Topaz continues looking among the markings for a while, humming and hrmming to himself while he does.  He chuckles when the hither to shy Elven lass ventures forth with interpretations of the markings.  Likely, if one was local enough they'd be as comprehensible as a place name and an arrow indicating the proper direction.

"I think it's a straight track, a sort of route that goes from one place to another without passing through the intervening landscape, in a way.  I've heard of such things, but haven't really seen one myself," he muses in Latin when someone speaks from above in Elvish.  Unfortunately, that's not one of the languages he's collected over time, though he has a handful of songs in the tongue he can sing from memory.

He peers curiously upward into the tree, tail fwipping a bit as does.

An odd little being descends down from the tree, lean like an Elf but shorter, moving with the ease of a squirrel.  A few agile leaps and then it is sitting in plainer view on a much lower branch.  Possibly it has assessed the party as “odd but harmless.”

It is elf-like, but the color of old bark: mottled grayish brown.  There's a pronounced streak of green in its hair, which has a vine tangled through it.  It wears a simple short tunic made from woven leaves, and a belt made of twisted vines.  From the belt hangs a long knife, it seems the one thing of or about this creature not made of plant.

“Hungry?  Me?  Here?  That's nearly impossible, but you might be hungry,"  the creature says.  "I am Thistle, and I am a Wood Sprite. Hunger, Hunger, it is apt that you ask of that.  Hunger is the matter of the moment, or soon will be.  Such noise and commotion, Six Heads must know something is here, and Six Heads is usually hungry.  It hasn't had a good meal in a while.  Not your children, no...I told them to run and they did, across the Frog Bog where Six Heads will not follow.  The ground is too soft and it gets stuck.  I become more curious by the moment.  From what it looks like... no, those were not your children, certainly not, because I have never seen any of you among the Humans and I would remember you.  And the Humans here... if I told them of Six Heads the first thing they would do is draw swords and prepare to fight. “

Siankiir quietly translated what the wood sprite said for the sake of Nwofia and anyone else who did not know Elven.  The relief that (so far) the missing children had not met a gruesome fate was evident on her face.

"That is correct, good Thistle -- they are not our children."  The young elf again nodded respectfully towards the wood sprite.  "We are searching for them on behalf of the humans of the settlement and mean no one here harm.  Please, where is this 'Frog Bog'?  We too think it would be wise to avoid Six Heads with due haste..."

After pondering, Tahra speaks up. So the Six Heads is to be kept alive; true? Does he or she eat anything  that is usually edible, berries for instance? And, by the way, is there just one?

"Quite and very alive, which is the issue of the moment," the Wood Sprite says, rapidly scaling a tree like a squirrel.

Thistle leaps from the tree trunk to another... also a very squirrely move.

"Miss Elf is correct, the best thing to do is not be here.  The Frog Bog is this way, and if you cannot follow by the trees then follow on the ground.  Six Heads patrols this wood, and while isolation has benefits, it is challenging for guests.  I have seen the creature dine on fish, but travelers are a gourmet dish."

As if on cue, there are overlapping, low groaning sounds in the distance, in the forest.

"Yes, Six Heads is alerted," Thistle says.

Nwofia, being Nwofia, did her best to follow from tree to tree, hoping against hope that they are as strong as buildings.  If that didn't prove possible, she would follow on the ground as suggested.

12:15, Today: Nwofia Barandi rolled 28 using 1d20+15.  tumble.

12:15, Today: Nwofia Barandi rolled 17 using 1d20+12.  jump.

12:15, Today: Nwofia Barandi rolled 12 using 1d20+8.  climb.

Siankiir's heart rate quickened as she heard the roar of the beast.  Her hands dropped to her hilts, though she drew neither blade.

"For those who cannot make it to the trees, go on ahead of me.  I will take up the rear and harry the beast if it must come to that.  But we must GO!"

The elf did not know how well the performers could fight -- but she knew her own skills and would defend them as best as possible.

For now, Tahra goes with the group.

Nwofia can't keep up with Thistle in the trees- no human could, without the aid of magic.  The Wood Sprite moves like a squirrel.  Even though she is able to get into trees, Nwofia would quickly find that moving along the ground here is much faster... at least for her and fellow humans!

For the Wood Sprite, this is easy.  In fact, Thistle has time to stop, turn, and look things over.

