Hearing about the destruction of the gate made the firbolgs all pause, giving an involuntary moment of silence. "Thisn its not good. Isswut we feltya. Afear'd we was. Was right." The eldest of the firbolg druids, or so his beard would suggest, spoke with great hesitation, even for their people's fast-paced speech. "Thisn its not good at'lna. Vir given you restya. Long walk, but safe. Taken you home." His eyes suddenly widen, remembering something. "Hoor the attackers? Them'n come from the South? Passed us'n stayed for a time. Don't cause no trouble. Taught'm woodland survival. Like'n they never saw trees before. But must'm be offer'n you hosp'talty. Trust'n yer judgment of kar'kter better'n me own now. Come'n'all."

The delay of the firbolgs between what was said seemed to emphasize that the warlock spoke out of turn to them in part. There was a natural progression to be had, one that explored deeper than just the words themselves; something that the firbolgs and the druid felt more in heart and spirit as mentioned than just as plain fact. It would be the equivalent of bluntly telling them that their beloved matron had died or that their child has shamed them and the forest as in either case, it created a void in the place of pride and joy. It was not just what one did with any directness.

Lorenthar's attention returned to those behind him, sharing an expressive look of disapproval at the occurrence. He could only dream that the brash dragonborn could pick up upon the subtle, unspoken gesture, but his hopes were not high based upon their previous interactions. These people could not be expected to know what pain this brought the forest and those like its firbolgs, but mayhap they could be taught in time.

"I see..." The man returned with a mournful tone, "I do not know where the interlopers came from, just that their souls were tainted with the corruption of ash and brimstone. That would be a question for these outsiders as they know of this enemy in their homeland."

Adjusting his fur accented armor some where it rested on his chest, the man agreed to the eldest's request to follow; this was not the place to consult the others and leave him waiting. By judgment of the old druid's beard alone, this was a polite command that included the knowledge they had been seeking. An opportunity all too valuable at this point where the Gate was concerned.

"If you could spare them a moment to collapse their camp, we will oblige your offer, elder."

The fight broke out over breakfast and Evyrless didn't say a word. She could've helped, maybe even be the good little cleric and stop the scuffle altogether as soon as the Dragonborn pounced. She didn't. She just carried on with her meal, looking on at the events with stoicism. If they actually did kill each other, she figured, then it wouldn't be in her place or her interest to stop it. After all, there were no combatants or traitors among them. But when the Druid spoke of the Gate, she suddenly called her own passivity into question. She sought not to meddle with the locals but it became quite evident that it was perhaps in her best interests to break her own rule. The threat on Lorenthar's life was lifted before she realized the fault in her inaction, and the Druid was no worse for wear.

In the midst of all this, the songs of morning birds suddenly ceased. Looking about, Evyrless found that visitors were upon them. A great many visitors, in fact. But as they spoke to the man-lion, then subsequently the drake, it was made clear that they were well-intentioned visitors. Drajhan spoke of the Gate to them and Evyrless unseated herself to approach the Firbolg leader. "Yes, the Gate. How do we bring it back? Must we conjure a new one? Can we scry to see if it's caught in another plane?" She spoke as calmly as her composure could allow with her near-frantic questioning. Pulling at her amulet and displaying it to the chief Druid, she said, "Death is a friend to nature, and in her name I will do all that I can to see your Gate to the Feywild restored."

((OOC: Combo Post with Drajhan and Angela))

As it appeared the firbolgs were ready to escort the group, Draj felt there was little left to say to them. As Evyr stepped forward to ask the questions about the Gate, the dragonborn took this opportunity to give a quick nod of thanks to their new allies and return to his bedroll to pack up. Annoyingly, however, the roll was currently being vigilantly guarded by his supposed fiancée. It seemed there would be no subtle way out of this one.

Drajhan stepped forward and without a moment of hesitation, bent down to begin rolling up his blankets. “Lovely morning, is it not, Miss Gillian?” Draj said nonchalantly. “First we get ambushed by fiend-lovers, then by fey, then by wolves, and now by these fellows. At least they seem friendlier than the rest.”

