Party 5

Balion takes off his traveler cloak and lays it over Fauntleroy with an impossibly small smile. He would likewise check on each his companions, and their new guest, to make sure they are well and as comfortable as possible. If Iselka didn't have a bedroll, or the equivalent, he would lay his out for her all while doing his best to wake no one. 'It's good to be home...despite their loud and energetic natures.' With everyone checked on he would sit just outside of the fires main range, his back to the cave wall, and settle his unerring gaze on the entrance.

There’s ink stains on her fingers, but Fauntleroy hardly cares as she furiously scribbles down note after note. She’s got her notebook balanced on her knees. She fills several pages in quick succession, mumbling under her breath as she does so. There’s a focus to her, eyes fixed on the page. The only time she stops writing is when she has to turn a page, and even that she does as rapidly as possible.

Eventually she slows down. She turns back to a few previous pages, underlining words here and there. She taps her chin for a second —smearing ink all over it— before she continues on an empty page. She’s more meticulous now, writes more slowly and thoughtfully as she starts coalescing the rapid-fire thoughts in a well articulated idea.

What a relief it’d been, to wake up remember those thoughts from the night before, when her body had been too heavy for her mind to be able write it down. It had filled her initial franticness, the worry that the thoughts would scatter like ashes in the wind. But she thinks she has everything— only occasionally she goes back a few pages to add a word or two.

She barely glances up when she hears Iselka speak. “It’s the weather,” she says absently. “There’s always something with it.”

Carwyn wakes gently and sits up, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He touches his chest with a warm smile on his face, the fear of the previous night gone and replaced with resolve. He re-lights one of the incense sticks that started burning last night and lets himself drift into the trance like prayer he was taught, setting out the spells to best deal with the day ahead. After a few minutes he snuffs the incense stick and stands, stretching out his back and arms. He looks over to Fauntleroy, furiously writing in his book, and smiles. "It seems that inspiration was given to us both last night Professor. It is good to see you working again." He nods to the other members of the party. "Balion, Gimble good morning. I hope your trip was fruitful Balion."

He steps forward to the edge of the cave where Iselka is standing, consciously leaving all his weapons and gear in the cave by his blanket. He puts a hand on her shoulder and gives her a comforting look. "This weather is fine, and today will be fine as well. Do not worry for Eldath walks with us, and her waters carry the moonlight of Selune to you." He steps outside of the cave and takes a deep breath of the morning air, running his fingers through his messy morning hair to try and tidy it up a little. He looks up at the clouds, shielding his eyes from the sun when it shines through, and then glances around the area, searching for a pool, stream or river, just somewhere he could be in the water.

Gimble wakes, well gets up, it has been an hour or two since he had escaped the shadows in his dreams compelling away from slumber from that point on. Getting up Gimble rotates his shoulders and stretches his legs and hips noticing a difference from days past. “Aye, weather may be gloomy but at least we weren’t caught unawares.” Gimble starts re-packing his clothes, food and supplies.

Disappointed that there is nowhere to swim Carwyn steps back into the cave. Seeing Gimble packing he smiles and moves to his belongings, strapping on his leather armour and preparing his weapons. He throws the blanket on top of the contents of the backpack and cinches it closed. He looks over to Balion and speaks in Elvish. <"What's to the north? I have a... feeling that is where we need to be now.">

Balion's eyes open and reveal a new level of calmness to them and something..more. A searching maybe? Hearing Carwyn speak to him he slowly turns to regard him. He finally answers in Elvish. <"Well...Daggerford, where we came from is north of here...The Delimbiyr River as well and a ways east following the river is Secomber."> He gives a slight nod as he finishes. He then stands and begins to gather what items he needed to.

Fauntleroy only belatedly realizes that the others repacking their things. She sighs and finishes the last of her notes before she closes her notebook. She stretches before she gets up and starts repacking herself, taking care to keep her notebook at the top of her backpack should she find the time to write some more.

Eventually she slides her coat back on, buttoning it. She takes a few steps out of the cave, studying the world outside. “The weather could’ve been worse,” she remarks, only now taking the time to truly look at it. “It could have been rain.” She catches Carwyn and Balion talk about what way to head, and decides not to interject. Last night had proven that Carwyn would rather not have her advice, after all.

“North it is, then. Very well.” She frowns. “Lady Iselka, do you know just how large their numbers are?” The way the werewolf talks about this group is somewhat worrying. There’s only four of them— five, counting Iselka, but Fauntleroy doubts the woman would like to fight her former friends. Even with the new spells she got the sense of, she isn’t sure whether they can take them on.

Nonetheless she doesn’t voice these concerns. Carwyn had seemed agitated enough the previous night, and even though he seems more at ease today, Fauntleroy would rather not risk another breakdown. Besides, it didn’t seem like he would listen to her logic.

She nods and starts following Iselka. “Let’s not waste it. They have the advantage in the dark.”

