Marabir scrambles hastily up the remainder of the slope before reaching the tangle of roots and tree trunks at its crest and then sprinting down the far side. Dalmar moves swiftly and adroitly ahead of him, having no trouble seeing in the dim light. At first Marabir attempts to keep pace, as an almost inherent, unspoken rivalry seems to develop between the two. Dalmar darts nimbly beneath a mass of branches, while Marabir athletically leaps over a fallen log. Dalmar then balances along a branch to clear a wall of brambles while Marabir slips between a pair of knotted trunks. However this little competition comes to a rather abrupt and untimely end when Marabir's foot catches on a jutting root in the gloom and he is sent hurtling headlong across the mass of dried leaves and into the trunk of a large elm. He picks himself up, wincing as he limps on at a much reduced speed, deciding that the time for making things a competition is well past.

"We should find somewhere to make camp, and continue on in the morning," he pants, still limping as the last remnants of daylight fade and a light mist begins to descend in the darkness about them.

"I agree," Aerendir-- third in this contest, mostly by virtue of not actually participating-- says sourly, dropping some brambles in place to cover the latest spot Marabir has stepped directly on moss. "We also need food. And since I'm not starving two days in a row and I'm not leaving you alone with him while I get some, you are going to come with me while I find us some supper."

"If by 'supper' you mean more of your fungi..." Marabir frowns darkly as he nevertheless follows after the elf.

"Yes, well, I too wish corn and carrots grew in the middle of overgrown forests," Aerendir says sourly. "Anyway, where are we going? I need to know where in order to guide us because 'not where Ravalor is' isn't going to get us anywhere."

"Indeed," agrees Marabir assertively, ignoring the low grumble his stomach gives at the mention of corn and carrots. "First of all we need to head back to Lastorn. We need to find Cyralas and Taesir. Our supplies, rations and coin are in their saddlebags. I am also tired of walking everywhere when two of the finest and fastest stallions in Thane are standing around with nothing to do. Or at least they had better be."

"True," Aerendir agrees. "Well, if we're going to head back to Lastorn, we want to be going that way," Aerendir points in what Marabir assumes is probably the right direction. "We also want to light fires. Not only so we can cook, but so whoever Ravalor hires to find us can do so. They'll probably have horses and when we deal with them, we will get supplies."

"Falnis mentioned he has a small army..." Marabir replies, trying to keep his voice low so that the varim doesn't hear him actually giving weight to his words. "I would imagine he will have many men searching for us, and probably hardened warriors, not the thugs we encountered with Lady Veldorn's uncle. I would prefer to acquire horses from some farmer once we are out of this forest, and ride to Lastorn from there."

"Most likely, but he will also have put a reward on you if he's sensible, which means they will have a vested interest in not finding you together and sharing it. If they're hardened warriors, I doubt they can climb. Just go up an oak tree and so will I, we have Aldaran's bow. I'll shoot them."

Marabir looks like he would rather take his chances with an army of warriors than climbing to the top of an oak tree.

"They can certainly climb as high as I can," he argues. "And Falnis also mentioned they have crossbows. I desire some decent food as much as you do," anyone at all familiar with Aerendir would know this to be highly unlikely, "but we shall simply have to tighten our belts until we are out of the forest. If Ravalor is indeed aligned with these rebels then our entire kingdom is in peril and we must get word to my father.

"Your father is going to get assassinated if you do that," Aerendir says crushingly. "He's going to charge in personally, get shot by a crossbowman, and I am going to get in trouble from Vard and my brother. Is there anybody else in this area who is loyal?"

Marabir frowns reprovingly at Aerendir's unflattering prediction of his father's actions, however he does seem to agree that seeking out loyal allies in the area is a good idea.

"Well the Vordren's are certainly loyal, though they don't command a force like that of Ravalor. Lord Alvarn Vordren's son, Tyrald, is a formidable swordsman too, from what I hear. Once we have our horses we should make for their estate and there we can plan how to proceed."