Angela was stunned to see Drajhan was the one sleeping by her and she blushed. ”Yes, it is. A wonderful morning, even though I never would have expected to sleep on the ground,” Angela said. She giggled slightly.

“Ah yes, travel is not conducive to a comfortable sleep,” Drajhan replied, tying up the bedroll and strapping it to his pack. “A tavern is a far more comfortable bed, and even then, you have to pay a fortune for a reasonable place to stay. I trust, however, that you feel well-rested.” The noble’s skills at small talk were not to be underestimated.

She smiled at what Drajhan had said. ”The rest could’ve been better if I didn’t have that dream. I usually sleep on my bed at home. The experiences I am learning outside of my kingdom are quite different from being stuck in the palace of my home,” Angela said kindly. She had an air of curiousness to her body language. She wanted to know something but couldn’t figure out how to say it.

Drajhan grunted in response. Dreams that were not his own mattered little to the dragonborn, but it seemed that Angela wanted to talk about it. On one hand, his pack was ready to go, and he was certain the others would be waiting. On the other, she was his betrothed. He played over the potential scenarios in his head for a few moments, and in no case did it seem to him that delving deeper into her personal affairs ended in a beneficial experience to him. However... The dragonborn gave a heavy sigh as he stood and looked back at Angela. “Tell me about your dream,” he requested with all of the enthusiasm of a drowned rat.

She smiled at his request of wanting to know of her dream. ”My dream entailed me being approached by my father Rowan. He told me of my betrothal to a noble from the south of my kingdom. My parents are ashamed of me…,” Angela said. She started getting teary eyes because it is a painful memory and dream. ”I never felt so helpless in my life when my father was blunt about being ashamed of me. Do other nobles feel the same I felt that day?” Angela asked. Her tears were going down her face in a stream. ”I have been coddled and protected by my parents for most of my life but when my father told me that I was heartbroken. In terms of being ashamed of me,” Angela sobbed. She covered her face with her two hands since she was crying.

Oh. Wonderful. She’s crying. Drajhan looked away from Angela and rolled his eyes before reaching over and gingerly patting her back. “There... there... don’t cry,” he said flatly before clearing his throat. “Nobility is as much a curse as it is a gift. Sure, we have money and power, things that many others strive for their whole lives. But with that power comes great expectations. We are expected to behave a certain way among our peers, and the common folk hate us when we do so. But if we behave around them like they wish us to, our peers see weakness and strike at us. Helplessness is one of many things that all nobles feel.”

Drajhan looked down at Angela and began to wonder if his tone were making things worse rather than helping. “I mean, we also get fresh vegetables and meat whenever we want it, so there are some positives as well. And as long as you have the favor of the people, you can do pretty much whatever the hell you want. I would say the best thing you can do as a noble is to build up a tolerance to shame. If you break down crying whenever anyone pulls your pigtails,your enemies will sense your weakness and you will be decimated.” That certainly must have helped.

She heard what he said about don’t crying and his gingerly patting her back did help somewhat. She slowly took her hands off her face but she was still crying since her tears were going down her face. She had many things going in on her head, when he started to speak about the in and outs of nobility and smiled when she heard ‘helplessness is one of many things that all nobles feel.’ ”The only people that make me feel this way in the state of what I am in. Are my parents, they are the only ones that hurt me this much. The entire population of Gillian’s Fort loves me for my charity work.” Angela sobbed. She heard the rest, smiled and slowly calmed down. She looked down at her bedroll and then looked up to Drajhan with a gentle smile. ”I have had something on my mind for awhile now. What was your bedroll doing near mine?” Angela asked curiously.

“Isn't it obvious?” Drajhan replied, hoisting his bag over his shoulder and heading back towards the group. “I thought you were someone else.” He turned his head away and smirked. “Better finish packing up, kiddo, before some imps pull your pigtails.”

Angela was startled in that they were about to leave. She gently rolled her bedroll up and tied it to her pack. She put her pack on her back and was flustered by what Drajhan had said. ”Yeah… You are pretty funny Drajhan,” Angela said. She walked towards the group behind Drajhan.

The firbolgs moved almost tirelessly, despite the fact that they clearly hadn't rested the majority of their trip to the east, but they did stop, almost as a courtesy to the group, a few times along the way for quick breaks to rest the group's legs. They mourned silently as they continued, not once speaking to the group again, not even to answer Evyr's question.

