Ariarh notices Hermia's look and smile and returns the smile.
*
Ariarh ensuring her griffon is nestled warmly in her bedroll (and whispering words of praise to him for aiding Puck Sparrow), rises and makes her way to the fire where Gan has set places for each of the companions.
"Gan, my friend, I would certainly love some tea. I long for its warmth to ease the tension and tiredness from my bones (and my heart, Ariarh says to herself)." Ariarh silently rejoices the success of their mission to the temple. Hermia and the soldier Geofry were alive and the temple's sanctity was rightfully restored and in the morning the companions would travel forth to the Statue of Erastil to give proper thanks to the god. It felt good to be out of the constant rain and assembled all together, again. They had much to talk about and Gan's tea service would give them ample chance to talk and catchup.
Upon hearing Hermia's words to Gan, Ariarh looks up at the woman cleric and gently asks,
"Hermia, how are you ... faring? It is good to see you up and sitting with us, again."
"Oh! Well..." Hermia trails and blushes. "It is the most curious thing, but it feels as though the nature of my magic has changed," she says. She purses her lips, and then inhales, and looks down. "As has my body..."
One who will be Mother to them all will never be one man's wife she muses. If it were true then...
Hermia shakes her head. "I have oft contemplated the nature of the soul, and what manner of existence we lead after death, and I have experienced it," she replies finally, and manages a faint smile. "Even then, I wished to observe it from another angle. What manner of shape I represented, whether I had color, or... indeed any manner of expression to distinguish myself. But! I digress," she exclaims.
"I am sorry, time works differently without a reference. What was the question again?"
Does this armor have some kind of advanced quality. It does not seem to show the normal marks of usage. It almost seems unnatural.
** spoiler omitted **
Geofry blushes and mutters "Er... no problem, miss,"then he hastily mounts up and rides off with his companions. He turns about fifty feet out to give you another wave, though, if you are still looking.
Gan quickly prepares tea and warms sake and lays out mats for each person so they can kneel.
"Please my friends come kneel by the fire and share some warm tea and sake. I feel we have much to discuss."
quick question: Do you have tatami's for all? Or just you? Just curious...
Does this armor have some kind of advanced quality. It does not seem to show the normal marks of usage. It almost seems unnatural.
Who are you speaking too, specifically? Also, as you have some lore with armor, go ahead and make a straight Intellegence roll to discover something... I'll let you know what you find.
Many answers and more questions will be up by the end. Meanwhile, take time to share what happened with each other so that all Player knowledge is up to speed with character knowledge. This is clearly the time to do it...
Finally, as an adendum to a querry brought to my attention by Smendor regarding alignment shift; yes, typically that only matters for spellcasters, on THIS level, but it also matters to ALL of you, no matter WHAT level, as your alignment change brings about the attention of those who watch.
Now, you don't know who is watching you currently, not for sure, but you suspect that at the LEAST you've been under the notice of the gods... if not other more mundane subjects. If that is so, then your very actions/inactions, are even now being watched. Studied for an ally, or an enemy, by those with great power.
Today you made several good friends, and further angered an enemy, but you all KNOW that when you sit down and share details and get everything out... or at least, you SHOULD know it, because all the clues are there...
Meantime, I am off to see some Apes RISE!
Oo Rah!
Brett trudges around the cave, muttering, from time to time "Hmm... I dunno... smells like maybe more spooks be around here..." but clearly, based on his actual reaction, he sees nothing out of the ordinary.
For the rest of you, other then Brett's uncertainity, you generally feel a sense of calm - peace - and on the whole a feeling of tranquility.
Even as Brett is done with his brief examinations, he observes that there are faint markings on the walls in various places. Nothing too overt, or surprising... you suspect that cave was once the back of a temple, and that various places you see moldy or crumbled mosaic or fresco stone work.
The floor, for the most part, is smooth tiled, though with breaks in the stone consistent with damage through accident or ancient years.
A warming glow of fire gets things going, and your clothes are even now drying out comfortably.
"Well, Al,"Brett says turning to Alaric "yer trick in the woods that got that Woodsmen's attention may have paid off... Ye saw the damage he done to poor ol' Gan and Smendor? Why... if he done did that one or two more times alone, they'd be dead. And with his bow... He most likely shoot ye, and I, and if miss Ariarh weren't running fer it, she'd be most likely dead, too. Wonder on why he didn't do that? Why he was sort of... generous-like... if that be the right word, with his powers?"
Alaric smiles benignly as he warms his hands in the fire.
"Who can say? Mayhap his powers to use such magic on us were weakened under the sunlight, though I have not read such a study under that concept of meta-physics before... it could be that he could not "channel" such dark powers as that blast of energy in the sunlight, as much as he could after night fall... And of course, good sir, you may call me "Alaric","he adds the last with a smile.
"Perhaps he was simply ashamed..."Gan said, almost to himself.
"Eh? What's that? Speak up, lad,"Brett asks, somewhat sourly.
"This man, by his own words... he was a priest of the god Erestil, who makes his home on this very hallowed ground, neh? So, it could be that the priest, though his body was corrupted by dark spirits and he took on the mantle of demons to do evil... perhaps, in his very essence, there was still some glimmer of good struggling to do right... perhaps, in the end, he showed some mercy... and could not bring himself to do evil to us, or rather; he struggled with the evil, and perhaps that was why he didn't unleash his full potentcy on us..."he adds the last with a shrug and lifting of his hands.
"Hmm... if that be his idea of mercy, I be right feared to try his idea of firing both barrels, if ye take me meaning... but I like that sentiment... Though I be glad we smashed him up, I be equal glad then, if what ye say be true, that he got a good send-off. Mayhap he find redemption; in this world or the next,"Brett says with a lift of his hip flask and a quick salute.
The sentiment is generally shared, even as Smendor examines the long curve of the bow.
"That's easy for you to say; you weren't almost dead. But I hold no grudge. He did what he could to stop us, but he lost. Enough talk on what might of been, let's move on to what IS."
Brett nods eagerly at this.
"Smendor be right... now, I be all for tacking west to this statue, to see what there be.. but after that, then what? Why, I be saying we move ahead one of these hexes north, then tack back that way... If the map be right so far, we can move fast through the terrain, and on the way back to the camp, we can explore new ground. Personally, I prefer north, as that big chunk ain't be checked, and all along the river there be possible base camps o' bandits. They may got them fortified by now, or not. I don't know what be to the north, but I don't think it be bandit folk, just land fer the taking, I'd guess."
