DEVA AF FFS, Part 4
Log Info
- Title: DEVA AF FFS Part 4
- Emitter: Cryosanthia
- Characters: Thurid, Merek, Shalethiste, Durrankar
- Place: H01: Kultari Road - DEVA STATION
- Time: Sunday, December 20, 2020, 2:11 PM
- Summary: The Blar Airship is inbound from Caldera Saute and lands without issue. Infalia thanks the adventurers and they catch up on what they missed. An inquisitor was by, and the patients of disease group 2, the 'Bloody Fingers' disease are stable but still getting worse. They debate using the sap, or attempting to find a druid or dryad who might know what to do. Going to the Yggsdrasil Union, they meet a druid, and a Dryad, Belsamme, who are convinced to come with them after Shalethiste gives them one of Zanalilla's pinecones. Merek teleports them to camp, where Thurid has been treating all the 'Bloody Fingers' patients, with extra attention for Hashur, the hobgoblin who inspired her to go to the volcano in the first place. Belsamme is not doing well so far from her tree, and Durrankar arrives to take her back. He is dissuaded by the others, who have worked so hard and want to see this through, including the dryad. Thurid takes them all to Hashur, who has gotten worse. The Dryad performs the ritual she's inherited from Zanalilla by absorbing her sap, with Durrankar assisting, and Shalethiste, Merek and Thurid providing additional divine power. The cure works, Hashur is healed, and the group goes on to cure the rest of the soldiers, although Belsamme has to return after twenty. It was long and grueling, but a success.
-=--=--=--=-<* H01: Kultari Road - DEVA STATION *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--
From east to west, north to south, the Alexandrosian countryside weaves over hill, valley, and farmland. Kultari Road meanders through it at a comfortable pace. The roadside is lined with curbstones, their surfaces comfortably flat and warm, with sand pressed inbetween. At times construction meanders into dirt, and numerous pathways branch off here and there to different farmsteads.
Along this stretch, there is a waystation which has been converted into a quarantine station. It sits in the middle of a field, nearly four acres in size, most of which is overgrown. Partially cleared areas are filled with tents, and a parked medical caravan. The waystation itself has been under repair before it was commandiered for medical use. Over its door remain the dual symbols of Gilead and Tarien, even though Daeus, Eluna, Vardama, Althea and Angoron represtentatives are out in force.
Towards the south, the sky and landscape darkens. The Felwood lies there, and an occasional screech from inhuman lungs may be heard.
Towards the east, the shining City of Alexandria.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Appearing, in Order =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Thurid 7'1" 249 Lb Giantborn Female Bright-eyed, muscular, blond Giantborn woman. Merek 5'10" 215 Lb Human Male A black-haired, dusky male with golden eyes. Shalethiste 4'6" 96 Lb Shadow Elf Female A copper maned elf maiden, hued in the night sky. Durrankar 7'0" 398 Lb Sith-Makar Male Silver Sith-makar with blue eyes -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- As the GM =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Cryosanthia 6'9" 291 Lb Sith-Makar Female A dashingly tall, elegant white-scaled lizard woman. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=
GAME: Thurid rolls athletics: (8)+4: 12
Inbound
Inbound to DEVA Station
The return trip was busy, if uneventful. It was necessary to repair the Airship's gasbag, and Thurid was a significant contributer to that effort. It was a messy, if somewhat straightforward job. Coat the two layers of the gasbag with rubber cement, keep them separated while it dries. An easy enough task as the escaping air helps. Then slip a double coated patch between the layers and apply pressure. The Jotun was excellent at applying pressure, and she only nearly slipped off to her doom once!
Captain Infalia clearly wants to speak to everyone to understand what happened. There simply isn't time. Once on the ground, she might follow up on her instincts.
It has been several days, and finally the Way Station is in sight. The storm and fog broke a day ago, leaving the last one to be through fair weather skies, between fluffy white clouds the drift by in the bright blue. The wind is at your backs, and it's nearly perfect. Below, the ground is carpeted in white, and everything has a layer of ice that gleams as the sun reflects through it.
After the very sombering experience of encountering Zana, and then having to leave the poor dryad behind- as well as needing to rather brutally extract a sample of her sap- Thurid is fairly quiet on the return leg. She manages, even, to ignore her fear of flying to help patch the gasbag- after all, it was her insistance that lead to them being out there in the first place, so it stands to reason that she would be doing everything she can to keep the airship flying.
When she eventually finds a moment, she goes to seek out Shale, who seemed even more perturbed by their treatment of the Dryad than she was.
Merek takes time to clean up while healing himself. Then he comes to the front of the ship when coming upon the Way Station. The man wears the dark attire he often does, white-black with the scarf which he wears. The man takes a drink from the flask with him, which seems to be rum.
Shalethiste, has been throwing herself into what work she has a handle on aboardship, though keeping her armour on in case of more activity, albeit stripped down to a dagger, weaponwise. She's effected a stoic demeanor for the trip back, though the odd gaze out a porthole into the moonlit sky, when available, may indicate that she was indeed scored deeply by the particulars of their acquisition. The soul they had left behind. That their efforts could save many more lives is a balm, to be sure. Though a balm soothes the skin, it rarely tempers the broken bone beneath.
Thurid places a hand on Shale's shoulder when she finally finds the Paladin, now that they are on their final approach. "How fare you?" she asks Shale then. Though, she already knows well enough the answer. "It was no empty promise I made. I will return, with water and fertile soil." she says to her. "Once we're done here in the camp. And perhaps they will be done with their war by then as well." she adds ruefully. She turns her attention out towards the approaching camp below.
The crew, being goblins, seem largely unaffected by the whole experience. They're used to short, exciting, explosive lives. A ride into a volcano would be a good end, and having survived, they could do it again!
Which perhaps explains Infalia's expression, and headache. As the sole hobgoblin maintaining order on the ship, she feels as much a parent as a captain. "Jusss... keep busy." Is the only advice she's offered. Her extra-long watches through the night hint at a weight on her mind, but she keeps her council.
The Airship is descending. The Way Station is outlined in snow, the frequently travelled walkways packed snow, while less used areas have only a few tracks, or none.
There's been some back and forth between the Caravan and the camp for the Bludguni crew. The field where the airship was resting is pristine, no reason to go there while it was gone. There is a lot of packed snow around the tents, towards the entrance to the Way Station, and while Mikilos' Magic Mansion isn't visible, there's a very clear path that suddenly stops.
Merek looks to the two that are on the ship, while he nods a bit. Then he takes a moment to look to the crew in thought, "Alright, looks like we're about to land," he notes, while he takes a moment to find a place to use as a brace, "You two alright?" he asks Thurid along with Shalethiste.