"...As good a plan as any, I suppose," Aerendir allows. "Assuming they aren't traitors too. I suggest we do things a bit more subtly than your brother handled things with Ravalor just in case."

Marabir nods thoughtfully as he negotiates a series of twisted roots in the darkness.

"I personally always felt there was something off about Ravalor," he says after a moment, though it is certainly the first time Aerendir has heard him say as much. "Always had a very gruff demeanour, you know? No charm at all, and no sense of humour."

"I never liked his chef either. But he was a good soldier in the south and my brother spoke highly of him. I have no idea why he's turned traitor now."

"Indeed," says Marabir in a noncomittal tone that suggests he spends far less time in the south than Morfion or Tyronius. "But yes, you are quite right, we must be cautious in how we approach the Vordrens. Are you still there, Falnis?" he adds to the darkness about them as they continue to walk.

"No, I decided 3,000 carens was not worth putting up with listening to Aerendir bemoaning the need to spend a whole hour without food, and decided to bid you both farewell and return empty-handed to Mereldinor and explain to the supplies department and the Council why I am on foot and now need another 20-odd thousand carens worth of poisons allotted to me, and by the way, both Thane's princes are unaccounted for and Caledormists now control all the trading routes in the north," 'Falnis' voice sounds smoothly from the gloom. "Come, Marabir, do try to be reasonable. Do you think humans are the only ones who mind if their reputations are shredded?"
This message was last edited by the player at 15:28, Fri 17 Mar 2023.

"He shouldn't be paying a you that much in the first place," Aerendir says, (somewhat ungratefully, given recent events) with a resentful glare at the shadows. "He shouldn't be paying you at all. We allocate Vard that budget so his agents can rescue us if we happen to need saving, not so he can outsource the job to varim assassins."

"The Caladormists are a long way from controlling anything," Marabir replies, his tone more indignant than assured. "And I am still skeptical that your poisons are worth anything like the sum you claim they are. If anyone is going to be having trouble explaining their financial requirements to councils, as Aerendir said, it is Calvorn."

“There’s a spider on your leg,” Falnis points out helpfully, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Marabir’s point.

Marabir squints down at his leg, snapping off a nearby twig and flicking the enterprising arachnid off toward a nearby tree. He then clambers down into a narrow hollow between a pair of trees.

"This seems as good a spot as any to rest for the night," he asserts, stifling a yawn. "Aerendir, you can take the first watch? Wake me in a few hours and I'll take the next watch through to dawn."

Aerendir grunts something unintelligible. If he has not the slightest intention of waking Marabir, however, that’s clearly something he’s sensible enough not to share with his weary future king.

Fortunately for all three, the night passes mostly without incident. Once or twice, Marabir stirs, roused by the distant howling of wolves or by the eerie snapping of twigs somewhere distant as some animal makes its way through the undergrowth, and several times Marabir is sure he feels the crawling feeling of spiders and insects making their way over his face, but the prince is able to drift off again. Whether by chance (or simple incompetence) no Caledormist trackers find them, and there is no distant shouting or screaming to suggest anyone managed to find Aldaran either. In the end, the worst the party have to deal with is the cold mist and stale sweat from their run, which by sunrise the next morning have managed to soak Marabir's and Aerendir's clothes, leaving them sodden and itching.

(It's unclear if Falnis shares this discomfort, but he certainly doesn't seem to share the same smell of stale sweat. Whether this is due to some kind of varim magic (entirely possible given the cost of noble's garments in Mereldinor) or merely because the dark elf has washed at some point in the night is unclear.)

Marabir is awakened just before dawn by the lively chirping of birds in the trees about them, groaning before opening his eyes and pulling himself stiffly up to stretch his back and arms.

"So much for waking me in a few hours..." he yawns at Aerendir, not sounding too displeased with the elf.

Aerendir, in the middle of eating some dubious looking fungi, grunts.