"Perhaps,"Hermia said, looking up "but shouldn't we be more interested in keeping an eye on the bandits, and possibly dealing with them?"
Brett shrugs, and let's out a sigh.
"Aye, there be the bandits to worry on, true. And we also need to claim land. If we tack south we may meet bandits, and deal with them... or maybe meet nothing. And if we go north and find free land to claim... and maybe we find bandits, or not... What do ye want to do AFTER we get to that statue marked on the map? Where to travel after that? And anyhow, what's to happen next? And while I be on it, ye be back in the living, eh? Well, what was that like? Ye be speaking on it, or just sitting there?"Brett said, lighting up a pipe, and looking at Hermia.
"Lonely, and terrifying," Hermia answers Brett simply.
Hermia appears to shiver and pulls the blanket closer around her scarred chest, embracing herself. She inhales deeply and exhales in a controlled way several times before speaking again.
"If I may, I do believe that Gan's observation of this... woodsman? may be correct. When," Hermia's voice chokes as her throat becomes tight again. "When Alaric brought me back, Geofry and I were assaulted by the spirit of the dark one. Even in a reduced capacity, he was able to wield his magics." Hermia colors and looks to her feet at the mention of Geofry, and continues looking at her toes, flexing them in the grit on the earthen floor of the cave. "His evil persisted even after death. If not for the intervention of the other, I do believe that our souls would have been... extinguished?" she makes the last a question, the features of her face contorted in an obvious expression of distress.
I am all for exploring and I want to do so...but I also want to get rid of the influence of this Stag Lord. Without his foothold in the area we may be able to curb the incursion of any more of those Ustalavan dogs. It is time we brought the fight to him and rid the area of his menace. These forts and camps of the bandits seemed to follow a pattern and I think that if we follow them we will find the Stag Lord's seat.
Brett's eyes narrow at Hermia. He responds to her in cold whisper, his words echoing eerily in the cave.
"Quare operor vos narro sic? Quidne vulgaris sermo? EGO narro Draconii, tamen non totus nostrum operor."
Then, he leans back a bit from his place at the fire, watching her, as if he is thinking on things.
"Ye know... since we met ye, we've had a mess of troubles. Ye wanted to do things yer way in the Fey Forest, and the dwarf lad almost buys it. Ye want to come into Oleg's apart from us and gather clues. I thought it were odd, but what can be said? Well, then ye walk to the deadliest lad in the bunch, and the next thing ye get yerself hit with some of his devilry that leaves ye out and black. Then what? Ye rush out there to fight him, even as we just waked ye from a hard sleep, and then? Ye die fer true. What next? We take ye south to this temple, on a fool's errand as may be, and with good luck and skill, we get ye on yer feet; though it near cost us all our own lives to bring ye back."
Brett's eyes are flinty now as he stares at Hermia.
"Now, I know that others in here may be forgiving of ye, as ye had a near thing with the great beyond. And I hope they be just as forgiving to me if I go that way, but listen clear and know this; there ain't none of us, NONE, that be living and doing what we came to be doing down here on our own. Things be too damn hard, and too damn deadly to stand by yerself. So ye sharpen up, ye rest yer little head while we sit in this cave all day, doing nothing... and then, when we saddle horses and ride out tomorrow, heading west, as may be... ye start melding better with us. Ye either stand to be counted with us, or apart from us. We need to be a team, not all this rambling hash, speaking words in other languages that not all of us understand. Yer blathering about in Sylvan tongue didn't do well fer master Smendor, and it didn't do well fer me. And why? Because we don't speak it. Ye do, and good fer ye; but when ye speak another tongue it just sets ye apart. Makes it impossible to know what ye be saying... makes ye stand out, and be different."
Brett stands from his place by the fire and moves closer to Hermia, his eyes never leaving her.
"We risked a lot of truck to bring ye back from beyond. Why? I be thinking that be because I and the other lads be like minded on the same thing; standing one and true as a team. And toward that end, aiding ye were sort of a responsibility we done had, even as ye were dead. But what happens once we do it and ye be alive to walk about and someone gives ye a straight question, looking fer a straight answer? Ye start going off in yer blather in tongues ye don't think others speak. This time ye be wrong on me, though. Because this time I be happening to speak them words. Well, lass, ye just set yerself as the poor little lonely girl, all by herself. And I tell ye now that when ye do that ye be making me right angry. Now I tell ye true, straighten up, fly right, and start sharing facts in the Common tongue so all that can hear understand ye propper. Otherwise I be thinking that ye don't want to be counted a team mate, that ye would rather be standing alone. And as I said before... ye know what happens to them that be standing alone."
He pushes past Hermia heading for the opening of the cave, striding up the steps and moving through the entrence to look forward at the rain, clearly trying to calm down his frustration.
"Lonely, and terrifying," Hermia answers Brett simply.
Hermia appears to shiver and pulls the blanket closer around her scarred chest, embracing herself. She inhales deeply and exhales in a controlled way several times before speaking again.
"If I may, I do believe that Gan's observation of this... woodsman? may be correct. When," Hermia's voice chokes as her throat becomes tight again. "When Alaric brought me back, Geofry and I were assaulted by the spirit of the dark one. Even in a reduced capacity, he was able to wield his magics." Hermia colors and looks to her feet at the mention of Geofry, and continues looking at her toes, flexing them in the grit on the earthen floor of the cave. "His evil persisted even after death. If not for the intervention of the other, I do believe that our souls would have been... extinguished?" she makes the last a question, the features of her face contorted in an obvious expression of distress.
The knowledge Enginerring reveals that the place is relatively old. Probably over a hundred years; more then that, you cannot say.
As for the Knowledge Geography? Well, you discover that you are outside near some cliff or cave. What IS odd that there seems to be no reason to have a temple in the middle of nowhere, however. What was here before the temple, and why is it not here anymore?
"So it has come to blows again," Hermia sighs, watching Brett stalk off."Sometimes I wonder if he has already so decided in his dislike of me that he refuses to listen."
She looks to the remainder of the group. "If I am vague, and my speech is not coherent concerning those subjects which I can speak to, it is not intentional. As I was," she pauses, "separate from my body, removed from nature, my thoughts wandered. Time does not pass for a soul as it does for us. I felt no agony in death, but I could see only that which was taking place directly above me. I saw you, Alaric, grieving, and I could not reach you," she admits softly, "and then there was darkness, and..."