Balion looks to Iselka and then Fauntleroy, seeming to stare at both for a second. After a little he blinks and steps into line with them, ready to go. "Mm"

Carwyn frowns at Iselka's words, the anger that was present last night not flashing into his eyes thanks to the calming influence of Eldath's words but a sense of purpose and resolve on his face. "We will not rush in but we should still make some haste, I do not want the boy to suffer for the sake of unnecessary caution, especially if they are past Daggerford." He puts his bag onto his back and steps forward to the rest of the group. "Iselka, Balion. Please, lead on."

Gimble mounts on his pack on his back and comes up the group. "I'll take up the rear, we will find the boy."

Misty Forest Cove:

"Then we set off." Iselka nods, beginning to make her way out of the cove with little more than the clothes on her back. "No point in wasting daylight when they certainly wouldn't." From the ruts going in and out of the cove, you very clearly have a place to start looking, and the group sets off quickly.

Shooting for a more direct path north, you only faintly see the silhouette of Daggerford in the distance, crossing the Delimbyr River much further to the east. Interestingly (or not), despite Balion's warnings, there is a distinct absence where the nomad camp had been just the night before along the edge of the river. From far enough away, it seemed like they were barely even there at all; Daggerford looks alone, with only the occasional cart moving in and out and the rushing of the river bringing life to the still morning scene.

Paying little mind to it, you press on beyond Daggerford as you follow the scattered tracks of a migrating group -- some strange mix of human and bestial footprints, which confirms your suspicions -- and continue north. The trail leads you past the village of Secomber and into the High Forest, the large and looming forests to the north that were nearly impossible to navigate. "I've never been in here... but I guess if there was ever a place to hide away, it would be in here."

Steeling your nerves for the task ahead, you prepare all your supplies and enter the woods proper. It was dark, and unfamiliar, but that mattered little to you. Not while you were on a mission.

Something is off. Fauntleroy isn’t sure how to pinpoint it, but something is off.

It’s not that she doesn’t trust Iselka, though she still considers herself cautious when it comes to the other woman. It’s in the way that the air feels colder than it should, that the mud squelches and that the woods are deadly quiet. Fauntleroy is not the outdoorsy type, but plenty of accounts mention that it is a bad sign.

She halts and crouches as she hears voices, throwing a hand out to keep the others from continuing. She tilts her head and tries to listen to the best of her abilities. Her attention is drawn to a bird, a raven, nestled somewhere in the foliage. She frowns deeply and considers attempt to detect some magic. Perhaps it is merely a bird, but the ambience makes her feel more cautious.

After a moment Fauntleroy glances at her companions, giving them a questioning look. What do we do?

??? Woods:

It might've been hard to tell with the distance and the lack of direct sight, but Balion gets a lucky glance at the strange bird through the tiniest crack of moonlight peeking through. (Is it time for the moon to be out? Apparently it is.) This one is larger and much cleaner than the average raven encountered in his travels, and seems to be moving not to flee from the sound as is typical of birds, but to reposition itself to a better vantage point, just across from the pair and the child as he begins to rouse.

It almost seemed like it was here with a purpose, a hint of curiosity that trumped what would be considered natural animal instinct to flee from aggressive figures in the dark forest. As Balion lifts his gaze upwards to observe the raven, it actually looks back down to the elf and... nods? In acknowledgment? Before turning to watch the scene laid bare before it.

Gimble brow is furrowed as his mind frustratingly pounds on his current problem with the mist How da blazes em I gonna see a gem in this fog!?. Gimble almost knocks into Carwyn as he notices them stopping. Mind snapping to attention at the voices of strangers and the mention of a kid. tip toeing his way over to Iselka, "Ey, Iselka do these guys look familiar? Would they hurt that kid?" Gimble starts to take out his shortbow and nocks an arrow in preparation.

Carwyn is disorientated completely by the loss of the focus given to him by Eldath. never mind the mists. He is glad that he has his staff to lean on at least, when the whole world spins. Concerned about the lack of connection he reaches back for it in his mind and feels nothing, but then he sees the men... and the boy. He hears the boy start to cry and the anger explodes inside him. It is kept inside the cage of Eldath's peace for now, but he can feel the rage straining to break out. They needed to move quickly. He looks to his compatriots, a grim resolve in his eyes, and he whispers quietly. "I want to get the boy out of harm's way as fast as possible. I do not care how much I am hurt in that process but I can ensure you Eldath's blessing whilst I try and rescue the boy if you will provide me some form of cover." His voice is still and calm and cold, like the surface of a winter pond, but he knew that rage bubbling underneath and it wouldn't stay quiet for long.

Balion watches the bird and gives a very slow blink and then nods back. Grabbing his longbow and nocking an arrow he readies himself. "I can provide cover from here. Shall I send an arrow into them now?" He hasn't drawn yet but seems calm and eerily composed at the thought of taking a life. As he hears Gimble's question he then turns to Iselka. "Unless they are friends of yours and you would prefer me to not put an arrow in them."