Shortly after nightfall, the group reaches the firbolg village, such as it is. It was situated in a fairly large clearing, dug out for the mud and branches used to form their simple domed huts. Firbolg children ran around the single, slightly off-center, vine-covered tree, singing songs that probably made more sense to the singer than anyone hearing it. Adults seemed to be cultivating grasses and foods on the roofs of some of their homes. They all noticed the group as they entered the village and, seeing the faces of the scouting party, sent the children in to the huts. All but the "old man" of the scouting party split from the group to inform the curious others.

"Haven you to me home. Come'n'all." He leads the group past the tree in the middle of town to one of the domed houses. From the outside, it doesn't look like it can hold the group, but when they enter, the party can see it is merely cover for a ramp downward. It smells strongly of earth, but given its material structure, that would make sense - the mud continues inside. There is a single, large room with a (living) grass-covered floor. The floor isn't level, rising up just a little as it moves away from the entrance ramp. There are a few large holes near the ramp, at floor level. "Thisn end its for sleeping." He motions to the opposite end of the home as he leads them over the thick, squishy grass. "Reckonin youn unsleeped? Rest rest."

The hospitality of the firbolgs was not for a moment in question by the great cat, or the form and identity he had again assumed. With all honesty, they were a touch of divine grace in a very tense moment and fortunately wise enough in the ways of the world to not turn on the outsiders immediately for what they witnessed. This allowed the mighty figure to rest at ease, even as his footfall laid itself in their tracks and not another word left him for the hours of the journey. It seemed the firbolgs shared even more a somber sentiment, more than the druid but nothing to come as unexpected; this blow was struck directly against their home, something that pained Lorenthar agonized them. All the beast could do was offer the young priestess a look of confirmation.

She was not wrong in her desires or questioning, just that these creatures were not ready to taste the sour vinegar of sobering reality when life was once made up of what could be said to be fine, if not wild wines.

By the time they arrived the claim was lively with activity, but that too rapidly waned. In moments the gleeful young and curious observers had disappeared, a few undoubtedly spoken to in word as they had already been in emotion. The elder, as it was, continued with them and led them to what possibly could have been his barrow or den; regardless of what it was, it was not an unexpected response and effort, but one that showed ample faith for the time being.

Lorenthar stopped only then to witness the reactions of those he had found himself traveling with, not yet reverting his savage countenance or features. As asked of him to rest, he set his hindquarters down, seating himself.

After walking most of the day, a chance to rest was not unwelcome in the least. However, Drajhan felt a sense of unease about the situation. It wasn't because the tense situation between himself and the Giant Kitty had only barely been resolved, nor was it because this small village transformed from a busy congregation to a ghost town in a matter of seconds.

No, these firbolgs had marched the group halfway across the forest with barely a word uttered during the journey. How could someone be so uninterested in new people so as to not talk to them for hours? Draj had a thousand questions he wanted to ask this unknown group, from their food to their culture to their command structure, but silence greeted the first few queries, and the dragonborn at least knew when to drop the inquisition. Perhaps all natives to this forest shared the same talkative nature as their feline compatriot.

Drajhan himself had fallen into a pensive silence during the majority of the march, which likely pleased the rest of the party. He had several unpleasant occurrences all at once in the past day or two. It seemed this always happened to Draj: when the annoyances began trickling in, a downpour of hardships were soon to follow. If any had asked Draj a question during the journey, he had answered succinctly, at least as far as he was concerned, and his lack of a return question was usually enough to hint that the time for conversation would arrive later.

And so now they had arrived, and so had the time for conversation. Pulling a blade on the firbolgs was much less likely to garner a response than it was for Lorenthar, so that was out of the question. Instead, Drajhan graciously thanked their host for the place to stay before turning his attention to the matters at hand. "When may we discuss where to go from here?" he asked the one who seemed most in charge. "The longer we avoid fixing the problem, I fear, the harder it will be to fix it. I for one would be willing to discuss our options over dinner.... We are having dinner, right?"

Excellent. Another problem to worry about.