Hermia shakes her head. "When I try to recall it now, all that is left is impressions. Fear, and confusion. What I wrote when I first revived seems fantastical. The villain came, and threatened us with magics beyond the grave, and Geofry defend me. Then there was a girl who was not, she... I believe she burned. She was two girls?" Hermia is visibly upset trying to recall details of her trials. "She sang, and danced, and she told me that my will bound me to this place, and that Geofry should ascend.
"The last I recall was a figure of light in a gray cloak. I thought it my calling to ascend. In its light was a profound sense of peace. And it was beautiful," Hermia almost sings, tears streaming from her eyes, "but I remained. For this land, for all these people that I love. For my duty, to you, to ," Hermia's voice breaks as it raises beyond her typical soft inflection, and with her grief.
"I stand beside you. And, I must admit that I am rather appalled that I am accused of anything but when I fell defending Gan. It were my choice to remain when you fired Kressle's keep and went north to explore when I felt that we should confront the agents of the Stag Lord. I advised against it, passionately, and my opinion was dismissed. But I stood beside you then, as now, because I firmly believe that you are good people at heart, and though some of you are strangers, have the best of intentions towards my people.
"Erastil is the god of the community. Them I serve, the greater at large, scattered about the woods and plains, and you here, truly and completely. And if any of you have cause to doubt my devotion, then I dare say you may ask and shall see the price that I have paid to achieve this understanding.
"Peace, I might have had, Master Brett, and selfishly, when I were called to the upper planes, but here I remain, to combat the evil that blights this land beside you. If you will still have me."
"So it has come to blows again," Hermia sighs, watching Brett stalk off."Sometimes I wonder if he has already so decided in his dislike of me that he refuses to listen."
She looks to the remainder of the group. "If I am vague, and my speech is not coherent concerning those subjects which I can speak to, it is not intentional. As I was," she pauses, "separate from my body, removed from nature, my thoughts wandered. Time does not pass for a soul as it does for us. I felt no agony in death, but I could see only that which was taking place directly above me. I saw you, Alaric, grieving, and I could not reach you," she admits softly, "and then there was darkness, and..."
Hermia shakes her head. "When I try to recall it now, all that is left is impressions. Fear, and confusion. What I wrote when I first revived seems fantastical. The villain came, and threatened us with magics beyond the grave, and Geofry defend me. Then there was a girl who was not, she... I believe she burned. She was two girls?" Hermia is visibly upset trying to recall details of her trials. "She sang, and danced, and she told me that my will bound me to this place, and that Geofry should ascend.
"The last I recall was a figure of light in a gray cloak. I thought it my calling to ascend. In its light was a profound sense of peace. And it was beautiful," Hermia almost sings, tears streaming from her eyes, "but I remained. For this land, for all these people that I love. For my duty, to you, to ," Hermia's voice breaks as it raises beyond her typical soft inflection, and with her grief.
"I stand beside you. And, I must admit that I am rather appalled that I am accused of anything but when I fell defending Gan. It were my choice to remain when you fired Kressle's keep and went north to explore when I felt that we should confront the agents of the Stag Lord. I advised against it, passionately, and my opinion was dismissed. But I stood...
As she seems to be speaking to Brett, he will turn from his position at the cave entrence and move back quickly to her, his eyes smoldering now.
"Ye just don't get it, do ye? We stood here with open arms, and all o' us tried to be helping ye. Where's the thanks we get for the deed? Bah... ye ramble in the dragon tongue. Ye know not everyone here speaks that language, and ye knew it riled master Smendor to be blathering the Fey tongue, when he didn't speak the language. Speaking words in language that not all o' us understand... It be damn right rude. Why ye can't speak open and fair with us, rather then blather, that yer choice. Fine, then stand alone, and apart, if ye want."
He stares at her tears, scorn apperent on his face.
"Stop yer blubbering and toughen up, and while we're at it, speak plain."
He shakes his head with a frown.
"Ye be appalled, eh? Well, that be too damn bad. Ye need to be nicer to the other folks, and ye need to speak plain. We got a job to do. We got to make this land free and clear from bandits, and any else who do us wrong. As fer ye? If ye stand with us, stand with us... but enough of yer high words. Speak plain so we can be understanding ye, and come together as a team. Else we flounder with yer dross. And, while I be at it, grow up. Ye cry and carry on more then enough fer any that be got raised by a god in his own temple."
He looks at her scowl.
"Ye be saying I comming to blows, eh? If I do that, I use me blade, or maybe this,"he said putting his palm to the butt of his pistol and patting it deliberately.
"Right now I just be talking, not comming to blows... Ye be better suited to learn the difference. When I fight, I put me man down, else he do the same to me... Right now I be giving out words, and they ain't blows. Learn the difference, and start being a better mate to us all, and at the very least start acting like a bloody adult instead of an overgrown, weeping, woman-child,"he growls, but remains there, staring across at Hermia.
"Again with the veiled threats of violence. I ask you, Master Brett, what makes you so different from the evil one when you would even contemplate drawing down for a second time on an unarmed woman? Hmm? Is that plain enough for you?"
"You are angry with me for going with the masked man, I understand your position, but time and again you have deliberately ignored mine. I am a healer. If I see a sick man, especially in such close company with others, it is my first priority to see if I can diagnose and treat his ailment. Did you know what manner of disease that man carried? Could you have told me, on sight, whether or not it was communicable to us, to Captain N'Var's men, or to Master Oleg and his wife?
"I should think not, because that would make you a god yourself, and in no need of my limited talents. Yes, it was unfortunate that man proved to be a villain. But my first thought in approaching him was for this team! If the weather were not bad enough, one of us coming down with an illness would slow our progress significantly. I was taking proactive steps towards assuring our continued health."
Hermia inhales. "It is true I prefer peace and harmony to violence and war. But, I ask you, what is it you all attempt to achieve here? Is it promoting violence, or establishing a lasting peace? I understand that our cause is right, and will abide by war to achieve our ends, but that cannot be the ends in themselves.
"If you would prefer that I leave, Master Brett, I will go. To Olegs, and treat with Captain N'Var. I assume that he and his would be none too troubled to have a healer among them. From there, I could continue to support you buy creating potions, and maintaining a line of communication with the Brevoyans and others and pass along any information I might learn of importance."
"Again with the veiled threats of violence. I ask you, Master Brett, what makes you so different from the evil one when you would even contemplate drawing down for a second time on an unarmed woman? Hmm? Is that plain enough for you?"
