Their behavior is odd. They’re of course unnatural abominations themselves, but this goes beyond even that.”

((OOC: Rain’s response))

Rosariel then began a soft chant to Taudor Salka, urging her to help light their way on this dark hunt against creatures that do not belong in her forest. Her hands and fingers twist together, forming different shapes and contortions that feel natural to her now, and soon a small ball of light with soft, barely perceptible flecks of dark green flickering throughout, forms within her steepled fingers.

“Okay, who would like to carry this light, and what shall I cast it on?”

((OOC: First come first serve, she’ll cast Light on whoever the group decides needs it))

How disappointing. She shrugged her pack to the ground, squatting on her heels as she began unpacking, careful, as always, to find space far enough from the rest to preserve some semblance of solitude. She eyed the Bofear, then dragged her bag a bit farther. Blades cut both ways.. let's hope the Huntress can keep this one well in hand. The group was subdued, having managed to kill what she now knew as an Owlbear relatively easily, only for pursuit of its den or mate or whatever else to be called off in the deepening dusk.

As stars began to salt the night sky, she watched the ranger tend his lean cookfire, offering little heat beyond the gently crackling coals. She pulls the charcoal cloak tighter, eyeing the utilitarian fire, begrudgingly accepting the pragmatic and resisting the urge to conjure her own warmth against the quickening cold. She turns her back on the faintly illuminated faces and muted voices encircling the fire. Rummaging in the bag, she produces a small linen pouch, unwraps it, revealing a few pruned deep-purpled leaves, edges just starting to curl. She tucks one into her cheek, absentmindedly chewing as she relaxes into the bedroll, head leaned against the half-emptied pack, gazing skyward. She inhales. Er, atta, neld…. The familiar cadence. 

She drifts along with her gaze, across the cosmos. Naming the stars as more shyly shed their shrouds, the warm violet horizon yielding to the deeper blueblack void. Scattered pinpricks slowly resolve into familiar clusters, adrift in their nebulous seas. Her eyes close, consciousness reaching for the expanse, searching for the occasional clarity offered by the leaf, and if not that, at least the quiet. 

She drifts until there is no She. Only a vague awarness that comes to rest on thoughts of the primal gods and their delicate clockwork creation slowly winding itself down as they watch, indifferently, if at all..  Almost envy them, coddled by their gods for their own ends. But such clarity, if naivete. The simplicity of someone else’s mores and morals, rather than wrestling your own from the world’s stingy lessons…. At least the Huntress’s faith is honest with itself. Paragon of the ethical carnivore, sanctioned by her god to take. I wonder if she’s considered that she is the hand of the Devourer, a priest of Ristlar el Ba ar' Guina, to her prey. Still, better butcher than meat. Until her god finds a new apex hunter and we bear the moral impetus to surrender to Taurdor Salka’s hunt. Hmm. Hope owlbears don't pray…

Her eyes eventually drift half open. The stars now brilliantly illuminate the black. The cookfire only a fading impression. She's missed the other’s supper again. No matter. She rummages in the pack, pulls another portion of hardtack and pushes herself standing, chewing the bland dusty bread indifferently as she makes her way to the perimeter to hang the remaining food against the nocturnal scavengers the ranger’s always wagging his finger about. She notes the stars’ subtle shift during her inner reverie, looking skyward as she picks a way through the camp..

Her farsighted gaze is abruptly wrenched groundward by the Huntress, colliding with Seleniniel mid-stride, rodent in tow. The rat’s squeee and short flight is at first lost in Seleniniel’s stumble and steadying hand on the Huntress’s shoulder, punctuated by a curse of surprise. Realization quickly dawns, and Seleniniel reflexively grabs the ratty tail tangling in her robe, flinging it with disgust and another curse, this one more pointed, its subject flying back toward Rosariel. In tandem, the Huntress practically gropes Seleniniel in an apparent attempt to recover the rat that’s now impacted her throat and is scrabbling, terrified, to find purchase enough to hang on, causing a choked cry and shock on Rosariel’s face that mirrors Seleniniel’s for a moment. Seleniniel jerks her hand back, slaps the Huntress’s hands away, straightening her spine, trying to regain control of her features. Seleniniel spits the remaining hardtack at Rosariel’s feet and fixes her with the most acidic glare Seleniniel can muster as the Huntress fumbles to secure the rat, now clambering into the folds of Rosariel’s cloak and still spewing squeaks. The Huntress too recovers, offering earnestness–“I am so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. Are you well?”