Shalethiste's shoulder is tense under the jotun's touch, though to an extent rendered murky beneath the chain and layers she wears over. Her chin dips almost imperceptibly and pivots just so to that side as she softly answers, "I had to turn my blade on an innocent. A volunteer, and yet, still, innocent, one not entirely in her right mind." A subtle bitterness, a shame in her tone, "I wanted to spare her undue pain."
She looks forward again, "I still stand in Her Light." she answers softly to the Seer's question, "And you? You were both hurt while..." While she was... otherwise disposed.
Thurid nods her head then, and she sets hew jaw grimly, "Aye. There's a chance I slew the victims of a demon, not so long ago." she says then. "I don't rightly know, which makes it worse." she sighs, and gives the shoulder a squeeze before letting go and looking back to Merek, "I'll be glad to stand on solid ground again." she says then. "We'll set aside some of the sap, so the researchers can examine it. But we'll use some of it to treat the worst afflicted." she comments to the other two.
Infalia appears, a little more slouch in her posture than usual even though she hasn't been below much, and a glower of an expression that reminds that Arvek Nar were seen as unredeemable, evil monsters not too long ago. Her mood doesn't seem directed at anyone, perhaps it's having to ask for help.
She interrupts, "So, about that solid ground. We'd throw down the Bow Line about now and Biggie woul' slide down it, drive the anchor in. Yer up for that?" It's a call for one of the group to volunteer, but she's looking at Thurid.
Thurid glances back towards Infalia when she's addressed. "Alright." she says, not hesitating so much as she might have at the beginning of this journey. Just need to climb down a rope? she asks then. She's done that before, shouldn't be too hard. 'course, she usually isnt dangling from the side of an airship.
GAME: Thurid rolls athletics: (20)+3: 23
The Jotun-blooded woman heads on over to the rope, slings the large anchor post over a shoulder, hangs the mallet to drive it into the ground with from her belt, and then throws herself overboard. She slides down the rope, focusing on the rope rather than the sensation of dangling over nothingness, and before she knows it, he feet alight on the ground. She kicks away some snow, then loops the rope through the anchor post and drives it into the frozen ground with a few pounds of the mallet.
"I wouldn't try to think on it, the ways of the Fae would not be our own way," Merek notes then to the two, "And don't worry about me. Been killed a few times, been in the Iron Hells, you know. A little bit of fighting with a sniper, well." The man then would begin to follow along with the party, waiting for Thurid.
Shalethiste considers the words put forth and she nods, but otherwise seems satisfied that she's converted enough breaths to sound on the matter, at least for the interum. "Where do you need us for the landing, Captain?" she asks, instead.
"It's calm enough, we don't need the sidelines, the levitators will give us the control. By the gas globes, Shalethiste, once we touch activate them an' deflate the bag." Infalia answers. She watches as Thurid goes over, and her expression improves.
The goblin crew meanwhile, were also having a gander. They compare Thurid's performance to Biggie's. She receives a resounding cheer from the crew. She passed.
Infalia gives Merek a stare as he mentions the Iron Hells, then returns to the control station. The next few minutes are busy as she shouts orders, comprehensible now, relating to controlling the trim as the airship sinks. It's a very soft landing, then the goblins are over the side with the tie-downs, running out to tension them, then hammering in small pegs. The levitators are set to 'down' while the gas is extracted from the gasbag to the storage globes, and once there's no natural lift going on, the engine and artifice is shut down.
"Allright, we're down."
Shalethiste nods with an acquiescent, "Yes, Captain." and, another to Merek, the Mul moves to attend her allotet station for when they are secure. As the ship settles, she absorbs the rundown on what she must do to assist from the hands on station and gets to it once the cue is given.
As she already has a mallet in hand, Thurid will assist with the driving in tie-down stakes, and when that is done, head back to the ramp to make sure there's nothing left to do, "If you don't mind, I'd like to go see the state of the bloody fingers patients. I hope things haven't gotten too much worse while we were gone, with them not running around all the time anymore." she sighs.
Merek nods a bit while he takes a moment to assist with the crew. "Alright," he notes to Shalethiste, while he takes that post that he can find, to assist them with landing while he waits.
"Aye, yer dismissed Crewer Thurid, thanks for yer help. You's welcome on my ship anytime. I gotta get things settled here, then I'm comin' to check on Biggie." Infalia says, giving a quick salute to the Jotun, then another to the Mul'niessa, "Same fer you, thanks Crewer Shalethiste. And... you had a hard call. Batttle makes ya make 'em. You did the right in my book."
There is an interruption before the 'bloody fingers' patients can be checked on. The medical staff interrupt the returning group, to ask a few questions and catch them up. It's been a week since they've gone, even if it feels longer. Overall all groups of patients have improved, but groups 3 and 4 show the slowest recovery progress. The magic resistance of the group 4 remains a concern.
An Inquisitor from the Temple of Eluna visited and had some questions for the Silverguard. Mainly, if the origin of the diseases had been determined, and what possible cures were being explored. The staff summarizes the Silverguard's answers, discussions with the patients reveal multiple origins, and at least one is tied to the Bludguni council.
This info shared, they disperse, leaving the group to their original intention.
The situation with the 'Bloody Fingers' patients has improved. The cedar saplings are keepig them in their beds, with the reduced movement, the infection progression has slowed. A few seem almost to be recovering, although more have become bedridden.
In terms of recovery though, once the fungal infection is fought off, it can leave behind a very ravaged limb with minimal function.
Hashur, as promised, is holding on. There is clear delight in his voice when someone comes to see him.
Sap wise, they probably have only half of what they need.
Shalethiste accepts the consolation and endorsement from the Captain with a gracious bow, and a soft, "Thank you, Captain, for everything." She affixes a faint smile, then gathers up her equipment and their precious cargo, "Permission to disembark, Captain?"
After such formalities are exchanged, the Mul heads down into things to help Thurid with distribution of their samples. She reserves several pinecones, with intent to plant them in some of the best regions she can find, soon.
GAME: Thurid rolls heal: (8)+10: 18 GAME: Shalethiste rolls heal: (9)+6: 15 GAME: Merek rolls heal: (4)+20: 24 GAME: Merek rolls knowledge/nature: (1)+8: 9 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Merek rolls knowledge/arcana: (20)+15: 35
Some of the Sap is set aside for study, in the mean time, the plan is to treat those who are the worst.
So the remainder will be used for treatment. Except, what sort of treatment? A topical salve, a medicine, something to inject? Zanalilla nibbled Shalethiste's fingers, and suggested some sort of magic would be involved, that other dryads or a 'very smart squirrel' such as a druid, might know what to do.