"You are angry with me for going with the masked man, I understand your position, but time and again you have deliberately ignored mine. I am a healer. If I see a sick man, especially in such close company with others, it is my first priority to see if I can diagnose and treat his ailment. Did you know what manner of disease that man carried? Could you have told me, on sight, whether or not it was communicable to us, to Captain N'Var's men, or to Master Oleg and his wife?
"I should think not, because that would make you a god yourself, and in no need of my limited talents. Yes, it was unfortunate that man proved to be a villain. But my first thought in approaching him was for this team! If the weather were not bad enough, one of us coming down with an illness would slow our progress significantly. I was taking proactive steps towards assuring our continued health."
Hermia inhales. "It is true I prefer peace and harmony to violence and war. But, I ask you, what is it you all attempt to achieve here? Is it promoting violence, or establishing a lasting peace? I understand that our cause is right, and will abide by war to achieve our ends, but that cannot be the ends in themselves.
"If you would prefer that I leave, Master Brett, I will go. To Olegs, and treat with Captain N'Var. I assume that he and his would be none too troubled to have a healer among them. From there, I could continue to support you buy creating potions, and maintaining a line of communication with the Brevoyans and others and pass along any information I might learn of importance."
"You're no brighter then you are mature, I'd reckon, but at least ye stopped yer weeping and carrying on,"he says suddenly cold.
"I don't threaten folk. If violence needs getting done, I do the deed and be done with it,"he adds, stiffening at her implication that we would injure her, instead of simply suggesting with her commentary that he would "come to blows" when he was talking... that was ridiculous.
However, as he stares down at her, his eyes have lost all their fire, and intensity. His voice and face are now without any exprssion as he stares at her.
"Ye blashpheme in a temple to the god Erestil by suggesting I think I be a god. He ain't yer god, so maybe ye think that be fine. Ye worship a goddess, and that ain't Erestil. Meantime, ye insult me to my face by suggesting I be akin to a murderer. That be a thing that any be having a hard time to swallow, making yer suggestions on me, calling me kin to a murderin' scum like him. It be real nasty of ye, real nasty; so don't do it to me again, ever. That not a threat, lass, it be a warning,"Brett says flatly, his voice as dry as tinder.
He continues to stare at her.
"I only speak for meself on this point: I be here to make a place where me and mine can live in peace. If that means killing bandits who prey ont he weak and helpless, I'll gladly do them justice. If ye don't care fer that, that be yer problem then. I be less worried on bandits, though, then the one that ye found and his mates. And as ye don't be liking what I got's to say; if my presence be a terrible bone in yer delicate craw; and if ye got anything more to say or do that ain't be decent or friendly like, then too blooody bad. I be here to make this land safe. Since we done brought ye back from the beyond, the only lads ye seem to have any bloody consideration fer is the one's ye were pawing at. Ye didn't show any thanks or appreciation fer the other outriders; nor to Smendor, nor me, nor Ariarh... and why's that? Because we ain't be men fer ye to carry on with? Ye want to be wanton with them, so they get thanks. But as fer the dwarf or the other lass, or the bleeding "halfling"... they don't interest ye, so no thanks fer them, eh? Get over it, and grow up."
He continues to stare at her, his eyes till cold.
"Oh, one other thing. If ye ever accuse me of being like a murder or cultists, or some demon-spawn creature that follows dark gods, or whatever other insults ye make... well lass, ye and I will have a serious disagreement. We clear?"
His words and tone have been without passion, without ire, without energy. He is speaking calmly, dispassionately, and without any energy, as if he is talking to a picture or a wall. His outward emotion and anger have instantly disapeared, and only the words themselves seem to have any rancor. He may as well have asked Hermia the time, or if she would care for some breakfest, but for his words alone.
He leans back on his heels and stares at her, waiting to see if she has anything else to say.
Ariarh is watching and listening to the conversation unfold between Brett and Hermia. She didn't understand how Hermia could be mistaking Brett's meaning and how Hermia presumes he is threatening violence on her person.
"If I may interject, please. I have known Brett for a little longer than you, Hermia, and I value and count on his honour, bravery and honesty. It is hard for me to sit here and quietly leave his character undefended. I believe you have taken the meaning of his words incorrectly and even unjustly. Perhaps, give each other some space and time for reflection and I believe your conclusions may change course with further thought."
To Hermia directly, in a calm, steady voice:
"I am sorry that you lost your life, yet here you are, returned to life, to our party. Certain things may have changed in the course of recent events and I will not minimise their effect or significance. The important thing, I believe, is that you are alive, and we all worked hard together to achieve this, including a god. Your return to our fold means something and we should be concentrating on coming together for the benefit of all."
Ariarh pauses,
"There have been arguments aplenty in the course of this journey and I would like them to come to an end or be as minor as possible. Maybe it would be best if we pursued a different conversation, perhaps regarding this girl or two girls you saw in spirit form? Do you recall what she/they looked like or even a name?" Ariarh believes this time together would be better spent uncovering information and being manned with more knowledge to use on the rest of their journey.
Ariarh gives Brett a sincere, supportive look, hoping he will notice and understand.
"And I will remind you, Master Brett, such a cunning orator, as you are an outsider, of one of six particular laws that we here of the River Kingdoms hold to above all else - Say what you will, I live free."
With that, Hermia removes her blanket, displaying her nudity, and the disgusting scar that bisects her heart and has made a ruin of her tanned belly.
"I came to you with nothing, and gave everything of myself to make this work. I have been frustrated time and again with these petty personal appeals and attacks that distract from the good of the whole, the good of the people, and so I will return to them as you found me, with none save the contents of my kit.
"Thank you Alaric, for your kindness, and you lady Ry, and Smendor as well, for protecting me and placing your trust in me. I am sorry to have caused any of you pain in the commission of my duties as a healer. Good bye."
Feeling little consciousness of her nudity, or the cool, Hermia recovers her backpack, exits the cave and begins walking in the direction that the outriders rode.
Ariarh slightly perplexed by the conclusion of the disagreement and upon Hermia's words and farewell, stands and calls out,
"Hermia, wait, please? No one here has asked you to leave as far as I am aware. (Ry looks about the group as more of a demonstration of her meaning.) Please reconsider this decision or at the very least wait until morning and see how you feel then? Your presence (and skill) is necessary if we are to work as one successful group. Please, if you will, heed my words." Ry's voice trails off to a soft, barely audible sigh, waiting to hear what Hermia has to say to her request. Still, Ariarh takes the discarded blanket and strides over to the cleric, extending the blanket to her.