Angela felt slightly uncomfortable with all this silence while walking with the firbolgs towards what amounted to their village. She, however, didn’t raise any questions to the firbolgs. She was amazed at when she saw their village. She got startled when the village became a ghost town. ”They aren’t probably used to visitors.” Angela thought to herself. She had a look of exhaustion. She heard one of the firbolgs tell them about to come to his home and she smiled.

She followed the firbolg to his home. She had an look of awe when she entered his home with the others. He showed them around his house and smiled. ”I am exhausted. Thank you kind sir,” Angela said. She heard what Drajhan had said and was confused about what he was talking about. She heard Drajhan talk about dinner and she was hungry but more tired. She yawned a little bit. ”I hope… I don’t have another bad dream,” Angela thought to herself.

In the morning, the old firbolg awoke early and left the hut, conjuring forth several handfuls of goodberries for the entire village (and for some of the nearby fauna). All of the firbolgs sat around the tree in silence as he passed a berry out to each of them and to any of the party members who happened to be out with him at the time. None of them ate their berries until the guests and nearby animals ate. Even the children cooperated and sat in silence, likely a strange occurence to those who had grown up in cities.

"Comen tellen us tales, if you want." The firbolg tried his best to emulate the weird speech patterns of the others, and seemed quite proud of the accomplishment. Despite his still somber attitude, even those in the party with no people skills could easily tell he was trying to lighten the mood for his people, some of whom were crying. "Tellen us tales of yer homelands and the out-of-forest."

Time is a funny thing. Sometimes you just seem to be chugging right along and all of a sudden time flies right by you and here you are in some place you barely understand. Sometimes time is slow and crawling by, never paying your mind the time of day. Other times it rushes forward and leaves you behind having no idea what has come or gone from the world. Harriet was never known to be a particularly deep thinker. She preferred to keep things simple and even better if you could point a gun at the whole thing. So, when time seemed to pass her by, dragging her along in its slip stream she did not contemplate it. She mere walked on, listening rather than talking and smiling and nodding rather than contributing.

This all changed though once things were starting to get really serious and proper confusing. The dynamic of the group was still somewhat in flux and Paws had stuck around with them, at least for now. That was good. He had airs about him but he wasn't bad. His airs were different from the kinds Sparky liked to throw around too. Those were all kinds of regal and listen to me because I was born a lizard. The druid seemed more like he just was better or more informed because he was a cat man. It was a natural thing. In the end there really were just a bunch of folks with more bluster for their sails then maybe they had earned. It didn't matter much though, they all knew what the stakes were and were on the same side. Even if that side was still a little unclear.

The matter at hand though was what in the hell did you do with these odd folks they had fallen in with? They seemed nice enough once you got past the mud-man vibe they gave off. At the very least they seemed to work more on the idea of community rather than give in to the rat-race Harriet had seen all too many city dwellers give in to. They worked together and even made sure the guests had first dibs when it came to their magic fruit. Not bad folk at all.

No one was waiting on Harriet who popped the berry into her mouth as soon as she was given it and ate quickly. In a house of many children you often learned to eat as quick as you could to make sure no one ese got the idea to try and snatch your food. Then the old timer wanted to lighten the mood. Harriet grinned before she wiped her mouth with the back of her and cleared her throat. Well, boy-howdy, if they wanted a tale, they'd get one.

"Welp," Harriet began, sending a sidelong glance to ole Sparky before she began in earnest. Her light brown eyes held a gleam both he and Ravenwinter would recognize anywhere. It was the glint that said, 'I'm about to do something that is going to make you want to smack me'. Knowing Harriet was often like keeping a poisonous snake as a pet. Sure, everyone thought it was great and might keep robbers at bay but there was always the chance it would bite you too. "I come from a lil' town by th'name o'Tull. Not too much removed from what ya got 'round 'ere." Harriet looked about and frown for a second before her lips pulled back into her usual smirk, " 'side from th'fact we 'ad wooden floors, roofs, and walls. Other'n'that, close enough. 'Ad lots of trees and th' like all 'round. One day, when I's just a whip of a lass, I's walkin' 'bout in th' woods as you do. I 'ave a stick in m'and and I'm swingin' it about play fightin' every wash and willow, ya ken?" she waved her hand back and forth mimicking herself as a young girl swatting bushes and trees with her pantomimed stick.

