“Well, what do you think?” Heppa asks Ulf as they stand around waiting for Tric. “Do you think it’s creepy here?” She sees nothing in the forest to back up Ulf’s claims that it is haunted, but there is something unsettling about the Grey Woods nonetheless. She wonders if it is merely the suggestion of creepiness that makes her skin crawl a bit here. The Grey Woods feels different from Estbryn Forest, but maybe that is just homesickness.
Ulf does not hesitate to tell Heppa how very widely traveled he is. He compares the Grey Woods to various other forests she has never heard of, regaling her with stories of his expeditions all over Wesnoth. It is rather reminiscent of listening to Tric talk, actually. Ulf allows that there could be something to the rumors, but he himself has never been hassled here before, and this is not his first trip into the Grey Woods. He shrugs away any alarm. “Some people think moss hanging off tree branches is a sign of spookiness, but for this type of forest, that’s just what grows here.”
So far, Ulf has said nothing of strange sensations, but he is a human, and Heppa does not really understand if or how they can sense magic. At his mention of other forests, though, Heppa begins a new string of inquiries, eager to learn more to expand her map. He is attentive to her questions and a good storyteller, as well. For his part, he demonstrates an equal amount of interest in what she has to say. “It’s so great to see you again, Heppa,” he is telling her with a big smile when Mate swoops up to them, landing on Butterbell’s pack with a yodeling call. The bird points its beak in the direction Tric went and gives his stupid, stupid call. Then he pokes at the food bags on Butterbell for a bit and repeats the whole performance.
“I think there’s trouble with Tric,” Heppa tells Ulf. She can see where her cousin is not too far off, but the foliage prevents a clear view of what he is doing. She spares a moment to pull a cracker from the supplies he recently bought and give it to the magpie as payment. Then she nocks an arrow on her bow and moves deeper into the woods. Ulf loosens his whip and follows her.
Tric sees them coming and waves their weapons down, then performs introductions. “Heppa! Ulf! This is Dolmathengalin, an old friend of Roombledoombledeur.”
“That’s not a type of tree I’ve heard of before,” Ulf says, looking at the large one Tric is gesturing at.
“It’s not a type of tree,” Tric tells the human as Heppa politely greets the fae creature.
Heppa turns back to Ulf. “Are you familiar with woses?”
Ulf’s sun-tanned features blanch, and he takes a step backwards, out of the reach of the wose’s giant clubbing limbs.
“Oh! And that’s… sorry, I didn’t catch the other wose’s name,” Tric says cheekily, seeking to discomfit the human even more.
“Blululldrum,” it rumbles from behind Ulf.
The human keeps a respectful distance between himself and both woses. “Wow. I did not know…” He looks around, some alarm on his features. “Is this an army? How many of these are woses?” Clearly he has heard a tale or two of what woses are capable of but had not realized any were in this forest. The elves shrug, themselves unable to visually distinguish between trees and closed-eye woses.
Having had his fun, Tric gets down to business, sharing Dolmathengalin’s reports of undead in the forest as well as his hopes that they can help the woses out. Heppa asks questions, trying to ascertain whether the woses have seen actual undead or if there are just residual disturbances in the fae energy around here. Dolmathengalin answers with the same question it asked Tric earlier, “Can you not feel it?”
Heppa concentrates, flowing her conscious attention into the reservoir of fae energy around but not trying to pull from it. There is nothing awry that she cannot quite put her finger on, but she continues to feel the vague sense of unease that has accompanied her ever since Ulf mentioned the Grey Woods being haunted. “I feel like something is amiss, but I can’t quite pinpoint it,” Heppa says finally. There will be a lot she needs to write up notes about tonight. “Are any undead active?”
Dolmathengalin tells them that there are pockets of undead active now, but they are not currently threatening any of the trees. “They are just stirring,” the wose says.
“What about inactive undead in the area?” Heppa asks, hoping the root network can tell if there are any stockpiles around.
“There is certainly fodder. Your people left many fallen behind.”
Heppa is startled by that response. “Elves?”
“Is Isthiniel a name you’ve heard before?” Tric asks his cousin.
The woses have stated that they have been watching the areas for many seasons, but it is not until Heppa hears Isthiniel’s name that she and Tric are finally able to get a proper estimate on just how long. One of Breda’s tales featured an elf named Isthiniel who was set as a sentry in a forest far to the west. The Grey Woods was not referred to by name, but it now seems that is where the action took place. In the distant past, before humans ever came to these shores, there were clashes among elves. That civil war was back even before Kalenz’s time, and the location of the fighting eventually grew over. It was an unsettled place due to the battles fought in it, and during the opening years of the human kingdom of Wesnoth, there were movements of corrupt energies there. Isthiniel, a contemporary of Kalenz, was put in place as a sentry to monitor the situation. There is no way she is still alive, regardless of what happened to her after the woses fought Ardryn-Na’s forces. According to Dolmathengalin, Isthiniel left because violence was about to break out and she did not wish to see it. The elder wose presumes she was taking word back to her people of the undead hordes that Ardryn-Na had under her control.
Ulf stays back and keeps a respectful silence while the elves and wose confer, making note of all the new information he is learning about how woses use their roots to monitor underground currents for undead activity. There are definitely some people he knows who will be interested to hear about this.
With all of that untangled, Tric tells Dolmathengalin, “We were not sent to watch, unfortunately, but if there’s anything that we can do while we are here, we would like to offer what assistance we can. If there are places that woses cannot get to, for example.”
“I will certainly update my map,” Heppa says. “Volas will want to know about this. Are you looking for the aid of another sentry?” Maybe this is a good job for Fenowin. Or Dicllon.
“If wose-friends with short legs can get close to the humans to see if they are doing anything disruptive, then that would be of great help to us woses,” Dolmathengalin suggests.
“We will definitely have a chat with them,” Tric agrees.
“Hopefully they know how to bury their dead,” Heppa murmurs.
“No one knows how to bury their dead,” Tric shoots back. Not in a way that will truly prevent them from being raised. No one wants to hear that they should break all the bones of their dead loved one. Or, as Kachen would prefer, that they never think of their loved one again at all.
“Can you sense any sources of corruption other than the undead? Any artifacts?” Heppa asks the elder wose.
“You need to sink your roots deeper,” Dolmathengalin replies. “Sentries like Isthiniel were able to tell these things. Maybe you two are just seedlings and have not grown much yet.”
Heppa agrees with that assessment. She is young, and she did not finish her schooling. “I’ll keep trying,” she assures the wose.
Before they part company, Tric tells Dolmathengalin that they will be passing back near where Roombledoombledeur is and offers to carry any message that cannot go by roots. “Even if it is just to say hello,” Tric says, “we’d be happy to relay it.”
Dolmathengalin shakes and shudders. Leaves fall to the ground accompanied by twirling samara fruit. “Take some of my children with you for Roombledoombledeur to raise,” the wose requests.
Tric scoops up the little seeds, each with its own solitary wing, and puts them in a pouch for protection from the elements… and from Mate. “That’s perfect!” he says. “Roombledoombledeur is raising a new batch of trees in a recovering part of the forest.” He omits that humans are to blame for that trouble as well.