What is currently going on with Puck at this time? Please let me know, if you would.
Hermia arrests herself, trembling with a fine mixture of passion and rage. She stands still for a few moments, breathing deeply, but does not turn. She is not embarrassed of her nudity, her body is of nature, and to it she would return, even if she would be mauled by a bear and digested, and shat out again. That truth she accepted long ago. But she had returned to serve these people, given up on the greatest peace she had ever known to witness more violence, in the hope of creating something beautiful here.
"For you, Lady Ry, for I feel you are a kindred spirit," Hermia says loud enough for others to hear. "For you, I will say this, in language I pray for my sake you will all understand...
"You find my language high, Master Brett, or difficult, it is because before leaving my home, I had only one conversational partner - my Auntie Luda. She was my Mama, she was my world, and she was the cruelest, most heinous b+#!* would never hope to meet. I knew no comfort, only constant derision for my body, for my dreams, for my ideals, for my self. She said to me, 'Hermia, you will never make any man a bride. They need women in their beds, not girls with silly dreams.' When she became ill, I was the only of our commune capable of treating her properly. And I did, as it was my duty. She became crueler still in her infirmity, hitting, snarling cruel words - and yes, Master Brett, words can be violent when they attack your worth. She clung to life for two years, all the while my life stood still.
"So far as I know of the date, having been beaten and held captive, held down, drugged and murdered by evil men, I buried my Mama alone six weeks and three days ago. You all no doubt have witnessed my skills with a spade? No? It took the better part of a day. My hands bled, and I was so weak I dropped her on her head. I crawled about ground shoving at the earth with even my chin to cover her, and when I returned to our home, our sisters were rifling through her things like common thieves. They tore up her books for kindling, looking for secret love letters from some Brevoyan lording she moaned about in her fever dreams. Everything she was, every person she healed, every life she saved, amounted to nothing, a cheap jest for lonely old women to snort at in the night.
"Before you found me, murder was a word on a page. The concept was not foreign to me, but I had never observed such violence. I have slaughtered animals to eat, I had participated in hunts with the trappers when something threatened our people and our peace, but I had never seen men fighting and killing one another. The price of my freedom from Kressle's keep was the knowledge that it had been paid for in blood, smeared about the shore. The smell of hastily burnt human flesh is not one that I believe that I shall ever forget.
"I signed on to the charter believing that I could make a difference. I stayed on with you because I hoped that eventually, someone would appreciate my perspective and desire to found peace. I understood when you fired Kressle's keep that violence was a large part of attaining my ideal, but I was and am resolved to maintain the hope that it will not become the result in and of itself."
Hermia sighs loudly. "As for the girl, lady Ry. One of her guises named herself Ioana. She was half mad her face burnt and skeletal. She embraced the villain's spirit and set it afire. Then when I identified myself as a mother, she threatened to burn me as well," Hermia pauses for a moment, finding it curious that the memory would return to her in duress. "She was Ustalavan, and sang of some figure named Draco, who burned villages. I believe that her mother may have smothered her because she was mad.
"Her second guise... I do not believe it was named, was highly intelligent and well spoken, I believe that it would be termed - well bred. She was courteous, and obliging, a perfect model of a woman of stature. Likely she was some member of the nobility in life. When I asked her how she came to our aide, she told me that I already knew the answer -"
Hermia turns her head, realization widening her emerald eyes. "Her soul is tied to another!"
Hermia arrests herself, trembling with a fine mixture of passion and rage. She stands still for a few moments, breathing deeply, but does not turn. She is not embarrassed of her nudity, her body is of nature, and to it she would return, even if she would be mauled by a bear and digested, and shat out again. That truth she accepted long ago. But she had returned to serve these people, given up on the greatest peace she had ever known to witness more violence, in the hope of creating something beautiful here.
"For you, Lady Ry, for I feel you are a kindred spirit," Hermia says loud enough for others to hear. "For you, I will say this, in language I pray for my sake you will all understand...
"You find my language high, Master Brett, or difficult, it is because before leaving my home, I had only one conversational partner - my Auntie Luda. She was my Mama, she was my world, and she was the cruelest, most heinous b!&&@ would never hope to meet. I knew no comfort, only constant derision for my body, for my dreams, for my ideals, for my self. She said to me, 'Hermia, you will never make any man a bride. They need women in their beds, not girls with silly dreams.' When she became ill, I was the only of our commune capable of treating her properly. And I did, as it was my duty. She became crueler still in her infirmity, hitting, snarling cruel words - and yes, Master Brett, words can be violent when they attack your worth. She clung to life for two years, all the while my life stood still.
"So far as I know of the date, having been beaten and held captive, held down, drugged and murdered by evil men, I buried my Mama alone six weeks and three days ago. You all no doubt have witnessed my skills with a spade? No? It took the better part of a day. My hands bled, and I was so weak I dropped her on her head. I crawled about ground shoving at the earth with even my chin to cover her, and when I returned to our home, our sisters were rifling through her...
Brett looks somewhat uncomfortable with the entire display, but it is a change. He is now no longer showing his icy lack of emotion, but rather, he is showing a terseness that comes from arguing hotly over something that isn’t worth fighting about.
”It is a good thing to know of yer background. I haven’t heard of it, before. I tell ye a bit of me own words, then, if they mean any to ye. Halflings, as ye “big folk” call us, not even using the true name fer our people “Holbyt”. My folk were manhandled by Chelish slavers. Butchered if any of us stood up fer our rights. Me whole clan rode about as a traveling fair; but it were all an act to bust up them that be slavers, to do what we could at night. Come into town, get friendly with the local’s, see what be troubles, and then fight them. We learned tricks to slip past their guards and free our folk and any that were being treated wrong. We stood up taller to keep Big Folk from stepping harder on us. I’ve seen mates whipped, hanged, crucified and other things more nasty. I’ve seen it with me own eyes, but I don’t let it rile me now… I take the blood to them that done that cutting rather it back up on me, and sour me from the inside out.”
Brett shuffles his feet somewhat and clears his throat somewhat noisily.
”I be down right sick of being treated wrong on me size; I be sick on being ignored or mocked, and I be sick o’ seeing what slavers did to me folk. That’s why I be here; to make a place fer them to live in peace without all that hash cropping up on them. I don’t like seeing unfairness in me life, and I be seeing plenty from ye. Ye were unfair to me and Smendor when ye kept going on in Sylvan, when ye know we couldn’t speak it. Ye were unfair to us when ye didn’t offer US nay thanks fer bringing ye back from the beyond. Ye were unfair to me when ye tell me what I do and don’t do… and accuse me of being a murdering scum as the other. But that’s how I be seeing it.”