“Ba-seldarine, girl, watch your step and silence that thing before it brings the rest of these sarigrien owlbears down on our heads… Better yet, give the vermin to your god and rid us of at least one source of fleas in our midst” Seleniniel spat the words, looking Rosariel up and down to punctuate her last point and then stomps back to her bedroll without waiting for a response or bothering to hang her foodbag. Her care for whatever warding the ranger counseled against woodland scavengers gone. Why bother with one in their midst.

–

She woke the next day in a foul mood--well, fouler than usual, but luckily the Huntress was occupied tramping after their prey and the rat had apparently learned to stay safely out of sight, and both stayed well clear of Seleniniel. The trail eventually led to a cave and Seleniniel listened with half interest as the ranger and huntress discussed the apparently unusual animal signs. Seleniniel’s hand twitched impatiently in her robe, waiting for a decision that meant she could go in and roast the sarigrien beasts. That would improve her mood. 

The huntress chanted quietly and produced a small orb of green-tinted light. Not as bright as mine. Seleniniel thought pettily. 

"Okay, who would like to carry this light, and what shall I cast it on?”

Cast it on the sarigrien rat and punt it into the cave as bait. Seleniniel smirked, but stayed silent.

Ruadhrí was finishing a tale around the camp fire, his ax implanted in the ground (again), his warhammer in one hand and Lennox in the other. He was telling a tale of the pathfinders of Kapasha, Fearhah Wrenrig's final song to be exact, those pathfinders had their blood drained from their body's for their treada and Ruadhrí would happily do the same for his.

"though she sat dead on those shores, her final view was on her people sailing off to the safety of new lands, and she died smiling knowing her legend, would live on" he raised his warhammer to the air on the final line, waking Lennox from his light sleep, he then placed the weapon and the cat on the ground and Lennox ran off after the huntress, almost drawn to her.

He then produced the small dagger from its sheeth and a wetstone from his beltpouch as he said "Although I'd love to hear it, I doubt any of you have a more epic story" with pride booming in each word. Although you wouldn't think it, the Bovine man had become excallent at hiding the nawing blood-lust that tampered with him day and night, but if you know what you're looking for you can see a twitch in his eye with each spark of the wetstone. Something awfull rode on this ox, and he couldnt shake it.

Meanwhile Lennox had finaly cought up to the huntress and tangled himself all in her legs, mewing hopefully and joyfully at the fellow predetor before a large crash happened and someone in much nicer than adventouring boots stepped on his tail sending him up the huntress's leg and running away up a tree, he listened to the large fight from his perch before catching a glimps of a rodents tail, but his heart beated faster than his stomach at the moment as he watched in shock as the wizard skulked away. Lennox jumped the ten feet off his tree and run up in front of the huntress in a bed-like possision waiting for food and hoping the rodent would fall out of her cloak, after his result he then return to the fur filled adventour pack Ruadhrí has put him in.

After hearing what other tales there were Ruadhrí went to lay out a pelt of various animals stiched together on the ground before attempteing to doze off, though his efforts for sleep are for nought as nightmares of becoming his companions butcher hount him until his waking hour, of which Lennox stands licking his nose dazaly before snuggling up to the cow-man on the fur blanket.

Ruadhrí woke up and did his few things he does in the morning like putting on his breastplate and pulling his all-too familiar stuck ax from the ground and clipping it to his back, he then spent longer than he wanted shaking off feeling of intoxication and drowsiness before heading to the mouth of the cave with Lennox looking out the open backpack. After listening to what the others had to say he chimes in "I say you let me in front with some distance so that I can gain their focus before the rest of you come in" je was think about fifteen feet between him and them "okay, who would like to cary this light and what shall i cast it on?" Ruadhrí heard this and turned almost sink with Lennox "here, put it on my warhammer so ill have a better idea of what im hitting, im no good in the dark" he said his peace and then let the party decide what to do.