The Seer is convinced that eating the Pinecones will help. No one else is. It's a little like eating her babies. Although considering how many pinecones a tree drops, perhaps Zanalilla isn't that attached. Still an unsettling idea.
Alright, I think we should try to make them eat pinecones, you know," Merek notes then to Thurid along with Shalethiste. "I think that would be best, the question would be, what way can we make it edible," he notes. "We should probably make sure to try and make it into a nice thing to eat."
Thurid shakes her head at Merek, "Not funny." she says, absently, and clearly not taking the suggestion seriously. "We could just rub it on, but we'd only have enough to treat one or two people at most doing it that way. She said it should only take a few drops to heal someone about your size, right?" she says, confirming it with Shale. "But I don't know very much about natural magic, If only that Druid were about..." she frowns. "I wonder if there are any Dryads who live nearby, who might know more."
"I was not trying to be funny, would it not be the best way to do it?" Merek asks.
Shalethiste seems more dubious about the pinecones' purpose, "I... with respect, Seer, must contend that Zanalilla gave us the pinecones, for reasons likely unrelated to curing the sickness." she says gently, "It was when i asked for details of treatment, she seemed to realize that we would need her sap." Her expression sours, just a touch, as the affair has given her a lingering pang of guilt, "And... a spell she hadn't the time to teach us. Perhaps a flight, or.. pack of druids should sally forth to the caldera to see to her safety, and perhaps learn this spell?"
Thurid's question prompts a nod, "A drop or two for one my size." She hmmm's and looks to the Seer, "Perhaps there is. Would you, perhaps know of any?"
"Dryads? Well, there is a Druid Grove not far from the city of Alexandria, if you want to travel, we could probably find a few," Merek then notes to the two, while he thinks about it, "I apologize, if you are sure there is a better way," he notes.
GAME: Merek rolls knowledge/local: (14)+8: 22
There are definitely dryads near the Yggsdrasil Union's grove. It's one of the reasons they located there. It's also one of the reasons they don't let outsiders in. Seeking a cure to a virulent and dangerous disease is a good reason for them to do so, and also a reason to keep visitors out. The druids might want to handle it all themselves.
There's also the question if there's the right type. Dryads are somewhat specific to their trees. The foliage around the Union might not be the right green.
Havi was investigating the nearby forest, and a lot of the patients were running towards it. While they weren't that specific, they did tend to choose evergreens more often, and randomly pick North over South. There are cedars in that forest, perhaps a dryad hides there too.
After a brief discussion a decision is made. Thurid will remain behind. Merek and Shalethiste will make the journey to the ferry, across the Tornmawr, to the northern road from Alexandria, through it to Wilderness Pointe, and beyond, to the Druid's grove. A journey that's easily thirty miles. A very long walk, and even a long ride.
The Yggsdrasil Union
"The Union should be able to assist, if we can't do it there, we will seek the Forest," Merek notes. Then, if people follow, he will make a way to the Union's Grove. He speaks to anyone there, "We have come to speak about the illness that is coming to the people from the war. We seek your aid, to preserve nature and its people. We have met with a dryad, she was willing to assist us, we ask you be willing too. We promise to keep the protection and sanctity of the Grove."
GAME: Merek rolls diplomacy: (18)+27: 45
Shalethiste goes along with the Seer, bearing some of Zanalilla's pinecones and the most telling of her equipment worn, though she is still otherwise wearing her ship attire. This is well, for the weather, all told, and so she carries on.
Her People's legendary graces with diplomacy encourage her to largely keep mum on affairs unless specifically addressed, at least until some feel for the situation is attained.
Anyone at the Yggsdrasil Union turns out to be a male wild elf of indeterminate age. He listens to the Seer, and replies, "Outsider, your request is gracious. Inform me of this illness, for they often come from war and there are many wars. Our work is always to preserve nature and it's people, so describe the aid you require. Your promise is appreciated, but unnecessary, as we graciously request you to remain outside the sanctuary. The favour of a dryad is special indeed, but without knowing which dryad we cannot weigh her approval. I will come with you to meet this dryad and we will discuss your request."
Merek looks then to Shalethiste, "That Dryad is a distance away from the where we are. She is favored, I will let the woman, Shalethiste, explain." The man nods a bit to the woman. There's a sign which he shows to the wild elf, which is meant to be respectful.
Shalethiste takes in the exchanges with some veiled concern, as things could go very badly if things tarry. With her years comes a certain patience, and so the Mul'niessan woman stands to with a fine example of Stoic Silver Guard, rather than Princess PeePee Dance, until by Merek's gracious deferral, she bows her head to him with a soft, "Thank you, Seer." and steps forward.
Here, she bows deeply, "Thank for meeeting with us, sir. I am Shalethiste of Eluna's Silver Guard. The dryad of Caldera Saute, Zanalilla, offered her aid with this disease, which, by her experience is a fungus." Ahem, "I, myself had be cured by her, personally. The infection attacks the consciously controlled muscles, first, starting in the nailbuds, usually in the dominant limb, there... also comes an obsession with trees. Zanalilla was able to treat my, admittedly fresh infection by... ahhh... nibbling down my fingernails to the tips." This, she illustrates by show of hands, "But, she also stated there was magic she had not time to teach us, that perhaps other dryads, or, perhaps your learned people could understand."
The wild elf gazes at Shalethiste. To say he looks at her as if she was a bug, would grossly overstate his positive feelings. As a druid, a member of the Yggsdrasil Union, he loves bugs and has a great affection for beetles of all kinds. Bees, even wasps, fall within his favour.
Rather, he looks at the Mul'niessa, the non-druid, as he might a city full of garbage. She's enough to bring a tear to his eye, especially as she relays the details of the disease and her experience. Not in sympathy, but in regret, that someone closer to nature wasn't there to take better advantage. He hides this as best he can, making a slight inclination of his head towards her, a sign of respect.
"Blessing of Ea and the Green Word upon you, Shalethiste of the Silver Guard. I am Dardlir Migyaeldlen, a Guardian of the Union. The enduring Goddess of the Volcano is known to us, but none in my generation have spoken to her. Let me examine your hand."
He casts some spells, one is obviously Detect Magic, another might be Arcane Insight, there are others and he examines Shalethiste's fingers with glowing eyes. "Truly you are Favoured of Zanalilla. You may enter. Come with me."
He raises a hand to Merek, "You may with our blessing, wait here." He leads Shalethiste off.
Merek bows a bit to Shalethiste, while he thinks about it. "Of course," he does look to the woman, to make sure that she's alright with that, then he places a hand upon the woman's shoulder, if the woman permits. "You did well. You are their hero today, nothing changes that." He saw the way that the wild elf looked to her. He doesn't seem to generally care about what the woman is.