”Ye don’t apologize fer any of that; well and good. Ye said it clear; ye’ve a right to say yer piece and not apologize fer it; that be yer right of freedom, I presume it be what ye meant when ye spoke of it. But it ain’t my way, so I be apologizing to ye now. Sorry fer my reaction to how ye be acting, I keep my lip buttoned on or around ye from now on. I didn’t know that my words rankle ye so much. Now that I know it, I get it. Ye take issue with me, and get so easy riled by me talk… well, if I grew up as ye did, maybe words rile me easy, too. Fer now, though, the riling be coming from memories o’ them that used power to control me, and mine, and to manipulate mine folk, and enslave them, and control them. But that be mine problem, so I’ll deal with it best I know how.”
”Anyhow,” he adds, turning away from her naked body, walking back toward the fire, calling over his shoulder ”As I be saying… sorry fer using hard words on how ye treating me. I ain’t be one to ‘pose me will on another one. If it troubles ye what I said, I won’t trouble ye with speaking to ye again. But I may as well add… Draco be “dragon” in the language of Dragons… if that helps ye with yer puzzle any,” he adds sitting down on the blankets and reaching for Dior, scratching the little griffon behind his ears.
Smendor perks up from his place, and mutters with a grunt, looking at Brett and Hermia.
"This whole thing has gone on long enough! You two need to shut up and stop being stupid. We're all riding together, and all this talking about nothng is getting to my head. Enough!"
Smendor turns to Hermia.
"That girl Dasha is crazy. She told me when we found her she was helped by someone named Ioana, but said she hated her. I have no idea why this Dasha would hate someone named Ioana, especially if this Ioana helped her. The whole thing is stupid and makes my head hurt. But if it helps, it helps. And anyway, put some clothes on! We didn't ride all this way, through that crazy forest, too, just so you can be raised from the dead then catch your death of cold or fever,"he grumbles.
And you, the emissary of a foreign duke in a free land? Hermia seethes, but rightly holds her tongue. Alaric, too, she recalled, but she had come to trust him, perhaps in time...
"My apologies, Master Brett, if you feel as though I have willfully not included you in my thanks, but I tend to forget myself when I feel I am coming under attack. For now, I will abide by your suggestion of peace," she says.
Hermia spares an apologetic smile for the lady Ry, and slips the backpack off her back, revealing her fey marking to any in the group that may be looking. Alive, the "tattoo" is living thing beneath her flesh, a pastoral scene of grass and wildflowers in a meadow, being pulled and twisted by a gentle breeze, showing now in bold, vivid and natural colors that stand in stark relief to her still well tanned body. She pulls her journal from her pack and holds it out to Ariarh.
"The last entry there is all I can remember. I do not know if my handwriting is sound, as it was difficult for me to concentrate, and emotions predominate. When I died, I lost my connection to the Great Mother, and my ability to process everything as a rational being might. It... is an overwhelming experience," Hermia sighs.
"Gentleman, please excuse me, if you do not mind terribly, I believe I will commune as I prefer to, and cool my head. I believe I have spent enough time pretending at something I am not to deserve an hour or two to make my amends to Her."
Puck is grasping at his book, looking eagerly at the exchange between Brett and his nude mistress. Any other time, he might have been compelled to touch, and feel, he is a fey creature, but he feels none but the pull of his book, now. No light smile on his lady's face, he was very much hoping for one...
Puck is grasping at his book, looking eagerly at the exchange between Brett and his nude mistress. Any other time, he might have been compelled to touch, and feel, he is a fey creature, but he feels none but the pull of his book, now. No light smile on his lady's face, he was very much hoping for one...
Brett looks over to Puck, with a mournful sigh, as if all the frustration for the event is ebbing out of him.
"Well, master Puck, ye've been reading quite a bit. But ye were near killed out there by that skeleton priest... as may be... how do ye fair now? I'm sorry I didn't ask to ye before... so much on me mind and all... but ye've had a hard time of it and no one even bothered to ask how ye faired, what with being cut down near to death. Are ye better now, though?"
Puck shakes his head. "I thought that the light would help. I was afraid to stand for her, because of the darkness," he says. "My lady, please, I require your assistance to translate. You're so fond of puzzles. I cannot decipher the meaning of these signs. It... I must study them!"
Ariarh watches Brett as he crosses over to her sleeping roll and spends time with her griffon. It warms her heart that someone cares for her little fellow as much as she does.
Ariarh had listened to the subsequent words exchanged between Brett and Hermia. There was something going awry there and she wished she could find a way to bridge the discord. Such disharmony was wearing thin ... On all of us, Ariarh surmises silently.
Ry turns from where she had been waiting for Hermia and walks over to Brett and her little Dior.
Quietly, so only Brett and Dior can hear her words:
"Brett, please forgive me for referring to you as 'halfling'. I wasn't aware the name/term was offensive to your people. I shall endeavour to use the proper name of 'Holbyt' from this point on." Ariarh was ashamed by her unconscious slight. There was still much for her to learn in this new land.
Ariarh held Hermia's journal in her hand. She wondered, in part, why the young woman cleric would have handed over such a personal item to be read. Ariarh endeavoured only to read the last entry pertaining to the experience with the spirit called "Ioana". It would not do for Hermia's other private thoughts to be glossed over by a stranger. A journal is a private thing and must be respected, Ariarh thought, thinking of her own journal in her backpack.
Ariarh walks back over to the fire. She picks up her mug with the now-cooling tea but sips at it all the same. Hermia's journal is close before her (Ariarh doesn't put it down on her lap because her clothes are still damp from the rain).
Thinking on the draco or dragon in Ioana's story (as told by Hermia) and Smendor mentioning Dasha's "friend" Ioana, Ariarh quietly starts picking through the information she has accumulated over the past few days.
Quietly raising her thought out aloud,
"This Ioana character, I am wondering if she is the thing that has been following Dasha around at Oleg's and who's been spooking the animals and moving items about? If she came to Hermia as a spirit, then one could assume, this is her current form? Hermia herself suggested this Ioana could be attached/tied to another soul."
Hermia climbs down the temple's ruined steps, and sit there, legs stretched out in front of her, enjoying the feel of the rain on her skin.