As the gathering dark precluded any immediate search for the owlbear’s lair, Dak resigned himself to aiding in the set-up of the party’s simple campsite. Helping to gather firewood (his glowing topknot, courtesy of Lady Isil’nari’s petty revenge, providing ample light for his searching), tending the coals as necessary and, after a meager supper of trail rations and a handful of fresh foraged berries and mushrooms, sat himself down by the fire with his pipe to bear witness to the unintentional comedy that unraveled around him. He took particular delight in the interaction between Seleniniel and Rosariel and her rodent companion, scarcely managing to stifle a belly laugh as the poor rat was volleyed between the two woman and giving a slow shake of the head and knowing smirk in reaction to Lady Isil’nari’s handling of the situation. Obviously unused to the ways of the wood, he mused, shrouded in his cloud of pipe smoke,  or, more likely, too familiar with having things her own way and, since we chose a shorter route than the one she preferred, is taking out her wrath at the perceived slight on whomsoever might cross her path at any given moment.

He found himself wondering over Seleniniel’s overt bitterness in the wake of that interaction. Was it a trait common to mages, perhaps, or was there something more to it? Rosariel’s social awkwardness, he thought, was easier to understand given that the woman had likely had more interaction with creatures of the forest and ventured into civilization only infrequently. Dak took a late shift in the watch rotation, waiting for Seleniniel’s light spell to wear off before offering his services. In the end, it turned out to be an unnecessary caution as the night passed without incident.

Dawn broke and, shortly thereafter, so did the camp as the party set out in search of the owlbear’s den. It wasn’t long, thanks to Rain and Rosariel’s skillful tracking of the beast, that the group found themselves at the mouth of a sizeable cave which the creature obviously called home. After some inspection of the entrance and the littering of gnawed bones and, according to Rosariel, the unusual number of tracks around and about the place, the expected conversation as to how they would proceed commenced. Though the idea of delving into the monster’s lair was less than appealing, Dak was prepared to do just that…

It would be preferable to creep in alone, though, he mused, his gaze flitting over the troupe, unencumbered by the clatter of so many feet and weapons. Perhaps get an eye on whatever waits in the depths before it is determined what action need be taken.

…The bladesinger seemed to have read his thoughts, however, and before he could give them voice, dismissed them. “I'd advise we advance as a group with caution, if we split we can be easily picked off," Arathea she cautioned, “You clerics can make light yes? Torches can suffice if necessary, but I feel if there's something better we should use it, it would be... not very advantageous to see a monster only when it's right in your face.”

She perused the tracks and the mouth of the cave once more before addressing him directly. “And halfling, I understand you like to go off on your own little adventures in these affairs but this is not one of those times. Even the most quiet thief or fiercest warrior can be torn apart in seconds without allies.”

“As you say, arwenamin,” Dak replied, “I thought perhaps a bit of silent scouting ahead might be in order before all of us fed ourselves to this cave but…” He offered a shrug and leaned on his bata, “…A more martial mind such as yours is better suited to making such tactical decisions. Still, I offer to be at the forefront should we venture inside, checking for things less expected than owlbears and such, you know?”

The Cleric was truthfully still a bit sore even after that healing. It was primarily a mental thing, as her body was healed almost to its full, and yet, she still felt as though she vaguely ached—Phantom pain. She had heard about it but considering she had never received healing herself, she didn't know quite what to expect. Frequently if one was fighting or their mind was elsewhere when they took the wound, their mind would allow the healing to its full, but if all they had to focus on was the pain, then a piece of it seemed to retain it. It caused her to walk a bit strange, as if her flesh was still open to the wind. More immediately, it made sitting down at the campfire after they had finished their scouting noticeably painful, though this was kept from the group via silence, and the Dove's protection of her features.

She had to admit, they had traveled at a greater pace than she thought they would with a group of this size. Mae're had neglected consideration of the fact these people were either soldiers or adventurers in some way or the other, so it did make sense. Still, she had trouble keeping pace at first, so used to walking slower, but she figured she would get past that with a bit of time. The Cleric opted to listen to the Bofir's story, making some internal notes as she was vastly unfamiliar with the culture of such creatures. She had heard many stories, and if she had to guess, this wasn't the first time it was told. With these sorts of stories, each time the monster's claws became sharper, or the storm the protagonist faced even more harsh, the wounds more grave, and so on. She concluded that there was likely some legitimate history in the story, though the fine details were greatly exacerbated. "Although I'd love to hear it, I doubt any of you have a more epic story."