"S'anyway, I smash through a brush patch, jumping forth o'er a little brook, and, I lands right next to somethin' I ain't ne'er seen a'fore." Harriet paused and pointed back to Draj with her thumb, " 'ere's this massive blue scaled daggermouth with 'is trousers 'round 'is ankles lookin' 'bout for something to get the leeches off 'is scaley rump." Her hand slapped loudly into her own backside to emphasize exactly where these leeches might have been. "S'I points to the leeches and give th'ole fella a big smile as I see e's got a toy sword of 'is own hangin' out fer all to see. Them I says to 'im, 'Ey there fella, I ne'er saw a leech as big as the one ya got between yer legs there." Harriet gave Draj another glance and a wink before she deftly stepped to the side, outside of his easy reach, "He looks up to me, all huffy like, and says 'That is nawt a leech!' Gave me a proper scowl 'fore he realized what I's talkin' 'bout. Then, I tell ye true, 'is face manages t'turn a shade'o'purple you'd not think possible on a face like 'is!" Harriet burst out laughing suddenly as the story ended, hopefully managing the same response from her companions and the audiance they were supposed to be speaking to.

As soon as Harriet glanced in his direction, Draj knew what she was planning, or at least the gist of it. He also knew in this company, there was little to do but grin and bear it, and that is exactly what he did. This was simultaneously the best and worst thing about Harriet: she could give two shits about the level of politeness one should use in a crowd.

Drajhan stepped closer to Harriet, placing a claw on her shoulder. "Never heard you once complain about it afterwards either, milady," Drajhan added before whispering in her ear: "Time and a place, sweetheart." He stepped forward, ready to deliver his own story.

"I shall tell you a tale: one of great heroics and honor. I am no bard, so I pray you forgive the nature of this oratorio, but thus I commence: The tale of the Vindicator of the Southern Coasts!" Drajhan's voice filled the room with anticipation, and he augmented his tale with a wave of his hand as a sad song played softly.

"In years passed, my mother was accused of great treachery to the people. A rival house, followers of fiends like those who attacked the Gate, had accused her of infidelity to my father, for which they had no proof other than the shape of my sister's snout. But the people are fickle, and we were for a time exiles in our lands." Drajhan bowed his head in sorrow and briefly closed his eyes before they flashed open again. Drajhan motioned to Harriet, and a light breeze fluttered behind her, strands of her hair caught in the breeze.

"It was then that Harriet's story occurred, as we were lost and far from any place we knew. She took us in and sheltered us, not caring about the scandals we fled. Despite this, my father could not bring himself to try to restore his honor. It was then that I knew. It was my destiny." The music altered, becoming a triumphant march as Draj moved next to Harriet, the wind catching his cape as well.

"Together, we crossed the countryside, gaining troops to join our cause. A year of covert subterfuge combined with the harshness with which our rivals treated the common folk made the citizenry begin to turn to join our side once more. At the end of the year, Blam!" A spark of lights exploded from Draj's fingertips. "War broke out in Castle Caerziros. With the people turned against them, our rivals found no allies, and we were victorious! I commissioned that weapon of Harriet's as a thank you gift for her part. She helped me vindicate my parents and, more importantly, she helped me see me the way she did: a hero, worthy of Name and honor."

The music swelled to a triumphant flourish and drew to a close. "I skipped over a few dozen details," Draj added nonchalantly, "but those were unnecessary trivials. What is important is that even when faced with the darkest despair, the only way to lose is to give up hope. Things will get better, even if we have to make them better ourselves."

The Firbolgs' silence had done more than irritate Evyrless. A powerful artifact of your people is destroyed and someone is asking to help restore it with conviction, you choose to ignore them? Her part in the walk was equally silent however. Seeing Drajhan bumble about the walk to no avail said plenty about what would happen if she tried the same, and she was wise enough to keep quiet until their hosts were more loose of lip. This was further proven when the great, noble dragon was stonewalled again just before their rest. Seeing the pompous, scaly ape get constantly rebuffed put a tender, fleeting grin on her otherwise cold expression. As for her own questions, she exercised some patience. Finding herself in the Feywild would certainly be difficult if she annoyed these people into silence.