"It is likely you do not approve," she prays to the god of the hunt. "But I do not believe that you and the Mother are at cross purposes. Or myself and your clergy, at least at heart."
Hermia slicks back her curls so that they are flat amid her scalp and laughs. She has never felt so free in her life. It is... invigorating. She leans back and sighs, tracing the line of her scar from its origin to its conclusion, then playfully slaps the healthy collection of fat that rounds her belly.Stores for winter, she muses happily. This one will be more difficult than the last, I expect.
Brett has taken a piece of string and is dangling it in front of Dior, who is batting at it with his little claws, trying to snatch it, even as Brett jerks it away.
"Eh? That... well, pay it no mind. Everyone calls us "halfling"... as we be "half a man" or some such to ye "big folk". Hmph! Does this look mannish,"he says, lifting up a hairy foot.
"But, if ye be interested on learning more, I be happy to teach ye, I suppose. In our tonuge the word be meaning "Holbyt - hole dweller, fer they say in the old days, we'd dig our homes in banks o' rivers and by hills to crawl and hide in. Now, o' course, things be different, but I'd be happy to learn you me language, if ye've a mind..." he says, jerking the string high as Dior leaps forward with a lunge, only to miss the string and tumble helter-skelter into the blankets letting out a lilttle snarf! from his rumbled fall.
"But we be finding out more sooner, I reckon, once we explore these lands and know them better,"he adds, tickling the griffon's beak with the string, and causuing the griffon to turn his head back and forth with annoyance, even before he bats the strings suddenly and rolls on his back to attack the string with all four sets of claws.
Hermia climbs down the temple's ruined steps, and sit there, legs stretched out in front of her, enjoying the feel of the rain on her skin.
** spoiler omitted **
Hermia slicks back her curls so that they are flat amid her scalp and laughs. She has never felt so free in her life. It is... invigorating. She leans back and sighs, tracing the line of her scar from its origin to its conclusion, then playfully slaps the healthy collection of fat that rounds her belly.Stores for winter, she muses happily. This one will be more difficult than the last, I expect.
As Hermia laughs at the pool she hears a sound from above.
Looking up, far in the trees on a tall branch she sees something perched and watching her intently.
It is a large bird, she thinks it a raven at first, but it is in fact a large crow, that is nearly two feet in height. It is staring down at either her, or the very area. But in either case, it looks at her with an intent gaze, saying nothing, but hopping back and forth on the branches, its beady eyes looking down with black menance.
It caws again, as it stares at her, and Hermia is suddenly filled with a sudden growing sense of dread that is both foreign in this holy place, and frightening.
"Brett, Aye, I would indeed enjoy learning the Holbyt tongue." Ariarh openly smiles at Brett's offer. "In truth, I have been meaning to ask if you could teach it to me, but one thing or another has taken precedence and the chance always seems to pass."
Watching Brett and Dior at carefree play brings such joy to Ariarh's heart. She finds herself softly laughing at their antics and Dior's acrobatics (and determination!) and such a genuine, bright smile lights her face, echoing in the depths of her sapphire eyes.
Seeing Ariarh laughing at him, Dior turns and looks at her with a forced sense of offended dignity. He stalks off with his tail straight in the air and his wings folded back, his head high and his beak tilted back.
Yet the more he seems to carry himself with offended dignity, the more ridiculous he appears, and the more laughter he seems to draw from Ariarh, and now Brett begins to chuckle.
Dior turns and gives them another offended look, trying to look even more dignified and only succeeds at looking more ridiculous, until even the little griffon is swept up by the humor, and opens his beak and lets out little puffs of air that sound like tiny laughter. Then he charges and forward in a sudden rush and leaps into Ariarh's arms with a gliding leap, who catches him suddenly with a whoosh even as Brett claps his hands.
Hermia picks herself up slowly. I know that I have recently been deceased, but, I do not believe that I am carrion, now, she thinks. She begins crawling back towards the cave slowly, so as not to aggitate the crow any.
If she can get within reach, or hearing of it, she will ask, making sure that her voice carries "Excuse me, gentlemen, and Lady, might someone tell me why there is a 2 foot large crow intent on eating me?"
Seeing Ariarh laughing at him, Dior turns and looks at her with a forced sense of offended dignity. He stalks off with his tail straight in the air and his wings folded back, his head high and his beak tilted back.
Yet the more he seems to carry himself with offended dignity, the more ridiculous he appears, and the more laughter he seems to draw from Ariarh, and now Brett begins to chuckle.
Dior turns and gives them another offended look, trying to look even more dignified and only succeeds at looking more ridiculous, until even the little griffon is swept up by the humor, and opens his beak and lets out little puffs of air that sound like tiny laughter. Then he charges and forward in a sudden rush and leaps into Ariarh's arms with a gliding leap, who catches him suddenly with a whoosh even as Brett claps his hands.
Ariarh lets out a loud laugh as she quickly catches her exuberant little griffon in her arms. It's all she can do not to slightly tumble backwards by his unexpected leap but it was so good to laugh and hear other laughter, especially Brett's. Ariarh pulls the little griffon bundle close to her chest and holds him lovingly.
"You're my little champion, Dior." And kisses him on the side of his beak.
Hermia picks herself up slowly. I know that I have recently been deceased, but, I do not believe that I am carrion, now, she thinks. She begins crawling back towards the cave slowly, so as not to aggitate the crow any.
If she can get within reach, or hearing of it, she will ask, making sure that her voice carries "Excuse me, gentlemen, and Lady, might someone tell me why there is a 2 foot large crow intent on eating me?"
You move backward away from the Crow... crawling over cracked and broken rock with nothing but your naked flesh to protect you would be painful enough, but the icy cold rain is also starting to get to you. You are thankful that you are moving slowly, albiet somewhat painfully, back to the warmth of the caverns where a warm fire is kindled.
Even as you move back and call out about the crow, the parties commentary and jokes have suddenly ceased. You see a tension between all of them, and they each reach for weapons that can strike something at range.
Brett has laid his firearms aside at this time and lifts the heavy bow, and grabs the quiver of arrows, even as Alaric checks Brett's movements with a word of caution.
"Be careful, my friend; don't startle the creature. We don't know what powers it possesses, for the last time we encountered it we were all snared under a black spell of enchantment..."Arlaric says, sliding the wand from his sleeve and advancing slowly to the cave entrence.
"Do you even know how to use that thing?"Smendor asks Brett as the halfling considers for a moment, then hands the bow over to Smendor, and picks up his musket.