"You would be correct, Bófear, I have no tales so grand. Though I've seen plenty of interesting things on my travels, most of my tales come from the mouth of others, and I believe they're just tavern-talk. That said, I have seen a few things more fascinating than an owlbear in the past. I believe they would hardly be of interests to you, though, as those stories lack.. well, a value of an Epic, as you said."

Mae'rel's stories mainly included scholars, secrets, and hidden caves, that sort of thing, and even most of those were still the gossip of a tavern rather than her own words. That said, she was interrupted when she saw the scandal unfold between the Huntress and their mage, and at first she moved to intervene, before stopping herself, seeing it had already been resolved quite quickly. The Mage spit venom at the Huntress, something she didn't particularly approve of, and she parted her lips to speak, but decided not to, as the Huntress was grown enough to defend herself from nothing but an insult, after all.

When the morning came the Monk was up at the light's first ray, speaking to her Goddess and asking for her guidance once more as she performed daily prayers. She did note that the Huntress steered clear of the Mage still, and decided she would approach her to offer some words of comfort after she bestowed the light upon the Bofir's selected weapon.

"Do not let her sour your kindness, Madam Rosariel. She seems uncustomed to such a group, she may warm with time. For now, let us be grateful the confrontation ended when it did, and that your companion is safe, yes?"

Turning her attention back to the group, Mae'rel began her own chant, and spoke once more, now not directed at a single individual.

"I feel it's best if we have more than one light spell. Madam Arathea, I believe you would be best suited for this?"

(OOC: If she agrees or has no protest, Mae'rel will cast light on Arathea's sword.)

The smell of death although not familiar in particular, Ruadhrí was more then familiar with the smell of s***e and urine from working with livestock so he didnt pay too much mind to it, but the moment the first glass-shattering shreek was heard he unclipped the warhammer before his ears rung at blisteringly high pitch as they as the chorus of shrieking echoed through the cave, he then let out his own ear-bursting battle cry as he charged forward with his warhammer aglow.

He charged foward as his tunnel vision began, "Stay back! I have these two, take other bladesinger and everyone else st- staaaaaaRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH" his last words rung out before being smothered by the unbridled rage and suddenly three inhumanly large Kazari stood atop many dead Bofír - in reality being collapsed roof peices - he charged two of them swinging wildly with his warhammer.

The blood filled rage filled his eyes making them bloodshot and bright red, he screamed making a horrifying echoing chorus of pain and hatred echoing through as he struck out at the monsters without hesitation, in fact, increadibly reckless.

(he is going to charge forward and attempt to distract and engage two Owlbears at once with his warhammer)

Though the halfling didn’t give voice to his concerns he was more than a little skeptical about the decision to enter the cave with the fighters and their magically-lit weapons at the vanguard. While he was all but certain that they would encounter more horrific beasties in the caverns, he would have much preferred a more subtle approach – a bit of stealthy reconnoitering to gauge numbers and activity ahead of time – as opposed to such a blatant (and, quite possibly, inviting) incursion. Though, I suppose subtlety may not be in that one’s vocabulary, he mused, eyeing the Bofear’s massive back as they wended into the rocky maw of the cave’s entrance. His gaze ticked to Arathea, then, and a wry grin tugged at one corner of his mouth; Nor our Bladesinger’s it would seem. Elegance, yes, but subtlety… Dak shrugged his shoulders by way of completing the thought and, as the first hints of the stench of death wafted from the cave’s depths, lifted the folds of his scarf to cover his nose and mouth against the malodorous air.

A deeper sense of foreboding prickled along his spine as the party took their first steps into the wider chamber beyond the entry cave. The stink in the air had been enough to almost regret having had so much to eat for breakfast, but the sight of the putrid piles of meat and the scattered litter of other remains from which the smells emanated was more than enough to turn his stomach. Ugh, he winced, his nose wrinkling in disgust beneath the layered fabric covering it, I’m not entirely sure that I know just how much one of those things might eat, but this looks to be a buffet fit for more than…

Before the thought could even be completed it was confirmed by the blood-chilling screeches of at least three of the vile creatures as they charged the light from various points in the cave.

…Oh… bugger!!!

Ruadhri hefted his warhammer, answered the shrieking beasts with a thundering cry of his own, and charged forward. “Stay back,” the mad bull-man bellowed as he advanced toward two of the monsters, “I have these two, take the other, blade singer, and everyone else st-staaaaaRAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!”