Shalethiste is not surprised, nor particularly stricken by the look she warrants. She understands what her people are to his, to the Union in general.
It is known.
She is, nonethless, polite and compliant in her acquiescence to her examinations, and bows deeply as she is granted access to ends she keeps any musings of, to herself.
As Merek turns to her, with his touch, and kind words, she smiles thankfully and bows her head before returning that soft touch, "Thank you, Seer, for everything. I will return as I am able."
The Seer is left to wait alone in the snow, in the forest.
Merek decides not to smoke in the Union, he takes time to settle in to drink a little rum. The man waits.
The forest does not burn down around Merek, which is perhaps a good thing. Rum tastes very good in the cold.
Merek seems to be content to sing to himself, while he takes the time to drink rum, watching the place. He traces patterns along with magic.
Time passes.
More time passes.
The forest listens as the man sings. The snow glimmers in the shifting light as he drinks, and watches. The magic traces hang in the air, then vanish.
And even more time passes, then something happens.
A wooden woman returns with Shalethiste and the Wild Elf. She nods in Merek's direction, her arms aren't free, the others are supporting her.
With the Dryad
Shalethiste leaves Merek behind and goes with the Wild Elf.
She elaborates as she follows Dardlir, "What magical healing initially had been done, did not remove the urgings for trees, and... I think, perhaps normal curative spells cause remission alone. It wasn't until Zanalilla treated me that the particular need abated."
There's nothing special at the edge of the Green Union's space. Snow, a few animal tracks, icy buildup on bare branches, and evergreens holding mantels of snow. It's peaceful at least, a little whistle of wind.
"Most curious," Dardlir says as he leads Shalethiste deeper into the groove. He leaves no tracks, and oddly neither does the Mul'niessa. Some shared blessing perhaps. "There is a 'Dryad Pox' that makes the sufferers seek out a tree. It's harmless and usually passes in a few days, sooner if they encouner a Dryad."
He laughs, "Although some might say there's an incurable version, that causes people to follow the Green Word. That would trivialize our calling, however. Dryads, encounter a far different world than we do as animals. Fungi and other diseases are specific to their aboreal nature. An elder, such as Zanalilla would have lifetimes of experience and knowledge that is as much a physical part of her, as a conscious one. Dryads have ways of sharing this knowledge we'll never access or understand."
The Mul'niessa is led to a cedar tree, which seems normal and similar to others. There's a strange absence of people, structures. Only the Wild Elf, the Mul'niessa, and the forest. "Belsamme, please emerge. There is one Favoured by Zanalilla for you to examine."
Shalethiste takes in the information from her chaperone, letting it cavort and mingle with what she's already been told of the other matters. She makes no notices of her absent trail, as she's focused on her guide. These are secretive people, and calling aside, her ilk are unkindly regarded, here, best not to chance encouraging accusations of spying.
She is reluctant to comment upon the Green Word, for largely that reasons, though she wills herself forward with a placative, "Well that there are souls who follow the Word, and gladly. Are Dryads able to venture at all? Is she constrained to her roots, or... perhaps be visited in good cheer by her sisters?"
Dardlir stares at Shalethiste for some time. His expression is dark. Her question, is exactly the sort of thing spies and exploiters would want to know. However, he is aware of the circumstances, and the blessing she's unwittingly earned.
"They... can. They must remain within three hundred yards of their tree, but can go further, in extremis. They suffer immediately, becoming sick, often nauseated for hours, and wither. Separated too long, a few mere days, they will die. Some, are able to cling to a new tree. Most die."
He shakes his head, full of warning, "Don't ask this of Belsamme, I implore you."
And then Belsamme emerges from her tree. She's a lot smaller than Zanalilla, barely five feet in height. Still enough to look down on Shalethiste. She has a haughty manner entirely unlike her elder's casual behavior. In Sylvan she asks, "Yes?" Dardlir translates as necessary.
The Yggsdrasil Union is located north of Wilderness Pointe, and a good half day's travel North of Alexandria. The Way Station, where the DEVA All Faiths effort is located on a different road, across a ferry over the Tornmwar.
So it's not far, but it's not close. A round trip could take hours, with delays days.
With determined adventurers and some magic, it could be minutes.
At least she can tower over goblins, gnomes and Lucht.....
Shelly meets the dark look with a gentle, troubled one of her own, "I ask because she has no one." she says softly in counter to the man's rebuke, and, in light of the expanded circumstances, she nods with a reluctant, "I abide, though maybe less constrained among you could see to her." in low volume as they await the dryad's emergance.
She bows deeply to the dryad as she emerges, "Greetings and well met. I am Shalethiste, of Eluna's Silver Guard. My companion, the Seer Merek, and I have come seeking your aid with curing an ailment that rebuffs our efforts alone. We conferred with some of the victims, and deduced that there was a Dryad who was knowledgable about the disease, and capable of treating it, as she had done. we ventured to the Caldera Saute, where, despite my own personal treatment, had lingering symptoms. Zanalilla emerged, mistaking me for one of my ancestors, which is distressing, but, after examining my hand, where the infection began, she... nibbled my fingernails down and explained it being a nasty fungus. There were other magics involved with the cure, but she hadn't the time to teach us. Also, some of her.... sap. By her direction, a drop or two for someone my size, we do not have enough to treat more than, at best, half our patients, nor would it restore the ruin it does to their limbs. I have brought a sampling of the sap, as well as some of her pinecones, freely given, that perhaps could be planted in suitable soil."
"Zanalilla? No. It can't be." Dryad expressions are so strange. Hers is angry, perhaps fearful. It sounds sweeter in Sylvan, but it's still an order, "Give me her pincone."
Belsamme takes one from Shalethiste, examining it by holding it close to her face. She sniffs it, breaks off one of the bud scales and then eats it. That knocks her off her feet, she startles so completely she collapses against her trunk and slides down to a sitting position. Terror and awe.
And sadness, "She's so alone."
She looks at Shalethiste with a bewildered expression, "She gave you her sap? Give it to me."
Shalethiste tenses slightly as Belsamme goes from angrer-grabby to slumping back in terror, but she can only afford the elf a quick glance. Any more could be provocative in all the wrong ways. Instead, she turns her sad eyes back to the dryad and nods, "Yes." to the fae's words. A confirmation? An acquiesence? In either case, she steps forward with what remains in her wineskin, keeping her movements sedate, overt, and specific as possible.
Belsamme takes the wineskin. She doesn't drink the sap. She doesn't cut open her arm and mix it with her own. Instead she does something magical which seems a combination of both of those things, which includes touching her trunk without damaging the bark and over the heart on her humanoid form. It's part of the symbology.