"Where did you see this creature?"Gan asks Hermia quietly, drawing his bow and placing an arrow to the string.
"Has this come for me?" Hermia wonders out loud.
"Has this come for me?" Hermia wonders out loud.
It feels like the timeline has jumped a bit... From slightly after the battle to transribing the journal for several hours to moving outside the cave...
If it is in fact nighttime and you have already refreshed your spells it would be dark and you cannot see the bird.
For now, let's just assume it is roughly 4 PM, as I don't think the party would have waited so long to say anything, and the battle and all the events were done no later then 2 PM.
But know enough to recall from being in the forest that this thing was not "good" in any way...
Make a Knowledge Religion Check, if you please...
"Well, Master Brett, this may seem to you a mad theory, but as we were speaking of party unity earlier," Hermia begins, crawling back towards her backpack. "This crow here, and this particular challenge seems to me the perfect opportunity to test a theory. If each of us, united at the altar, were to stand in community of good against this intruder, might we repel it?" Hermia asks.
edit:
"Well, Master Brett, this may seem to you a mad theory, but as we were speaking of party unity earlier," Hermia begins, crawling back towards her backpack. "This crow here, and this particular challenge seems to me the perfect opportunity to test a theory. If each of us, united at the altar, were to stand in community of good against this intruder, might we repel it?" Hermia asks.
edit:
The woodsman seems to be a probable avatar of Erestil. And he has already taken issue with the Crow in the forest. Erestil, as a god of the wilds is a god who advocates the strength of the wild and the hunt... But Crows linger after the hunter has made the kill, and seek to steal the flesh of the dead animal, robbing the hunter of his work, profaning the bodies of the dead (not unlike undead do).
In all, this Crow seems like a minor avatar of some evil deity who stands at odds with Erestil. But if that is true, then the presence of Erestil drove the Crow away, so to the presence of Erestil would protect you from this creature.
If you remain on the holy ground of this temple of Erestil, this foul creature should not disturb you. And who knows? Perhaps you may find communion with that Woodsman again?
Only time will tell...
Well, ladies, I need to go. Thank you very much for your excellent role-playing tonight. It has been noted in your weekly XP for your characters.
That said, I have to be at work in about five hours, so I need some sleep.
Hermia: I will answer your querry to Brett in the morning, but I am waiting to see if you want to edit it, being that you got another natural 20 with your Knowledge Religion check. That information may change what you say, I should think.
Anyway, look for a better answer in the morning...
peace
"If I may ah... advance a theory, Master Brett,and all," Hermia adds, crawling back to her backpack. "This crow stands in opposition to the good lord Erastil, who we agree is a god who favors community. As this... thing appeared when I in my brazenness went to cool my temper alone, I cannot help but conclude that I have broken faith with the community. Erastil's grace is strong here, and protects us from harm. Now, this theory may be half mad, but I believe that if we were to gather united about the altar, and channel a power that Erastil recognizes, he may lend us the power to banish this creature from this place, and our lives.
"And it is fortuitous that the Great Mother and Erastil do not stand wholly at odds," Hermia adds for herself. "What say you all?"
While Hermia waits for an answer from the group, she gathers her pendulum, and hastily dons her clothes and padded armor.
Upon hearing Hermia announce the return of the evil Fey Crow, Ariarh stands, cradling Dior in her hand. She walks over to the rock where her cloak had been laid out to dry (her wooden armour is there, also). Placing Dior gently down upon the rock, Ariarh puts her armour on and lifts and shakes out the damp cloak and places it about her shoulders and body. Her dragon tooth dagger is sheathed at her hip (for now).
Looking at Dior, Ariarh speaks,
"My little protector, what say you? Will you join us, united upon Erastil's altar, so we may banish this wretched creature once and for all? If you are in accordance, then please climb up my arm and onto my shoulder. You may shelter 'neath my cloak. If you are not in accordance, I will respect your decision and you may stay in this cave."
The griffon looks as if he is seriously pondering the decision for a minute or two. Ariarh waits patiently, as it was right to ask the griffon to make his own choice in this matter, as she believed in her heart the community had to be willing (free choice mattered) in order for Hermia's plan to truly succeed.
Dior nimbly moved off the rock and up Ariarh's body to her shoulder. His golden eyes stared at her and it seemed his head gave a slight nod (up and down) to confirm his decision. "Thank you, little protector." Dior slid under the cloak.
Turning to face Hermia,
"Dior and I are willing to stand by your side upon Erastil's altar. We have seen the power that resides in this place and what it can do, firsthand. I, and my griffon, will put our faith in your plan, Erastil's goodness/grace and our community of companions."
Ariarh waits by the entrance of the cave.
Alaric has been in a bit of a stupor since the loss of his life force that was given over the Hermia. He was not able to summon the energy to interject himself into the conversation between Hermia and Brett but he thought they were both being a bit pigheaded and sensitive. But all's well that ends well he guesses. When the mention of the crow is brought back up and the possible solution, Alaric stands up with a groan and says, I'll stand with you both. Whatever needs to be done to rid this place of that evil presence.
Hermia pulls her wet hair out from under her shift, and suspending her pendulum from her hand, and approaches the exit of the cave.
The pendulum simply swings around in the wind. As you exit the cave slowly, you all look toward the tree line where you thought you saw the crow.
Yet, even as you stand there, in the cave, you see nothing. The crow, if it is there at all, seems to be missing now. Possibly vanished... Possibily it flew off. In either case, as you examine the tree line, you see nothing.
You wonder if the crow is hiding, but none of you feel the ambient sense of depression and gloom that you remembered from before. It is almost like the crow has vanished, and there is nothing left but a feeling of a bad memory.
"Well, where is it? Where did ye see this thing, eh?"Brett mutters, his hands holding the stock of the musket, looking at the treeline.
Hermia shakes her head, though... confusion on her face. The crow is not there, the presence of it is absent. It is gone, gone from the trees, gone from the temple space... gone completely.
Gone, but not forgotten.
Hermia will remain at the altar, regardless of whether or not the crow is there. She prostrates herself before it, and offers Erastil, Great Mother, the Woodsman, and the figure in the gray cloak a prayer in Common.
"Great gods above, and them that wander and nourish our lands, lend us your strength, to persevere through our trials. We each of us love these lands in our own way. With your divine wisdom, guide us..."
Guide me, Hermia adds for herself.
"Help us heal this land, and purge it of the evils that plague it, and establish a community here of the people that love you most."