The sun is shining through the treetops, the morning air is cool and filled with birdsong. You step out of the wagon you have been sleeping in for over a month and breathe in deeply. With sword at your side, you are ready to face the depths of the cursed forest. Your destination is the ruins at the heart of the forest. It will be a two day journey to reach them and gathering supplies for it has taken up most of your time since you woke. Though you may face the perils of the journey alone, since all the warriors have been assigned to formal groups and you canot pull them away from their duties, you are undeterred. You stride forth ready to face all that dares to challenge you.
You run into your first obstacle before you even leave camp.
"Why exactly are you coming with me?" You ask.
"I'm hardly going to let my rival explore my people's ruins without me." Auriel exclaims.
Tamlen's response is much more hostile. "I'm not letting you sneak into our ruins and steal our artifacts."
"Since these two were already going I thought an exercise in acting without their leaders would serve our warbands well." Junar's words are calm and reasonable.
"I am headed for the heart of the forest. If the maps are accurate, it is a four day journey there and back again."
"We know outsider." Tamlen sneers.
"I neither want nor need your company." You demonstrate a proper sneer in response.
"That's too bad. We're not really asking to come so much as telling you that we are." Auriel is entirely too cheerful as she speaks.
You are not sure how well your gesture of exasperation and desire for them to be anywhere else translates. Given that they follow after you as you continue forward, you would guess not very well.
Once you are across the river the somewhat light-hearted air Auriel was trying to maintain dies a sudden death. When last you were here you had been too focused on tracking and the pulse of dark magic to notice but there is a heavy feeling in the air; one you associate with sites of great sorrow, battlefields for instance. As you press deeper into the forest the sensation of dark magic slowly waxes; yet the heavy feeling remains constant, so you suspect they are unrelated.
"Do you think it's true?" Auriel asks
Tamlen replies, "Do I think what is true?"
Auriel suppresses a shudder and says, "That the Elves of old made their last stand here. That their ghosts can still be seen if you look."
You interject "There is an echo of a great battle between your people and men who fought beneath a banner of a twinned snake not four miles from your camp."
Your comment gets you the attention of the other members of your expedition. Unsurprisingly Tamlen's response is laden with disbelief. "Sure. You saw an echo of a battle in the Beyond. I believe you."
"Did your mother never tell you sarcasm is the only wielded by those who are incapable of true humour?" You ask pointedly.
"Did your mother never teach you manners?" He snarls.
You whirl to face him, knuckles whitening on your sword as your temper blazes hotter than it has in decades. Tamlen meets your gaze with a stubborn glint in his eye, his jaw is set like stone, and he reaches for his own sword. Fortunately, your impending 'argument' with Tamlen is interrupted by a woman's voice carried on the wind.
"Turn back. There is nothing here for you. Turn back."
The voice you hear, which in all likelihood saved Tamlen's life, echoes strangely. When you hear it, you spin around, sword springing to your hand reflexively. The sounds of steel on leather and wood on wood echo through the forest as your companions draw their own weapons in response. Your eyes sweep the trees, searching for the origin of the voice. You see nothing. Several tense minutes pass as your companions search for what startled you and you strain your ears to hear the voice again. Eventually Junar asks what your companions were all thinking.
"What was that? Did you hear something?"
Surprised, you reply, "Yes. Did you not?"
Before Junar can say anything Tamlen interrupts. "Great. The unstable foreign mage is hearing voices. I see nothing but good things coming of this."
"Tamlen." Auriel seems about to scold the most irritating of your companions.
Junar interrupts her. "Rudely made though it was, Tamlen has a point. It is never a good sign when a mage begins to hear voices. We should turn back lest he be possessed, or we are attacked by demons. Perhaps something worse."
"Turn back if you wish, I am continuing." You begin to walk as you speak.
You ignore any further attempts to convince you to return to camp. You came here to find the heart of the forest and you intend to do so; no ghostly command will sway you from your path. It seems that your companions quickly realise this as their 'advice' quickly fades away, replaced by watchfulness.