The sap dissolves, dissappearing into her like a sparkling spiral of smoke. Glowing spots of amber light that enter, then surround her and her tree.
Did her bark thicken? Snow falls from the upper branches. She looks different somehow, without any obvious change. The dryad stares, her eyes wide as she absorbs it all. An ancestor's experience of ages past, and present.
"Nibbled Fingers... Yes. I understand why. The spell..." Belsamme turns to look at Shalethiste, then Dardlir, "I don't understand it."
Shalethiste watches and eases back to her former position as the young dryad assimilates the sap and... experiences of the likely significantly older, other. What spirits are buoyed by her statement of understanding the nibbling, are scuttled by the followup of the spell, itself.
Belsamme stands. She's taller. Her roots go deeper. It's the dead of winter but she had a burst of spring inside. She's added another ring. There is a blossom over each ear where the wasn't one before. She stares at Shalethiste with another not-quite-right dryad expression, but there's a weight in her words the Mul'niessa would know, "I have to repay this gift. Tell me what to do to help."
"No! Belsamme. We'll handle this our own way." Dardlir interjects, holding a hand out to stop her.
"No, I must."
"I can feel the spell," the dryad waves her hands in the air, "I can't... make it!"
Shalethiste frowns some. Another conflict, so soon. She glances to Dardlir on his protests, then, "I would ask that you help the afflicted. Were there a may that does not endanger your health, by far would I prefer to take it." she sighs the regrets of the last few days, then, "You are aware of the place called Wilderness Pointe, then Alexandria? It is out beyond that, a Way Station past the western gate. It is there that the victims of this, and other infections are being treated."
"I know where that is." Belsamme says, looking in its direction. She has the wariness of a deer, "It's far."
The dryad rests her hands on her tree trunk, drawing strength from herself, feeling her connection to the earth. Contemplating an uprooting, if only for a limited time. "I can make it."
"Belsamme, no. Favoured One, you ask too much!" Dardlir accuses.
"I've decided. I'll go." The dryad waves her hand in front of the Wild Elf, "Come my friend, I'll need your strength."
To Shalethiste she says, "Lead on."
Shalethiste lays a hand over her heart and bows deeply, "We can travel via magic, Seer Merek can spirit us there most swiftly. We are most grateful for your aid, kind Belsamme."
So out to meet Merek.
The Dryad follows the Mul'niessa, and the Wild Elf follows the Dryad. Once more, no tracks are left in the snow. There are more wilderness creatures than usual, watching. White rabbits, white weasels, even a white wolf all stare distantly at the trio goes by.
Belsamme stumbles, she has reached her maximum range. The transition is stark. She loses all colour. Her dress, which was evergreen in colour turns the pale orange of dead cedar leaves. The blossoms over her ears close up into buds. She stumbles, falling forward. Dardlir catches her arm, holding her up. "Help her," He growls.
It's many more steps to Merek. Belsamme is sick with an ill colour the entire way. "I'll make it," she reassures, without sounding reassuring. As the trio come upon the Seer, the Wild Elf stares at Merek as if all this is somehow his fault.
A wooden woman returns with Shalethiste and the Wild Elf. She nods in Merek's direction, her arms aren't free, the others are supporting her.
"If you can get us there quickly, then lets go." Dardlir says.
Shalethiste is swift to move in to help her, "If you must, draw strength from me, Belsamme." she says gently, but with conviction. She glances at Dardlir, meeting his ire as a stone to waves, then she looks to Merek as they catch sight of him. Sky Dancer light our Way....
GAME: Merek casts Fireball. Caster Level: 11 DC: 18
Merek looks then to the Dryad when it comes with the two, a wild elf along with Shalethiste. The man nods a bit, then he takes a moment to place both hands to those elf folk, then he places the head of his to the dryad, which manages to keep him in contact with all three. He speaks ancient words within a Draconic Language, then he offers a word to the dryad in Sylvan, "You will be alright." Then all of them teleport dimensionally with the mana line that begins shifting along them bringing them to the place.
The magic swirls around the four. They are enveloped, they vanish. They reappear.
Back at Camp
Meanwhile, Thurid remains behind - turning to tending to the sufferers as best as she can in the mean time, to prolong their lives and ease their suffering as best as she can until a cure has been discovered for their illness. To this end, she will make a rounds of the tents, taking stock of how the disease has progressed. In particular, she makes her way towards the tent whos occupant spurred her reckless decision to go flying into a volcano in the first place. Though, she approaches with some trepidation- his condition was already more advanced than any of the others before they left, and it has been a week since...
One of the patients, 'Biggie', the Bugbear from the Airship crew, is amused to hear Thurid took her place on the Airship. She wants to know how that went. Also, she tells Thurid her name isn't 'Biggie', but everyone calls her that so she uses it.
Hashur is very happy to see her. Hashur looks nearly the same as he did a week ago. His bandages are changed regularly, there are efforts to disinefect. He has a tree now, and is staring at it when Thurid enters. His eyes light up, he doesn't move, "Hello! You're back! They told me you went to the Caldera, did you really go?"
Thurid nods her head at him, sighing a breath of relief that he hasn't gotten any worse- not only for his sake, but if he still lives, there is all the more hope for the rest of his countrymen. "I did." she says and nods her head. "We are close to a cure- for your disease, at least. We spoke with a giant Dryad, bigger even than I, who has given us what we need to help you. My friends are going to speak with the druids of Alexandros, to seek their help in creating the cure." she offers. "So just hang in there a little bit longer."
Hashur blinks, still staring at Thurid, "There really was a woman in the tree? Gerfy was..." he gasps, inhaling carefully, "Gerfy was right? She had the cure?" He seems short of breath, his breathing laboured. That is a new development since he was last seen. "I feel bad I peed on it now."
Thurid laughs softly, "Don't feel bad, she needs all the water she can get, living in that volcano. I might've done the same if we weren't running from the army at the time." she says. She moves over to lay her hand on his chest, "Rest, now. Save your strength." she says, brow furrowing at his pained breath. He must be in the final stages of the disease, if it's affecting his breathing. "What god do you follow?" she asks him, then. "I follow The Mountain. I will ask him to give you strength. You don't need to speak, but ask your own god for strength in your heart." she says to him, gently.
"Good. I hope she ah, was ok with that. It's... it's a she yes, even if trees are it?" Hashur asks, short sentences to match his short breaths, "I still can't believe... Gerfy was right."
A penny drops for him, "You... you fought an army for me? Which army? Not mine I hope! I'll have such a... such a word with them. I follow the new goddess. Serriel. She's... she's full of hope, and strength."
"Like you."