“Subtlety be damned, then,” Dak hissed through clenched teeth as he loaded a bullet into his sling staff. He lifted his eyes to Rain; “You to one flank and I to the other, mellon?”

((Regardless of the ranger’s reply… unless he happens to loft a more sensible tactic&hellip)

With a scant nod, the Cid skittered to one side, careful not to put too much space between his back and the cavern wall and trying as best he could to stay out of the light cast by the warriors’ weapons. Let’s see if we can’t harass these horrors without doing injury to our allies, hmm?

((OOC: Dak will flank to the left, trying to keep to concealment as much as possible, and look for opportune pot-shots at the critters. He’ll use the bata for as long as it makes sense, switch to darts if the range closes, and if, gods forbid he finds himself in melee, will switch to the short sword should the need arise.))

The warm sunlight fades a few feet from the entrance, making room for the shadows cast by the twin orbs. She flinches at the grisly scene that assaults her senses. Gods these are… killers, not hunters. She resists the pull of a century old memory, of a similar bastard of nature that hunts from hate, not hunger. She forces mindfulness to her breath. Holding an uncomfortable inhale, willing the physiology to override psychology. Exhales loudly, too loud. She looks around, no one reacts, even appears to notice, the group’s attention fixed on the threatening darkness slowly unveiling. Even the ever-jovial Cid’s knuckles whiten, eyes straining. She takes another long breath, brows furrow as she wills her focus back to the ominous sounds growing beyond the veil. Her eyes dilate to the darkness then widening as three figures explode into the light in synchrony, muscled masses of rage and lumberously growing momentum. The adrenaline floods her bloodstream, she welcomes the clarity it brings, but doesn't smirk this time. Eyes narrow and focus sharpens as she mentally ticks through her armory. Can’t let them in our midst, these things will tear us apart.

Her hand produces a small stick from the charcoal robe, wound round with silken threads harvested for just the occasion. She holds the makeshift spindle in her teeth and untethers a strand, fumbling a little to navigate the task with only five fingers. She manages to stretch a length in her open hand, held in place by thumb and pinky on one end and index and middle at the other, all but invisible. Light and shadow careen wildly through the cavern as the Bofear charges, pumping the glowing warhammer to project strobing shadows on floor and wall. Those from the bladesinger are smoother, flowing as her dance begins. Seleniniel does her best to shut the chaos out, focusing on the midpoint between charging Ruadrhi and charging beasts. She forms the somatic gesture in her mind, whispers the command.

((She casts Web to try to intercept the center and right owlbears (assuming Ruadrhi is charging leftward). She doesn't put it directly in front of Ruadhri because she assumes he will just run into it, she's just trying to block/restrain 2 of the 3 so that Ruadhri and the others can focus on one while the others are detained))

Hoping at least she's bought some time, she turns next to the still-charging Bofear. One hand moving in her mind, the other in the robe, grinding iron shavings into her palm as she mutters the command. ((Enlarge on Ruadrhi)) She turns to the Huntress, grabs her shoulder to catch her attention, nods towards the towering bull, “keep him pointed at them, not us.” She doesn't wait to hear the reply, but moves into the void space created by bladesinger and Bofear.

((If 2 of the owlbears are delayed by Web, she will focus fire on the one that presumably is in melee with Ruadrhi and Arathea by now to try to down it quickly by adding Magic Missile. If there are 2 or more on top of them, she will move behind Ruadrhi and try to position to cast Color Spray on 2 or more of the creatures. She will spend a turn casting shield if all 3 are loose in their midst)) 

Arathea observed the awkward interaction between Rosariel and Seleniniel, though awkward may not have been the best description. She supposed hostile was a better way to put it, especially looking at how Seleniniel reacted. Her opinion of the mage was... cold by this point, internally Arathea had come to the conclusion that this was a bitter and harsh woman for whatever reason that may be, and her company was the least desirable of the group. That said she knew she'd still have to travel with her, and so she decided to raise her hopes that perhaps the mage would lighten up as time went on, though she didn't count on it.

Rosariel was perceived as rather endearing, though perhaps not taken fully seriously, especially after the interaction. Of course Arathea knew well the clerics ability in combat, she simply saw her as something sort of like a little sister that needed protecting. Though Rosariel was actually Arathea's senior, the attitude remained, and Arathea resolved herself to try to help keep the awkward cleric out of trouble with the others from here on out.

