The Magpie smiles at Finraeth, "I just thank you for not dying out here. The Mirkwood is a deadly place...and really, this isn't one of the worse spots. And yeah, fire out here is dangerous...but being out here all night would be dangerous too. Trust me, this isn't my first time out here. The Healer needed the light of my fire to be able to revive you.
"I'd like to stick together, so lets all go see to that fallen friend of theirs. Would you like a shoulder to lean on."
Finraeth smiles in turn. "Thou art solicitous of my well-being, for which I thank thee, but my kind heals easily and well and - for the time being, at least - my time spent dwelling in these lands has not been untimely cut short."
When she mentions having been out in Mirkwood on previous occasions, he gives her a quick look, rapidly reassessing his previous view. This is no child: however youthful she may be, her experience in many ways is at least equal to his own.
"Well met, Magpie! Amalina, too. And...I did not catch your name, elf. But I am glad the spiders made a meal of none of us. I am Veig, son of Svior, servant of King Dáin of Erebor, and hunting my doom before it hunts me."
Finraeth smites his brow with one hand. "Belike as not, my close encounter with the creatures of Shadow hath left me temporarily outside of my wits - for I can have no other excuse for such a lack of common courtesy, and must with profusion of apology make amends for such omission, post-haste. Finraeth am I named, of the valley of Imladris, which some do call Rivendell. Glad am I indeed to make thy acquaintance, Veig, for surely only the stoutest of hearts would willingly seek to bring combat to the Shadow itself." Either that or a fool, but Finraeth is far too diplomatic to give voice to that opinion.
Veig guffaws.
"Finraeth, eh? Yer alright, elf!"
He turns to the pair of women:
"Is he one of yours then, Magpie? I am willing to help haul him. Amalina, do ye have anything to clear venom from me?"
"One of mine? He's a Woodman. Not from Rhosgobel, I believe, though he looks somewhat familiar.
"Faem, you said he was a friend of you two. How do you know him? Has he been your companion as you two have crossed the Mirkwood?"
Amalina shakes her head after looking at the paralyzed man.
"This is odd. He was poisoned with the slow sting, which should have him completely immobile, but he is trying to speak..."
Rummaging around her healer's satchel she gathers a number of different herbs and places them in her mouth, chewing each separately, then spitting the soggy mess into a cheese-cloth sachet. She then placed the poultice onto the wound. Next, she takes a small vial of some liquid and, prying the man's mouth open, pours the tincture into the fellow's mouth.
"Now we wait. If this works, then he should come around shortly."
Faem chews the inside of her cheek with more vigor, uncomfortable for have her words taken so literally.
"He's not a friend, really. Never met 'im b'fore tonight, nor any other man. Nor elf nor dwarf, though I been follwing this'n round in circles for three days wonderin' what he's looking for. But I know what you are, jus'n the same. I saved these two from the webs b'fore, and we were carrying this'n to safety when you arrived. Don't really care 'bout him at all, but 'give 'em a fair shake,' is what my Daa always says. Do as you will."
Faem steps back once the healing ritual is performed, hand resting on the haft of her dagger. She assumes each man's motivations are selfish until demonstrated otherwise.
So, I assume Amalina will make a Heal check on the injured man. What are the rest of you planning to do?
Once the necessary introductions and thanks have been made, Finraeth keeps lookout while Amalina does her work, making the most of his keen night vision to watch for any approaching dangers. If he is apprehensive about the delay in heading back to safety, he does his best not to show it.
Veig turns to Faem with a confused look:
"Wait a moment, Faem. You are no dwarf, elf, or manling. Then just what are you?"
A short rest is a period of downtime, at least 1 hour long, during which a character does nothing more strenuous than eating, drinking, reading, and tending to wounds.