Thurid smiles a bit, "It is a she, yes. She is very lonely, and kind in her own way, I think. It would be nice if whichever side ends up controlling that pass at the end of this war would be kind to her. Bring her water, soil, manure, those sorts of things." she says then, and then on the topic of the army, "We mostly ran away. I didn't want to fight any of them, but they weren't in the mood to talk. I tried to scare them off by throwing rocks around and yelling like a giant, but someone kept shooting me in the legs with silencing arrows." she admits then and huffs. She nods her head at him finally, when he speaks of Serriel, "You as well, I think." she retorts. "Now, enough talking. Rest, and pray. And you will be well soon, gods willing." she says to him.
"Ok," Hashur blinks at Thurid, then keeps his eyes close, "I will. Thank you Thurid, for everything. If I don't make it, I'll tell the Feiu of the Tears how good you were to me." He seems to drift off into prayer, although a random comment, "I guess she would be lonely," suggests his thoughts aren't entirely on his goddess.
Thurid smiles a bit, but says nothing then. She's not entirely certain he will make it, and won't lie to him by saying otherwise. "I intend to visit her again, when this is over. You should come with me." she suggests, simply. "So you can thank her. And apologize for peeing on her." she adds with a small smile. Then she falls quiet, and waits for Hashur to settle.
"I will," Hashur promises, settling, "I will."
His thoughts fill with daydreams of being well, walking, able to touch things and move. Returning to Caldera Saute is not a desire. It was war for him, he lost friends, killed, and while hobgoblins are very military and enjoy that, it leaves a certain darkness of soul.
Returning to visit the tree, with Thurid, and hear her war stories of her trip. That's what he'd rather focus on. His voice is a quiet sigh as he slips into sleep, "I will..."
GAME: Thurid rolls heal: (5)+10: 15
The man will only last another day, his other foot is succumbing and he's very debilitated.
Thurid waits, quiet, until she is certain Hashur has fallen asleep. And then she gently removes her hand from resting on him. "You're a strong one. Don't give up now." she whispers, and stands up to leave his tent. She goes back to her rounds, to tend some of the less critical but still needful patients and let Hashur rest for now. Though, she will continue to check on him throughout the day. Clearly expecting the worst.
The Jotun's other patients are in a similar state as Hashur, bedridden and doing their best to stay immobile. The minimize movement order has been spread amongst the healers and the patients informed. Most of them, being hobgoblins, have the discipline to do so once they're convinced it works. The few infected goblins are harder to deal with, and the most likely to be trying to do something in bed. Some of the uprooted saplings aren't doing all that well either, though it's hard to tell. It is winter.
Thurid doesn't know much about trees, so she'll focus on what she does know and continue administering whatever mundane aid she can. She'll continually check in on Hashur. She will stay with him, if it looks like he's on the way out.
There is a lot of need for mundane aid, to feed the patients, assist them with abolutions, change their dressings. The last is perhaps the most emotionally draining. Each exposed limb, hands or feet, shows a mess of angry flesh with rivulets of pus and infection. The smell is hard to stomach, the exposed muscle, sometimes tendons and bones, and the ruination makes it all the harder to bear. Cleanliness afterwards is mandatory.
GAME: Thurid rolls heal: (2)+10: 12 <OOC> Thurid says, "Gonna use my reroll on that" GAME: Thurid rolls heal: (9)+10: 19 GAME: Thurid rolls diplomacy+2: (15)+2+2: 19
After a while, Thurid has to take a break. The misery of this disease is getting too much, even for her. While outside, scrubbing her hands raw once again, she decides that enough is enough. She returns to where the research sample is, and takes a small amount of it- leaving a few drops behind, she goes about her rounds once more. Beginning with Hashur, she places a drop beneath his tongue. She continues on her way, finding the most severely suffering patients, and giving them each a single drop of the sap. It might not be enough to heal them, it might not even be enough to keep them from the hallsof waiting until her companions return, but it is something- and she felt that she must do something.
Something is better than nothing, the sap does improve Hashur and the others who recieve an administration. If only there had been more. Hopefully the others are successful with the druids, as there will be scant left for research if they fail.
And then something happens...
We All Lift Together
The magic swirls around the four. They are enveloped, they vanish. They reappear.
At the DEVA Waystation, in the midst of the tents, in the well trodden snow. There are gasps from all around. Some have seen teleport spells, few have seen a Dryad. None have seen one appear in their midst, so close. Nor, so sickly.
Belsamme leans heavily on Shalethiste and Dardlir. Even Merek feels the weight of her. The Dryad is ill, distracted by the magical wrenching. She feels completely cut off from her tree. This strikes to her heartwood, but is nothing compared to the isolation she felt from Zanlilla. She gasps softly in Sylvan, sounding like a dying bird, "Do you have some soil I can sit on for a moment."
Durrankar has seent a Mul'niessa Paladin convinced one of the druids to let her talk to a Dryad. She gave the Dryad a pinecone and some sap, and then the dryad agreed to come with her - VERY FAR from her tree, to try and heal some people. The sith'makar, better than anyone, would know that Dryads out of range are sickened always, and sometime nauseated for hours and unable to do anything, and often die if they're away for more than a couple days. They met up with Merek, then the Dryad, the other druid, Merek and the Mul'niessa teleported.
To the Way Station, located about 30 miles away, but he overheard this being their destination.
Shalethiste holds the dryad with tender care as her sickness increases so exponentially. On her request, the Mul'niessa glances about and looks to the wild elf, "I can clear some snow if you have her." She reaches out and gently touches Merek's arm, "Thank you, Seer." On assurance of same, she moves to clear a place for the dryad to get her strength.
Thurid looks up from the patient she is tending at the gasps and murmurs, and she finishes at re-dressing the rotten flesh of one of his feet. She steps out, through the tent, and gasps when she sees the Dryad- and the other two, returned sooner than expected. "She looks unwell..." she murmurs, then. "Soil? Yes... there's a forest just outside the camp..." she says then.
Merek seems to be thinking about it all when they come back to the place, then he nods a little bit along to the dryad, "If you think that healing would work for you, I can assist, in any case, we can make the forest." He does try to channel energy into the dryad to keep her forward. With a nod to Shalethiste at that touch of his arm, "Thank you!"
"Here is good." <Sylvan> Belsamme says, dropping to kneel in the area Shalethiste clears. She claws lightly at the snow with her long fingers, dragging furrows, reaching down to feel the earth, "It's nice.."
The Healing energy washes over her. For a second, her colour returns, her dress is evergreen. It vanishes. She's sickly again, looking like she's dying once more. She's simply too far from her tree.