***

As the party entered the cave Arathea kept a close eye on Dak, not seeking to deal with any shenanigans from the cid. Though she kept her main attention on the cave around her, watching out for any threats or dangers as her ancient blade glowed brightly. As they wandered from the open cave and walked through it's horrible odor Arathea stayed alert and at the ready, just waiting for a threat to show itself. 

When the three beasts came forward into the light instinct quickly took over, the singing begun and Arathea readied herself. As the world around her slowed Arathea calculated her actions, her eyes seemed to glow as she charged foreword, expecting Dak and Rainminainen to provide supporting fire. The beautiful melody of the song echoed around the walls of the cave as Arathea prepared to do the 'Crashing Wind' movement, one of the eighty-nine steps involving lunging your blade forward. The scene was almost serene if it weren't for the cried of the monsters drowning out the song she sung. 

(Doing the whole super bladesong here, I dunno what to call it properly.)

Saw the web being sent by the mage and it was a reminder that, though she was a killjoy, she was a very powerful killjoy. The Bofír well... he was clearly in his own world right now and Arathea could work with that, strategically it was useful as a distraction to the beasts at least. Though when the dust settled she thought maybe a respectful conversation making sure Ruadhri could handle his emotions out of combat would be beneficial. Either way focus right now was on dealing with these freaks in front her, not therapy for her compatriot.

Rosariel placed Taudor Salka’s blessing of light upon the bofear’s warhammer, and fell back in line behind the sullen spellcaster, Tubs sinking deeper into her hood with each scant glance from the mage. She couldn’t help but smile a little as she reached back to pet the terrified little rodent.

“We mustn’t show our fear Tubsy,” she murmured to her shoulder as the frightened little guy began to reemerge with each scratch, “Fear traps us, keeps us in cages of our minds, unable to act. Cages like those I found you in.” He nuzzled her neck and she booped his nose, “Unlike those cages, we can break out of those mind cages, even if there is a big scary mage on the other si-”

Rosariel stopped suddenly, the thick scent of rot invading her nostrils and tightening her throat. Horrifying that any such creature could live in the midst of such death. She felt the hair on her neck begin to stand, and not from Tubs playing around back there, as he had once again buried himself in her cloak. No, this is where these unnatural creatures fed, and where there was food, the predators would surely not wander too far.

Just as she finished her thought their screeches filled the cavernous dwelling, and with thanks to the lit weapons she saw the three owlbears now careening toward them. Ruadhrí’s roar bellowed back and the bofear charged two of the beasts at once. Rosariel immediately stepped toward him to assist, but the mage beside her made quick work, growing the already large creature into an unstoppably large beast. Instead she made her way back to the bladesinger, already squaring up to meet the third owlbear. Rosariel’s fingers rummaged once more for a strip of cloth and stuck it where the last had been on Arathea’s armor, calling upon the Huntress to aid this warrior in their valiant hunt of these abominations.

((OOC: casting Aid on our bladesinging warrior))

She jumped back, eager to get out of the bladesinger’s way, and glanced back at how Ruadhrí was fairing against the other two. Seleniniel appeared to be giving the big guy some support, so she turned her attentions back to Arathea, feeling around for her foxfire fungi as her felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Keep him pointed at them,” the mage commanded, nodding at who she assumed was the massive raging bull, “not us.”

Rosariel kept her focus, despite wanting to roll her eyes at the mage, As if I have any control over him.

She held the foxfire in her palm gills up, as she had begun the day before though they had been too swift for her to complete the spell then. She whispered a prayer to Taudor Salka and blew on the gills, a burst of bioluminescent spores erupting from the small slice of flora, descending softly upon the owlbear fighting Arathea. Now in the darkness of the cavern, lit only by the wavering light cast upon their warriors’ weapons, the owlbear before the bladesinger now also glowed bright green, providing an even better target for the sword wielder.

((OOC: Casting Faerie Fire on the owlbear harassing Arathea. If she can get more owlbears without affecting her teammates, she’ll position herself and the spell in a way to do that, otherwise just this guy will get it.))