Morning came and talk felt just as unlikely. She could recognize the Goodberry placed in her palms and was polite about her thanks for it. Then it was time to share stories in a communal circle. She felt like this was familiar, like a gathering of people at home telling each other tales to help act like everything was okay. It wasn't okay then and still wasn't. Just as Evyrless parted with her seat to speak, Harriet's rustic voice calmed her enough to sit. The story reminded her of their past, when similar tales were passed around, entertaining and oddly invigorating the impoverished folk they were shared with. Harriet may have been gruff and blunt, but the most grim messes were cleaned with gruff and blunt. With enough effort.

Evyrless thought to scoff or grimace at the line about the leech. Instead she found herself smiling, snickering and trying to hold it all back, the same struggle she often found with Harriet's stories. The same reception wasn't given for the giant leech himself, but she tried her best whilst sitting near his childhood companion to not scowl openly. The tale of a great and merciful noble uplifting the people over the terrible disgraces that wronged him. Had the victory gone to the opposite side, who would be the angel, and who would be the fiend? All of it was rubbish spewed from a man born to great influence and stability, acting like a hero to those with neither because he used them to best his rivals. Evyrless was equally as cynical of this as she was of the reasons why Harriet would seem so fond of him. Or why her Raven Queen would entwine her fate with his.

She didn't offer a tale of her own, not knowing what sleights might earn her a boot to the edges of Firbolg territory. Instead, she bent herself to the side to reach Harriet's ear. "All I want to talk about is that time when we snuck into one of the palaces hidden inside stag carcasses and had to make a surprise exit when one of the cooks tried to cut you into a piece of flanksteak. But I don't think that'd go well with Druids," she whispered.

The initial story was something that perked the tremendous cat's ears, as it began in such an off and odd manner that there was no telling just what was in mind. This of course was when the beast could make out what was being said; for a woman who had been so silent earlier, the explosion of such a story upon the ears of those present was a mixture of odd fascination and... quirk, he supposed. The whiskers of his jowls, almost as long as a man's forearm, twitched and his brow grew complicated and drawn up at an angle. It was clear he had never heard anything like it and was so baffled by the proudness of the story she beamed with, he was left to wonder if this was just how she and her kind were from her land.

Men were odd things, as were women, but man as a kind was off in its own right. This was different than that "offness", as though the levity of Harriet and her recounting really did dispel the heaviness of what was their concern. It was not magic, at least not how Lorenthar knew it. Words of course had power, everyone even so faintly initiated in mystic arts and arcana knew that, but this was just a story. The dragon, who came to speak next, would prove as much for those who did not know.

In comparison it was as though the two were of entirely different portrayals, unrelated, but by the mage's account they did actually overlap. What proved to be more interesting, if not useful, was that the man during his display repeated a few terms and retelling the druid had heard before; some "vindication" of a place he knew nothing of. Name and honor, rather importance, were things elves tended to hold in high regard, but this too was different. It was - Lorenthar spent a few moments in idle thoughts adrift - a title, was it not? The dragon had a title? He was a dragon as it were, a blue one at that, so this seemed to make enough sense in retrospect, but before the beast had time to devote further in understanding, it seems a slight lull came over those present.

"I suppose I have no stories from the cities away, but it would only be fair that since some of the outsiders have spoken their stories that I share with them, and your tribe, a more familiar one." His voice was at first growled as he transformed from tiger to man until it returned to one more mortal.

"Once when the season was of plenty," He remained seated, gesturing only before him with the berry he had been granted by the elder, "And of when I was a cub, I found myself into trouble any young student of the wood should know better to avoid. But I, being with the spirit of a cat, no matter how much smaller then, thought I knew enough to wander by myself."

Lorenthar palmed the small fruit for the moment, seemingly removing it from his demonstration, but only enough for the sake of story. A dim globe of warm, enchanted light appeared before him, beaming with a faint radiance like that of spring.