As Balion steadies himself against the tree he steadily takes aim for his shots, muttering an old elven marking spell as he does. In-between trying to pet the raven and then giving it food. As he draws his last silver arrow he pulls the bowstring as far back as he can, stressing the string and wood, he lets fly. Vasil, back to him, being an easy target. Then suddenly surprise from Vasil's form. looking down he would see the silvered point of an arrow sticking out of his chest, right where his heart was. The arrow's flight happened to find a path right between the bones and almost made it entirely through, only the fletching stopping it from continuing out. Balion looks to the raven, a small smile twitching up the corner of his mouth before he searches out the other target from his vantage point.

Fauntleroy considers offering to cast a spell— but Carwyn seemed pretty clear in his objective, and who was she, academic, scholar and professor, to question this so-called holyman, right? So instead she comes out of her crouch and draws her wand. With an elegant flourish, she paints a sigil in the air which forms the origin of a blast of beautiful, sickening green energy that streaks towards Petre. “Fine gentlemen, can I convince you to donate your body to science?”

She takes note of her fellow covering Carwyn in their own way as the cleric runs towards the child— in particularly, Fauntleroy notes the impressive transformation Iselka goes through. It is fascinating, and the half-elf has to take a moment to force her eyes back onto her target. She points her wand, casting Toll the Dead while she continues attempting to convince her potential subject-to-be. “You see, you could make a very valuable contribution to my research into immortality. You see, there’s a lot to be learned from the healing capabilities of a werewolf.”

There is a moment of fear as Petre turns into a wolf and dashes their way, while the other wolf jams a spear into Carwyn’s shoulder. Fauntleroy snaps her mouth shut. Like a fool with no sense of self-preservation, she casts another Ray of Sickness— this time towards Vasily, though that one goes wide again. She moves back to try and avoid Petre.

That’s when Iselka dives on top of the other wolf. Fauntleroy’s eyes grow wide at the bestial violence. She attempts to the Toll the Dead on Petre, moving out of his range. Luckily, Iselka and Gimble are there to help her. To her horror, Carwyn is attacked again. Fauntleroy casts her last Ray— right at Vasily. She’s relieved when it’s a hit, though she isn’t quite sure whether it’s enough to save Carwyn.

From the corner of her eye, Fauntleroy sees Petre try to break the grapple. She is about to focus on him when she sees a glint of a silver air— right before it pierces into Vasily, killing him. “Very well done, master N’Vaelharn.” She turns her attention back to the remaining werewolf. Fauntleroy takes a few steps closer and with a graceful flick of her wrist, she casts another Toll the Dead. “I’ll take dying as consent to be a subject of my research, then.”

She lowers her wand and walks closer to Gimble and Iselka, her eyes on the latter as she transforms into a human. Fauntleroy smoothens out her coat and scrapes her throat. “That was....very impressive, Lady Iselka.” After a moment she hurriedly nods at Gimble. “You too, master Waywocket.”

Carwyn saw the child and knows that is all that matters, if he needs to then he will give everything to keep him safe. As he sets off running he gives Eldath's blessing to the rest of the party and hopes that will be enough for now as he is focused completely on the child. He manages to get above the boy and hunkers down, putting his whole body over him to keep him as safe as possible. "Shhh. Shhh. It's okay. You are safe now. I've got you."

He grits his teeth and winces as the one wolf jabs a spear into his shoulder but he doesn't respond to the wolf's comment, instead just reaching out and pushing all his anger into the wolf's ankle and giving a small smile when he hears the scream. He uses his other hand to stroke the boy's hair, it doesn't matter how much it hurts he can't let the boy know. Hearing the sounds of battle around them he frowns, hoping his teammates are okay. Muttering in Sylvan every so often and blasting out radiant energy he keeps focusing on making sure the boy was safe and calm in his arms.

He hears the wolf go to try and bite him and he throws up his shield but it leaves his side open and the spear sinks deep into his ribs, he almost feels something break and he can taste blood in his mouth but he casts sanctuary on himself, whatever it takes to keep the child safe. He starts singing to the boy, the same song that Lander sang to him all those years ago, an Elvish lullaby. "<I’d not ask a life that’s easy, gold and pearls so little mean, rather seek a heart that’s joyful, heart that’s honest, heart that’s clean.>" He sings until the sounds of battle die down.

He swallows the blood that keeps coming into his mouth, puts the boy down and kneels in front of him. Giving his hair a little ruffle Carwyn talks to him quietly, a warm smile on his face. "Hello there little lad, see told you I would keep you safe. I'm Carwyn, what's your name?" Fuck his ribs hurt. Carwyn looks around, seeing the silver arrow sticking out of the wolf that was next to him and smiled. Balion. He raises a hand in acknowledgement but never turns away from the child. Fuck his ribs hurt.