((OOC: From here it’ll depend on how these rounds go. If Arathea and whoever else supports her seems to have this bish in the bag, Rosariel will draw her bow and try to get into a position to fire at the owlbear without going through Arathea. If she’s having trouble Rosariel will have a cure light and/or barkskin ready to go as well))

As soon as she heard the screeches, Mae'rel called upon the Blue Lady for her blessing, ignoring all other stimuli as the owlbears charged forth. She spoke to her Goddess, and asked for her shield and sword on both herself, and all of her comrades, at least the ones she could affect, and she gripped her pendant as she did, ushering prayer as light came to it.

( OOC: As mentioned in the post in Q&A, first action is a bless cast. ASSUMING IT IS NOT INTERRUPTED/PREVENTED!! )

Once she had called upon Lysora's aid and been given it, as the rest of the party has, Mae'rel took a moment to analyze the situation. Both of their fighters quickly moved to engage in melee, and it did cause a bit of issues with the light, as it waved frantically and sometimes extinguished briefly when it was embedded in beast flesh. Speaking of beasts, the Monk took a moment to identify the creatures, and as the stench and droppings had confirmed, this was an Owlbear den, and these were in fact, the residents. On the plus side, it meant they weren't creatures they had no familiarity with, as they'd at least fought one now. On the downside, three vicious owlbears were ready to tear the party apart.

( OOC: Assuming she isn't and melee and can get back safely, or has the conditions to disengage safely )

Mae'rel fell into a defense position, trying to allow anyone past her who needed to be, and otherwise attempting to get away from the combat as it unfolded, at least enough away that she could avoid being torn apart again. It was an unpleasant feeling, and the itchiness and pain still hadn't completely subsided, even after a long night's rest. Once she had disengaged from the frontline, she watched the battle, ready to assist anyone who needed it, and mend any wound. She announced this, making sure to communicate, especially since the beasts wouldn't understand

"I'll keep our warriors up the best I can with my blessings! Focus targets!"

( OOC: She will cast healing on anyone who needs it. If a round goes by somehow with no characters at moderate or worse HP level, she'll self-cast sanctuary. )

“You to one flank and I to the other, mellon?”

Isilmewen nodded, "I think that'd be best. Against neld, we need to cover all sides."

As she swiftly stepped into position, Isilmewen couldn't help but grimace as she stepped through Gods knew what these creatures' last meals were. Pushing the thought from her mind, she relaxed as she let her training guide her.

Left eye focused, left foot forward, right in back pointed aside. Bow in left hand, aligned with left eye, arrow in right hand, inhale, draw.

Oh Heren'salkya, may I join you in this dance? What rhythm do you dance to today? I can but hope I don't stumble.

Hold, aim, exhale, release, follow through, draw.

Training and fortune hand in hand saw Isilmewen's first few arrows fly true. She gave a satisfied smile as she heard them pierce the creature's hide. However, as she drew for another, she couldn't help but be distracted with the way the light danced along with Arathea's blade and song. She even began to hum along with the bladesinger's hymn.

Perhaps it was these things, or perhaps something else, but that arrow released pierced both monster and ally.

"Sarigraamin," Isilmewen muttered, before calling out, "Sorry!"

Refocusing her aim, Isilmewen continued to give her all in supporting the front line with her arrows.

When the battle ceased, and in stillness but for the breaths of her companions and her own heartbeat resonating in her ears, when it was clear the danger had passed, Isilmewen laughed. It was a free and light laugh that left her lips from where she stood.

(if anyone asks why she laughs)

"We survive a full kinta of these creatures. Nald at once! How can I but laugh, seeing that we live. Is that not reason to rejoice?" Isilmewen asked in return.

Afterwards, Isilmewen approached Arathea, bowing her head, "You received one of my arrows when you never should have. I'm sorry."

(tag Arathea )

As Isilmewen went about investigating the body of the owlbear who received her arrows, attempting to retrieve any that would fly again, she looked to Rosariel. "What do you think, huntress?" she asked, "If we drag them out, will we be able to make use of these creatures? I know I could try using their feathers for fletching, but would you have any insight on if their meat is safe?"

(tag Rosariel )

Finally, Isilmewen would find Dak, and in so doing grin at the Cidal, "It seems fortune favors the bold, this time at least," she laughed, before she asked, "Think there's anything else to find in this mess of a nest? Besides its former occupants, that is."

(tag Dak )

(more for later, but for now back to finishing the detailing for me)