"You're not like the Humans here," Thistle observes.  "They'd have pulled out their weapons and gotten ready to fight.  I don't know if they'll ever be a match for Six Heads but they did manage to kill the Over There and two Winter Wolves."

Very much as implied, Thistle's path goes to a bog.  It's a wide field of emerald green, with the reflective shine of water visible beneath a carpet of little plants.  Here and there, trees rise up through it.

Trees with the trail symbols are visible on some of them, forming a line across the bog.

Thistle descends from a tree, and steps onto the surface, close to the nearest tree with a mark.

"The bog is deceptive.  The path is solid, but do not stray from it, not to the right or left.  You will sink right in.  Six Heads is not smart enough to cross.  I must go back, and see what it is doing.  I will catch up later."

Not hesitating, Alayna ran, following the Sprite's path. She is human enough to not try to follow the Sprite in the tree, but keeps an eye upward as she moves, ready to climb if threatened.

She paused, coming to the bog. She glanced back, waiting for the others to get closer before heading out along the indicated path.

Tahra follows behind Alayna unless somebody follows closer first.

Quicker than most, Topaz has perhaps less trouble than some of his companions in keeping up with Thistle.  While he travels along, he wonders why it is so many of the Fey take on elements of the local wildlife, as well as whatever Human or Elven folk are about.  Here's Thistle, as much squirrel as Elf.  While he's prone to moments of insight, he's not one to reflect on his own condition or being.  That he's as much a goat as Thistle is rodent wouldn't occur to him to wonder about.

Six Heads.  Jason and the Fleece?  Such men and women as the Baiovari are, they could very likely overcome what he suspects "Six Heads" is, but they'd need skilled warriors with long spears and many of them.  Also, fire ... lots of fire.  The creature mustn't often threaten them or they'd have hunted it actively.  For now, he sticks to yet another straight track, glad he doesn't have shoes to sink into the mud and get wet.

He calls Siankiir after them.  "Now isn't the time for heroics, just to move where it's hard for the thing to go.  We're after lost children, not to fight."

Nwofia, finding that her skills in traversing branch to branch left her too far behind Thistle, so she moved to the ground and ran instead, following the path from tree to tree.

As they cross the Frog Bog via the path Thistle points out... which is also indicated by marks on trees...  they can get a glimpse of "Six Heads" behind them.

It's not really a good time or place to count the heads.  It's in the distance, in the forest, and only visible intermittently through trees, though its getting closer.  But there is definitely a tangle of multiple long snakelike heads and necks, each large enough to be a deadly threat on its own.  And they do seem to be attached to one creature.  If not, someone has gone through a lot of trouble, tying together a group of giant snakes like that.

It's probably just to take Thistle's word that it actually has six heads.

But the creature knows it cannot cross the Frog Bog.  Possibly, its had issues here before.  It gives up the pursuit as it reaches the edge of the bog, heads writhing around frantically, and a couple of large front feet splooshing into deep mud.  It doesn't like deep mud, apparently.

Many frogs are annoyed by this, and hop out of the way.  The Frog Bog is aptly named, as it is home to hundreds of the creatures.  It's probably very loud here at night.

The path here continues, though Thistle is no longer with you.  It is still marked by the runes on the trees.

Ahead is a single very large, very dead tree, in a break in a forest canopy.  The markings veer off to the right, but you can see that beyond the large dead tree they are visible again.  It would be much quicker and easier to simply cut across the past the dead tree, than follow the long detour.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:11, Fri 11 Dec 2020.

Nwofia veers off toward the right, not even entertaining the idea of taking a short cut through the dead tree.

Tahra harmlessly cackles and follows Nwofia's lead. She remarks That beast may well be waiting should we return the same way.

They follow the marked trail.  Gradually, it becomes more obvious.  The marks become clear, then painted, then brightly painted.  Flowers become more frequent, and bright blue ones begin to clearly outline the path.  It goes from being something you must look for, to something that is impressive to see.

When one is on Fairy Paths, one must remember, geography, constant everywhere else,  is negotiable.   You've been on the path hours.  According to maps you've seen (those characters with an interest in maps, at least) not nearly enough time to reach the Rhine river.  Yet, you hear the rush of water in the distance.

Where you crossed the Rhine at Cambete (except for Siankiir) it was a broad, stately river.  Here it is younger, wilder, and noisy.