The wooden woman looks up, gazing first at Dardlir, then Merek. She has a strange smile, almost a double-sneer, She sounds like a dying sparrow, "I can smell it, the fungus. I know what to do. I can't... I can't cast the spell. It's missing a piece. It looks like this." She traces some symbols and lines in the air. <Sylvan>
Dardlir Migyaeldlen translates.
Those that are familiar with the woods, and the trees notice that, as soon as the group reappears, there are a few trees moving...without a breeze. Nearby....a couple of trees actually groan as if leaning from a great weight upon them. It is only then that a silver scaled Sith-makar steps out from behind one of them....carrying a gnarled staff in his left hand. "What has transpired?" Clearly he hasn't heard about the reason they needed the Dryad in the first place......
The great silver sith'makar is confronted with a sight he wasn't expecting. A field full of tents. Each large enough for two people, but with a single occupant, all with chimneys to fight off the cold.
Healers, dozens, nearly a hundred, wearing protective clothing and the faith markings of several temples. In a field beyond the tents, a Blar styled Airship is grounded, the airbag deflated and the ship lashed down. There's a caravan nearby, and the Way Station, seems to have been converted for medical use as well.
Oddly, there's a spot where people appear and disappear in thin air.
The Dryad is in the midst of the tents, with several surrounding her.
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "also Dardlir wil give a +2 assist" GAME: Thurid rolls spellcraft: (2)+6: 8 GAME: Merek rolls spellcraft: (9)+23: 32 GAME: Merek rolls knowledge/arcana: (1)+15: 16 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Shalethiste rolls spellcraft: (15)+6: 21 GAME: Durrankar rolls spellcraft: (18)+24: 42
The spell is somehow personal to Zanalilla.
Shalethiste smiles reaassuringly and looks to Thurid, "Yes, she's come to help, though... at a cost." Here, she sobers, looking to the Dryad and wondering how she can help, when suddenly they are joined by a large silver figure. She rises, then to considers this new arrival.
Thurid takes a step closer, "Do you know how we can heal them?" she asks, quite urgently. "There are some... I don't think they will live more than another day or so if we don't treat them, soon." she says to the group then. "Hashur is the worst, still, he's barely breathing. Others are almost as bad." she adds then. She watches the Dryad trace the symbol. She shakes her head, "I don't know the symbol..." she murmurs then. "There seems to be a cost at every step of the way..." she mutters in response to Shale.
The sith'makar understands. Belsamme is trying to cast a spell that's part Alter Self, part 'Wood Shape', part Animate and part Regenerate. Something only a very high level druid might attempt, and generally, a druid wouldn't. He understands how he could assist her casting it, that might make it successful. It Ritual magic, would take longer than usual. A minute or two, and need others.
Merek looks to the symbol which is drawn, though he seems to be watching the dryad, "There's an illness that was brought by goblin war companies, well it looks to be a fungal thing, and we think that dryads can assist with magic."
"Did you understand? Should I try again?" Belsamme asks. <Sylvan>
Shalethiste sighs and nods to Thurid's observation, "Certainly of late." she replies. She looks to the Sith, then, "She needs help decyphering a symbol she does not know to cure the sickness." she elaborates.
Dardlir Migyaeldlen turns to address the silver sith'makar, offering him a respectful bow first. "Warden Durrankar, Belsamme has offered to help. They have spoken with Zanalilla, and she offered them a treatment to this disease." He waves at the tents in the area.
"Greetings. And.....I know that symbol. It is part of a ritual for Druids. It encompasses many things that is within the purview of Druids, but...they generally do not try that sort of ritual. Mostly because it is rather.....precise." Durrankar then looks to Belsamme. "You could try again, but...you need to get back to your tree before you try that again...."
Thurid adds, to the others' explanations, "There are other sicknesses- but this one, in particular, seems to be tied to some sort of very ancient fungus." she says. "Zana gave us sap, and said it would take a few drops to heal them, but not enough. She mentioned a spell that would help, but we were being pursued by an army- she didn't have time to show us." she says then. "I know little and less of druidism, but if you know this ritual, and would be willing to help- I would be grateful. As would the men and women in this camp who suffer from the disease. Many of them will die- and very soon- if they aren't rid of this illness."
It's odd, and unpleasant, to watch a creature that does not breathe shake as if she's coughing, and that does not eat heave and lurch as if she's throwing up. Belsamme does these things, her humanoid form demonstrating the nausea she feels being distant from her home.
"No.." She says, rising unsteadily to her feet, "I have to see them. I know that. I'm... not until I've healed them. Zanalilla can fight a furnace, I'll fight this. Take me to one.." There is determination in her voice. She nods along with Thurid's words, fixing Durrankar with an unwavering gaze. "If you understand it, then, guide my hands."
To Thurid, to Shalethiste, "Take me. Help me." She steps forward, holding her hands out for support.
Thurid nods her head, and she steps towards the Dryad whom she towers over. She will take one of her hands in her own. "You and your kind have shown a bravery and kindness I did not know you posessed." she offers the Dryad, and then begins guiding her- to Hashur's tent, first. He is the worst, and if he can be cured? Well, all the better. "Is there anything we can do for you?" she asks the Dryad. "There are trees in the woods nearby- the Druid mentioned that you need a tree..." she says.
Shalethiste nods, "Of course." she says hastily, and gently moves in to support the dryad. She wishes she could do more for her, but, if all she can manage is to play crutch, then so it must be. The mul nods to the Jotun's words, and, "You are most brave and kind, as she is.... Would more of her pinecones help, Belsamme?"
Merek then looks between all of the party, while he nods a little bit in thought. "Looks like we are all doing well, where would you want me? I can stay with the patients, come with you, whichever you need."
The Silver looks to Thurid and lets out a bit of steam from his nose. "She is a dryad....a Dryad is linked to their tree's life as well. So some of the most beautiful trees in the world, usually have a dryad caring for it...and is also deep within a forest. So....a dryad away from their tree tends to andswer the Death Singing Dragon's song in fairly short order." Durrankar then looks to the others. "I don't suppose any have thought to contact the Temple of Althea? Or are they overwhelmed?"
"There are clerics and lay healers from just about every temple in Alexandria here already." Thurid answers in short order, "Will you please help with this ritual?" she asks, again.
The Dryad is largely ignoring the conversation around her, concentrating on getting into a tent. One thing catches her attention.
"Yes, a pinecone. Oh, and you have a tree." Belsamme says, her voice brightening as she enters Hashur's tent. His roughly replanted sapling is there, the one he looked to for strength. She takes hold of it, for strength.
Hashur wakes up from all the company. His eyes open, he remains immobilized in bed, every limb bandaged. He stares at the Dryad. Hobgoblins are not given to expressive emotions, so there must be some dust about. "You... came! Thurid, you... how? How?" He gasps for breath.