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Faem blinked hard at Veig. A simple question, one supposed: "what are you?" And yet her peoples had never freely associated amongst folk from neighboring lands, whether it be Men from the north, Elves from the east, or dwarves from the west, not that any dwarves had been seen in the west in a long, long time, but so went the tales. And then there were worse things coming up from the south - goblins, orcs, and creatures even more terrible.
Faem's mind shot back to that day in the bog near the Great River, when the cloaked man - she assumed it was a man - afflicted her brother and sentenced him to die. There were reasons why her clan and kinfolk did not reveal themselves to the outside world. What am I doing here?
She swallowed and screwed her face - an expression lost in the total darkness - and then an idea came to mind, a tradition of her people.
"I will tell you of myself, but first you must answer this riddle: What breaks but never falls, and what falls but never breaks?" The words flow smoothly from her, and Faem feels a wash of calm. She smiles, but resists the urge to laugh.
From her place by the wounded man, Amalina mutters
"Day and night."
Finraeth hesitates with his answer, not having heard that particular riddle before, and Amalina beats him to it. He smiles at Faem: "Thou art of the Periannath to my eye, the race of Halflings, as the Dúnedain call them, or Hobbits as the ones I met named themselves; although thou art of a kind I have not previously encountered."
Another mystery to add to the pile.
On the subject of mysteries... Finraeth scrutinises the pale figure that only he appears to be able to see, unsure whether the apparition is real and - if so - friend or foe.
Veig rumbles under his beard.
"Waterfall? No, that is not it..."
Then Amalina and Finraeth speak up.
"A...hobbit then?"
Faem collects her impressions. The human was clever; perhaps all healers had to be smart. The elf (could he really be?) was excessively well-spoken. Or at least he seemed to be; half his words sounded like gibberish. Faem would have to avoid lengthy conversations with him for fear of forgetting what the point of them was. And if she had not already decided she liked the dwarf after following him for three days in the woods, she liked him now.
"A peri-anna, yes, that's what I am. Come a long way, I have, across the river and beyond. How 'bout you?" she asks Finraeth. "Where you from, and who's this Hobbit you know?"
Finraeth holds up one hand, politely, but nevertheless firmly. "Thy question deserves an answer, but here and now I must ask for thy silence - and thy trust, even though we are but just now acquainted. Please accept that I will explain shortly, but for now, bear with me and accept that my kind can see that which others cannot. We may be in greater peril than we had thought."
His attention is almost entirely fixed on something that the rest of you can't see, just off to one side of the fallen Woodman. He utters a single word in a language most of you don't recognise. He then utters it in a different language.
[Inflection: the cautious greeting given to a potential friend and/or unexpected guest; implies a cordial welcome provided that they offer a sufficient explanation for their unlooked-for arrival]
(I'm assuming this is an Audience, of sorts - if Diplomacy/Persuasion is more appropriate, it's the same Proficiency modifier.)
Veig turns towards the elf, indignation brewing within him. But something about the elf's expression and tone makes him wonder. At least enough to remain quiet for now.
If this proves to be elf mischief, I shall be displeased!
The Magpie runs a hand through her thick hair, brushing it back. "A Hobbit?" Did Radagast once use that word...?
She looks the little woman up and down anew, and worries a bit about whether to give the Healer the hour she needs to treat another patient, or to try to make do as is so as to get out of the Mirkwood sooner.
Her rumination is interrupted by the Elf's odd request. When he starts to speak in some Elf-tongue, looking at a place where No Man stands, her ears perk up.
Is there something unseen here? What game is afoot?
Whatever the Elf is staring at, he does NOT like it. His normally pale complexion goes almost luminously white in the darkness and he recoils, a word on his lips that fades into the night almost the moment it is spoken.
[Inflection: surprise, horror, protection, warding, a demand for explanation, dismissal/exorcism]
With this grim turn, Veig faces the same direction the elf does, peering at the darkness, hands gripping his sturdy mattock tightly!