"So I did, for but a few hours in the warm morning sun. Yet, when it came noon, I had found myself to a berry patch. Out of season as they were, I charmed a few into sharing their bounty with me, but before I could finish using my magic to ripen the fruit of the bushes, I heard an odd whine; almost like a child."

The cry of some small animal came from behind the druid as the free hand worked the minor spell; he specifically made the effort to look back to it before addressing his audience once more.

"And I beheld a bear cub." The man shook his head, certain those present already knew well this was going, "... who had decided for himself that my uncharacteristically early in season and transmuted berries made for an excellent meal. Now any folk of any forest can tell you, this is a time for delicate reaction, to which I responded ably; backing away slowly and being sure not to startle him."

"Yet for all my effort, I backed into his mother, who seemingly had been keeping watch over me and him the entire time. You have likely never seen a cat move so fast and into a tree." Lorenthar continued, adding the startling rustling of leaves to the auditory component and a line of dust drift across the floor to mirror a sprint.

"It took her the better part of an hour to convince me down."

Chuckling for a moment he thereafter sighed, for as an embarrassing of a tale as it was, it likely spoke on a more familiar tone to the elder and the other firbolgs, particularly those of them who had that magical tie to nature beyond just blood. It was a story from another wood, somewhere else other than here the mind could go and feel just as at home, if not more. After all, the thoughts were of warmer seasons and more joyous companionships of the wood than what befell their Gate. Like the outsiders' words, it was a distraction, one both far less epic than the prior or personal as the first.

Angela had a look of awe at the stories that was being told by everyone. She was distracted at the fact her entire body was exhausted. ”Your stories are nice,” Angela said. She walked towards one of the beds and sat down on it. ”Should I? Or shouldn’t I…,” Angela thought to herself. Her look on her face was confused and afraid at the same time. She stretched her arms a bit.

She looked directly at everyone and smiled. ”I live in the Gillian Fort that is a vast fortress city. I was coddled by my parents all my life and experienced things differently because of my family’s long noble roots. I have a different outlook on life than most people and I feel like everyone should be treated equal,” Angela said. Her smile changed to a slight frown. She stopped talking because her story isn’t really that great because her existence was living in the palace of Gillian Fort. She puts her hands on her face and starts to cry because she has no idea what’s going on.

The final story would have been interrupted had Angela not walked away anyway; the firbolgs had become distracted by strangers in the distance. Or at least, they were strangers to the party. They were well-dressed in fine clothing, and the firbolgs did not look at them fondly. "Youn come t'ar homen ghen disrupten er guests' stories, brudas. Yer na welcome hier."

The two, what the party now recognized as, human men put their hands up and bowed their heads. They spoke in another language, but didn't seem to address the party at all so much as what could be assumed safely was the leader of these firbolgs, "Xwyx yOYu nu i mŤ Heyu. yOwYu iXi. Xw yOYu eyiyw. Xwyx yen v i. Or do you not speak the high tongue?"

The firbolgs all remain silent, but back down. They still look untrusting of the newcomers, however.

Elven, pointed ears perked up at the brushing sound of the tribesmen shuffling to their feet. Evyrless turned to view the offcomers, steadily rising to her feet as they spoke in their wild tongue. The suspicion of her hosts, despite backing down, raised her interest. She had promised not to meddle, but she wondered... "Well met," she said to break the sudden silence and stepped forward. Once in full view of the men, her expression grew inquisitive as she spoke, "Na ui xav xuvox, u xa ht vu xovix."

The unexpected addition of other company, that which set the firbolg on edge, elevated the druid's own alertness to a state of heightened pitch. While he did indeed know their language, that of these other newcomers, it was clear the raven-priest cleric did too; her curiosity leading her to her feet, but not without having one of the other women step out and disappear not more than a breath after she finished describing her life in brief. Both of these turn of events were so sudden that from one side of the room his head followed, only to turn to the next.

Sweeping to the elder with his gaze, the aspect of the great cat raised a questioning brow. It was enough innuendo to not be offensive to whoever these others were and their business, but telegraphed its purpose to suggest he was at a loss. Regardless, he paid the turn of events more mind than he would have regularly, trusting the woman speaking to them; thus far, after all, she had trusted him earlier whereas the dragon was content to threaten him with a sword and magic. That was likely never to be forgotten, let alone much forgiven.