Belsamme gazes upon the man, "Just rest." She tells him, slicing open his bandages. The scent of the fungal corruption is strong, filling the tent. Putting the pinecone to her mouth, she cuts her lips on a scale, then tucks it behind an ear. Touching her fingers to the bleeding sap, she strokes them along each limb then touches Hashur's lips.
"I need the help now. Please" She looks at Durrankar, she traces her spell.
It's a ritual magic, more than just a spell. She needs direction and power. Durrankar is supplying the direction, everyone else the power.
Durrankar rumbles a little as she traces the symbol. "Ahhh....here is what is happening. you're missing a few other traces." And he sbegins to add very small additions to the 'rune' that Belsamme is tracing. His staff begins to glow...and float out of his hand as well. "Seems others wish to help as well..."
Thurid nods her head when the Dryad notes the tree, "There's one in most of the tents. Pine needles and cones, too. They comforted the sick, so I went and got them from the forest." she explains. She smiles back at Hashur, "Shush, now. We have to act quickly, while our friend still has strength." she says to him, as she watches the Dryad work.
Soon enough, she begins to feel the prickle of the ritual magic tugging at her, and she breathes a sigh. Closing her eyes, and without needing any prompting, she clutches her icon with her other hand. "I know nothing of the ritual, but I can provide you with life energy." she murmurs. Her icon glows, and positive enery flows outwards from her to suffuse both the dryad and her patient with life-giving power.
Shalethiste passes the dryad another of the pinecones, and, after observing her efforts for a few moments, the Mul'niessa curls her hand gently around the slope of her shoulder and closes her eyes. She prays to the Sky Dancer, even as she invokes her holy gifts of healing, offering her own strength to Her to help support Belsamme in this endeavor, as she's risking so much, "We're here, we're with you..."
Merek nods a bit to Thurid, "I will assist, I apologize." The man offers a smile, while he walks along to stand next to the dryad to watch the fae work. Then he takes a moment to look up while he draws upon the magic within. Both hands are placed to the dryad while he begins to channel, a knife used to cut his palms while he begins to channel ancient magic. "I can channel the power of mine, and also the one granted by the Celestial Angel who is bound to me. It will be a lot." Then he begins to channel that pure energy.
Belsamme makes the traces. She shakes as she does. She's a young tree, compared to Zanalila. Everything, is a young tree compared to Zanalilla, and it takes more than one individual to match the power she can produce. Line after line, she draws, surrounding Hashur's hands and feet with symbols and points.
Now and then, a deep prick with a pointed finger. Spells usually take seconds, this one stretches into the minutes. It's her first time, and the elder sith's assistance guides her. His knowledge fills in the gaps, nudging her along the correct path.
The healing energy channeled from Thurid, from Merek, from Shalethiste is caught up, the other participants can feel it being pulled into the ritual she's making. A ritual inherited.
The power fills Hashur. They symbols traced around his rotting appendages glow brightly, and his body starts to restore. It is not flesh that regrows, but a strong and smooth wood replaces what had been rotten and vanished. From below his elbows and one knee, his body now resembles the dryad's, a living wood, that moves under his command. His remaining foot, the only souvenirs there are the toenails. He lifts a hand up, stares at it.
"That... that should have done it." Belsamme says.
Thurid smiles brightly at Hashur as the ritual takes its course, "It'll take some getting used to, I'm sure." she says, "But better than you'd have got if I chopped them off." she says to him then. Her smile is tempered, though, as she looks back to Belsamme. "Can you carry on?" she wonders, "There are many more with the same affliction..." she adds, slowly.
"I have enough energy to assist as long that I am needed," Merek notes, while he nods a bit to people. He seems to think about it. "If I offer you all the energy I can in a constant stream, do you think that you can keep energy enough to use the others for healing while mine sustains you?" he asks also.
Shalethiste looks up into the dryad's face, knowing the fffort she's putting forth and she smiles reassuringly, "So much like her..." she says gently. She braces herself as the spell's effects start to appear, expecting the ritual to sap Belsamme's strength, "We've got you..." She considers Hashur, then, are you feeling better, I hope?"
"Administering a cure will be all for naught if the one administering the cure dies in the patient's stead." Durrankar says to Belsamme, then looks to the others. "Once she is back at her tree, I shall return and take her place. Now that I am back, I shall assist as best as I can." Durrankar truly underestimates his own abilities most of the time.
Merek will do all he can, to the point of injuring himself to provide energy solely to keep the dryad sustained with his life energy while she works.
Hashur seems to be feeling much better. "Is it safe to sit up? Can I? I guess I can! I can dance a jig too." The hobgoblin is half out of bed, and thinks better of it, "Maybe, just a walk. Tell the others there's a cure."
He taps curiously at his wrists, "Ha, ha! Knock on wood. Thank you so much Thurid, Dryad, everyone!" He's all grins.
Belsamme is supporting herself with the sapling in the tent. She breathes carefully, "I can do more."
Her gaze turns to Durrankar, and she rests her hand on his staff, also using it to hold herself up. "I can do a few more. I have to repay this gift. You will need my sap, and they need to meet a Dryad to cure the compulsion. I can endure. This will make me grow stronger. I need your help."
She looks at throughout the tent, "I need all your help."
Merek nods a bit, while he takes a look to dryad, "I am going to put everything into keeping you going, if you please." Then he begins to channel with the energy. The man does all that he can through the process, to the point that he seems to be coughing a little blood up, with a shift of the hips, following while he will offer the fae sustaining.
Belsamme is good for her word, but not as much of a hardwood as she thinks she is. She wills herself from tent to tent, her dress visibly getting more tattered, the bark lines on her body developing in startling ways. Her hair looking more like stringy moss than the verdant cascade it was earlier. Inside the tents, she manages to look composed. Between them, she's staggering and needs help.
Several times she refuses to return, insisting she can and will do this. There seems no choice but to give into her will, bend, so she doesn't break. Twenty more patients are managed, restored by a strange power of nature with wooden limbs.
As she heads into the second hour, she collapses completely, nauseated. She still attempts to stay, but is unable to work at all. Durrankar bears her home. She eagerly falls into her tree, and is unresponsive.
The Silver sith'makar returns, assisting the others. She gave him enough sap for the rituals, and with the others providing raw magic power, they are completed. Even the healed soldiers participaate, following along, a great chain of hands that all lift together.
Merek, Thurid, Shalethiste, are driven by the examples of Zanalilla, then Belsamme. They Dryad's kindness, truly and unexpected gift.
Everyone that wasn't personally healed by a Dryad still wants to meet one, so field trips must be arranged.
And everyone keeps their little fir tree.