But you hear something else- the sound of a harp, very clear and distinct above the rush of water which is still distant.

To the musically trained ears among you, the notes make a clear progression, and then stop, and then start again, as if someone is trying to work out a tune but unable to finish it.

Perhaps to her companions' surprise, Tahra sings the notes in a mezzo-soprano voice.

Nwofia dances to the music but when it stops, says to Tahra, "I think they want you to finish the tune, not copy it.  Like this if I could sing." She tries to finish the phrase herself but doesn't sing nearly as well as Tahra.

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Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
10:14, Today: Nwofia Barandi rolled 20 using 1d20+2.  Perform Other to try to finish the phrase.

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This message was last edited by the player at 21:30, Tue 15 Dec 2020.

As their group paused, Siankiir strained to listen, trying to pinpoint where and what direction exactly the music was coming from.

  Adapted from a Michael Jackson song: The Lost Children
The fathers pray. The mothers pray,
Hoping against hope for their children astray.
I sing for for the lost children
This one's for all the lost children. Where do they roam?
Wherever they be, we al are wishing them well and wishing them home.
The fathers, the mothers, their last thought before sleeping,
And even is their sleep, thee hearts are weeping.
And from the day breaking, their hearts are aching. Their hearts hold a place, wishing them well.
And wishing them home, Home with their fathers
Snug close and warm, loving their mothers.

We seek for the children wherever they might be.
We hope they are safe; we hope they are well.
But, please, do you not see
That home is where they ought to be.
And be they restored, of your benevolence we'll tell.


It is so quiet in the forest, save for the start of a tune
And for my voice pleading for reune.
We see all the trees and all the lovely flowers
But we ask in the name of all the good powers
That the children be safe from all harms
And restored to there proper parents' arms.

Alayna too listened, her keen ears listening for where the sound was, but was unable as Tahra began to sing. She too swayed to the music, feeling the rhythm in her. But as Tahra kept singing, the young part blood began to weep.

She couldn't help it. It was so sad, and it also reminded her that she was an orphan, and she was all alone as well. She hugged her arms about her, and let the tears fall, unable to make them stop.

Topaz joins in the circumnavigation of the swampy ground and the large tree.  It's not without misgivings that he goes around, but it's likely just choosing between this risk and that.  He's been to the near edges of Faerie before and knows how distance and time can be unbound from the regular ways of the being.  However closely his kind cleave to the line of being magical, the Faun is a creature of the mundane world.

He lets others take up the melody, for moment content to listen.  It's easy enough to match, but others seem to have taken that up that banner.

Siankiir follows her ears...

As Tahra sings, the unfinished melody from the harp pauses.. whoever is playing it possibly thinks one tune in the forest is enough.

Musicians know about chord progressions, even if the exact terminology hasn't been invented.  A melody can't go just anywhere, it must go somewhere.   There are many possibilities for "finishing" the tune from the wood, though.

Nwofia is not an adept musician.  She only knows the rudiments picked up from being around the others.  But some things are natural.  One can feel it.  The harp stops again when she sings.

This time, before the harp resumes, there is a voice, soft but clear like tiny bells:  "Heart, but not skill, I would be a traitor to my muse if I accepted that.  You've brought better, I'm sure."

As many an artist comes to learn, the Faun already knows.  A work of art is never really finished, merely abandoned by its creator.  Any given song or performance only exists once, each iteration of the music differing slightly from the last time.  They are ephemeral things, having existence only in the present with no real future or past.

Topaz shakes his head, then says easily to Nwofia, "Dance."

He takes up his violin, the exquisitely crafted instrument he's played most often for the group.  He tunes by ear, then takes up the tune the unseen harper plays.  After a moment, he nods to Tahra and whoever else would join in.  "Sing.  Melody or harmony, but sing."

The bard plays a bit, to find the rhythm of the performance, then joins the singers with his own rich baritone.  A few measures later, he joins Nwofia in her dance, intimately weaving such performers as will join with threads of music and magic.  Though he plainly prefers his instruments, that where being the confluence of his talent and passion, he's clearly as talented at song or dance as other members of the troupe.

The while, Topaz listens for the harper to take the lead with the music or to yield it over to the other performers.  He touches all, at least briefly, with his own small measure of otherworldly magical craft.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:27, Thu 17 Dec 2020.