The pale Elf unclenches his jaw long enough to offer a terse (by his standards) explanation: "'Tis one of my kindred, or a shade thereof, long-past. I know not if it be true or some trick of the Enemy."
He resumes his silent battle of wills with the phantom only he can see.
As Odo begins to bay, Amalina moves over to the huge animal and tries to keep him silent.
"Shssss...Odo. Quiet boy, what is it??"
Animal Handling:
dang
Finraeth shudders, and passes one trembling hand across his suddenly drawn-looking face. "Belike my soul is weary unto death, yet we must needs depart this place immediately."
He stumbles forward, his feet feeling like lead.
Seeing the dog spooked and the elf drained, Veig lumbers towards the latter, mattock held in his far hand.
"Ye need a hand, Fin?", Veig offers, trying to manoeuvre to stop the elf falling.
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Finraeth sighs. In the short space of time (as Elves measure these things) he has been socialising with mortals, he has yet to understand why they almost invariably seek to shorten their given names. Granted, their life-span is not infinite, but even so, how much time does the practice truly save? It's not even as if Finraeth is especially long or difficult to pronounce (he thinks immediately of Galadriel, of Glorfindel, of Elrond's twin sons).
He wonders whether it is perhaps some influence of the Shadow creeping into language, seeking to mock what it cannot unmake. Be it so, he will have none of it.
But making a fuss about it will most likely achieve little. He opts instead to ignore the question.
Radegund cocks her head. As disturbing as the Elf's unseen turmoil was to her, she was at least as shaken by the momentary silence of the forest's night chorus.
Alert for danger, she listened intently.
Which animals are quiet now? Which alarming? Which in motion?
Radegund shivers, feeling certain there was something important she'd missed.
Don't fall asleep out here, Magpie! Grampa taught you better than that!!
She shakes herself as if after a bath in a cold stream, as though perhaps she can shake her unease.
"Finraeth, are you OK? We have a choice to make. I suspect that--injured and in the dark--we'll need three hours to get out of the Mirkwood and back to Rhosgobel. If you stay close to me you won't get lost, but it'll take time to point out hazards in the dark. Step only where I step. Watch where I point. Ask if you need help crossing something.
"Our fellow here will clearly need to be carried." She nods to the poisoned Woodman "Perhaps we will take turns with that. I can take him first, but then I'll need someone just behind me to hold my torch.
"Shall we be off? I'm sorry to say that there's a long way yet between you and a warm bed."
She puts a hand on the goshawk, hoping to ease it into sleep on her shoulder.
"Indeed let's be out of here. Whatever happened just now has Odo..and well to be honest me as well, on edge. Odo can help lead us back as well...he knows the dangers of the woods as well as any of us, don't you boy! You can also lean against him if you feel faint or need to steady yourself."
With all her equipment packed, Amalina is ready to go.
Finraeth gives Radegund a wan smile. "I thank thee for thy solicitous courtesy, and thou hast the right of it: I must needs travel but slowly at present, for my encounter with that unknown entity hath left me sorely drained. Speed is therefore out of the question, and stealth will stand us in better stead. I pray thee, let us extinguish the torch, and rely on those among us who can see the path without need of light."
Veig shrugs.
"Fin-raeth is not looking too speedy, so slow and steady sounds about right to me."
The Magpie looks torn, her lip tight. "A torch may well attract attention...but I wager I can get us back home a full hour faster if we have one burning. And stealth..." She glances at the motley crew around her: none terribly used to the Mirkwood, one poisoned, one afflicted with exhaustion, one unconscious and needing to be carried. "I don't know that a torch is going to attract much more attention than the group of us splashing about in the dark.
"I can find our way even in pitch black, but I don't really advise it."
Faem weighs the risks of one unknown against another. These people seem well-enough intentioned, but she had spent three nights in the Mirkwood in the dark already and one more, spiders aside, would not be any more or less terrifying. Still, she had an idea to find something, and Rhosgobel was something she'd heard about.