Now there were more people adding to the whole cluster of bad berries that had become their situation. Luckily, they spoke that weird language Paws and Stary seemed so fond of. Well, that means that at least people could translate. Harriet did not bother to walk over and stand before the men. Stary had it handled and she would let at least her know what was going on and was important when she needed to know. She might keep Ole Blue out of the loop and probably Teary too, but, she was always forward with her at least. She rested her hand casually on the butt of her gun and took a few casual steps up to the massive cat-man. She kept one ear out on the totally alien language she was hearing and resisted the sudden urge she had to just reach out and pet the fur of Paws. It just looked so soft. She took note of the look he gave the elder and turned her own gaze to the elder and mirrored the feline's expression of curiosity. She then added a look down at her gun and then over at the two men and offering the elder a quick wink. She knew he knew what she was getting at. Any elder worth his salt knew the subtle nature of "Hey, want me t'shoot'em up for ya?" It was a universal language.

At the interruption of the tales and merrymaking, a frown appeared on Drajhan's visage. Feasting was a time-honored tradition, and honored guests should not be interrupted or overshadowed by others. Not to mention the less-than-pleased looks on the firbolgs' faces. There was little to be done, however. The language spoken by these outsiders was called the high tongue, but it sounded nothing like Draconic. Either it was a distantly-related dialect lost to the Caerziros line generations ago, or these individuals were mistaken. In either case, the servant of the Raven Queen had stepped forward, and Drajhan felt that interrupting her parley would end poorly.

Instead, Draj tapped his foot impatiently on the floor before turning to one of the more attractive female firbolgs. Well, he supposed others of the race might find her attractive. "Perhaps once this party has concluded, you could show us around town," he suggested. "Your people seem wary of us. I simply would like to learn more about this place: its inhabitants, its architecture, its culture..."

The newcomers smiled the same eerie smile simultaneously at Evyr, and uttered the same word, also synchronized. "Yes." They continued into the village with a strut of confidence, and stood by the tree. "But since you asked, we have a story to tell, as well."

Meanwhile, the firbolg woman looked confusedly at Draj, and the firbolg leader was equally lost at Harriet's expression. Both bemused individuals quickly caught on to their addressers' meanings quickly, however. The grizzled druid held up his hand in an equally universal (unspoken) gesture of "calm yourself, impudent child." The woman Draj spoke to nodded, looking for any excuse to leave these newcomers. "Ainai na promisen ta entertainy, but shown youn around I can." She takes Draj's hand and pulls him actually somwhat aggressively to the opposite end of the village.

The unwanted visitor who seemed to carry himself as more of a leader than the other began speaking. "You lot experienced this story. But you new folk may have heard the tails already. See, we'd visited this village before. Many times. We were traders, you see. We brought our merchandise through here, using this as a rest stop. With their blessing. We were quite the enterpreneurs.

"But these folk don't take too kindly to some things. Like having their young ones snatched away in the middle of the night. But see, we like money...liked money more than sentient lives." He nods to the elder with a strange expression of reverence. "But this little girl, we knew she'd be worth a lot of money to the right buyer. Natural telents you wouldn't believe. Only 9 years old, could already use magics this one can't." He pauses, locking eyes with the elder. "I mean no disrespect to this man. He has wisdom she had not yet earned.

"But we took her all the way to Hassmer. No trees there so no reason for a buyer to think she could escape. But turns out when we found a buyer, he thought we charged him too much when she didn't perform for him. She was not broken yet, we'd said. We had hoped he would provide her a decent home and education to enhance her raw talents, not force her into servitude. But, as you are probably aware, we were...less than correct." His face shows pensive sadness, but his eyes remain dry. "And he believed as recompense, he should be rewarded with all of our remaining property. Being a man of such high station, we had no choice but to acquiesce. But most of our company lacked our...honor, so to speak, and were themselves killed or taken as slaves.

"So our cold welcome is understandable, and we accept that we are not wanted here. We will stay until the morrow and be gone before sunrise. We will take no slaves. We are no longer in that business. Your people are safe." Not once through his entire story did he take his eyes off the elder.