"I vote for the dark. Could be more'n monsters roaming these woods. I see a little ways even now, without the light, and can help with what's ahead."
Amalina shakes her head at the little gir...errr hobbit??
"Speed will be better right now as we have many injured members of our group that I need to spend more time healing. Magpie and I know these woods well and I think taking the chance is worth it."
She pets Odo's head while talking.
Reaching into her sack, Faem pulls out a package and carefully unwraps the leather. To any nearby, the smell of cured fish stings through the gloom. Of course, there's a risk that this may draw the keen senses of something menacing, but this is a chance to form a bond, one that may be needed through this journey.
She breaks off a chunk of the salty trout and offers it to Odo, then wraps the rest and returns it to her sack.
"I can scout for us as we travel. I'll take my headings from you, Magpie, and keep one eye back on the party and t'other at what lies ahead. First sign o'trouble and I'll come runnin' back to the group."
The Magpie sighs loudly. "OK, you're telling me that Elves and Dwarves and Hobbits can all see in the dark, eh? Fine, I'll try it. Grampa used to have me practice walking through these woods blindfolded but that was in case I was stuck without a torch. It won't be fast, but I guess a few of us can't move quickly now anyway.
"Faem, I'll be grateful for you keeping an eye out but please don't range ahead. On a trail it might be fine, but if you didn't grow up here you shouldn't go touching anything without asking first. Why don't you just walk right behind me and say if you see something?
"If I'm going to be feeling my way in the dark, it won't make sense for me to carry our unconscious companion. Veig, if you can see in the dark, can you carry him?
"Finraeth, no offense, but you look so tuckered I worry you'll be able to carry yourself. That said, maybe you can be the Healer's eyes, and she can give you a shoulder to lean on?
"I won't lie, I think it might be wiser to have a torch lit...but I'll keep one and some flint and steel ready to light."
When everyone's ready, Radegund extinguishes her torch. She blinks a few times and shifts her focus to her ears, nose, and toes. Slowly...slowly...she starts to walk back home, using touch, sound, and smell--and her own sense of direction--to guide her.
As she walks, she does her best to tune into the night chorus of insects and birds (and to screen out the loud splashing and clomping of her companions).
"As you like," says Faem. She drifts several paces behind the group as they forge ahead, her senses on high alert.
""Finraeth, no offense, but you look so tuckered I worry you'll be able to carry yourself. That said, maybe you can be the Healer's eyes, and she can give you a shoulder to lean on?"
Finraeth nods, wearily but with a certain satisfaction. "In truth, while at present I do feel every one of my years in this earth (the which, while I no longer keep exact count, you may be sure doth exceed all of yours in combination), yet also do I exult, and will exult: I shall not accept that it was mere happenstance that led us out into these woods tonight of all nights and into one another's company. Fortuitous it was indeed that we were present to aid our new companions - and yet fortune alone does not explain it. There is a Will at work here, one that doth far exceed that of the Shadow if we could but see it, just as the stars above do shine their light above us, e'en shrouded as we are beneath the canopy of this forest."
He nods, and softly recites an old riddle:
"The dark doth reveal me,
The Sun doth conceal me;
Put thy map to one side,
Let my light be thy guide."
He does his best to keep lookout, but his attention wavers too much. It's all he can do to keep one hand on Amalina's shoulder and direct her around the various obstacles this forest springs on them.
He trusts however that his words will keep his companions in good cheer.
After a while, Radegund decides she's better off with her eyes closed altogether. Her pace is a crawl as she feels her way forward, toe to heel. As she goes, she tries her best to follow the lead of the Wild Voices she knows, the call of the tawny owl, the sound of a fox in the brush, the song of the cicada.
While she tries not to focus on her companions' knocking about, she finds Finraeth's riddle soothing.
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Veig, despite still feeling the effects of spider venom, and the pitch darkness, feels a true sense of awareness...