It had been nearly a full day of walking when you saw them. Had it not been for the voice that put you on edge you might have missed them. Wolves. Bipedal wolves with unusual fur and deformed forelimbs. Nauro, wolves twisted by dark spirits.
"Werewolves." Tamlen mutters behind you, "I thought they were a children's story."
"They are quite real I assure you." You reply quietly, "One killed Findaráto, my cousin."
"We should turn back." Junar says at the same volume, "I've heard they spread a curse with their claws."
That solidifies your decision. If these creatures of darkness are spreading curses then you cannot leave them be.
"Stay here. Provide ranged support if you can." You draw your sword once more and move towards the 'werewolves'. You hear a few hissed comments, Tamlen calls you an arrogant fool, but you heed none of them.
Your charge carries you to the Nauro before they know what is upon them. Your first blow takes the largest of their number in the back. The creature collapses with a sound that mixes a gasp, hiccup and a yowl. The other creatures take several seconds to react to your attack, which allows you to put your blade through the leg of one more of their number. As that creature falls another is taken in the shoulder by an arrow.
The voice from earlier cries out. "Do not hurt them! We have no quarrel with you!"
You ignore it. It has been many centuries since you heeded any who aligned themselves with the darkness and it is a policy that has served you well. Your blade takes the final creature out, an enormous wound down its side. This naturally is when the rest of your group catches up with you.
"You are completely insane!" Tamlen gasps.
"Woah. That was quite something to see." Junar says, sheathing his daggers.
You are about to respond when you hear the sounds of distant howls. The forest rustles and you know that reinforcements are on their way. Without any knowledge of how many may be coming after you it would be unwise in the extreme to attempt to confront them head on.
Despite the fact that you do not believe head on confrontation would be a mistake you find yourself, for just a moment, looking around for good defensive terrain. It is a reflex from the days when you fought parties of orcs. Unlike orcs however, these wolves are unlikely to attack those you defend if they are not slain immediately and are far deadlier fighters besides. There is no pressing need to engage the reinforcements and doing so risks curses upon you and your companions.
"More are on their way. We'll need to move quickly and quietly if we don't want to face them" You tell the officers of the Dalish.
"Who died and left you in charge?" Tamlen replies.
You choose to not engage with his childish complaints, you have been in charge for weeks now, and begin to move away as stealthily as you are able.
When your small party begins to travel the outlook is good. Perhaps due to the voice' you had heard you had left the werewolves severely injured but not yet dead. The forces that pursue you should try to tend to their comrades. In hindsight this was a foolish assumption. As the howls of wolves grow louder and the sounds of pursuit begin to close in on you and your companions it is clear that these foul creatures care nothing for their comrades. In bright red and jingling steel, you have little chance of losing them even if you could find water to conceal your scent. Around you the others grow nervous, frequently checking behind them to catch a glimpse of your pursuers. You meanwhile calmly begin planning.
"It seems we will not evade the enemy as I had hoped. As such, our best hope is a sudden counter-charge when our foes emerge from the trees."
"There you go again." Tamlen grumbles, "Why should we do as you say?"
"Do you have a better plan? If so, I would love to hear it." You respond tightly as the crashing sounds of pursuit approach ever closer.
Tamlen does not in fact have a better plan. Which is why you are the leader and not him. To his credit when the Nauro emerge from the trees, he joins you in your charge. Junar and Auriel staying back to provide ranged support.
Steel and discipline meet fang and ferocity in a swirling melee. The arrows of your support element take a few wolves down over before contact is made but the foe is undaunted. You use your momentum to plunge past the first wolf, sword slicing along its leg as you pass. You are quickly forced on the defensive as several of the larger beasts immediately target you. Your focus narrows, the world beyond your sword becoming hazy and indistinct. You don't know if Tamlen lives or if arrows still fill the air. All you know is parry, dodge, parry, riposte and dodge again. You take a wolf through the throat only to feel the claws of another rake along your armoured back. You have no time to fear for your cloak as you must fend off a third attacker with your blade. Your skill sees your sword become a shining web of silver coloured steel; such is the speed with which you wield it. Now another wolf dies, and you hear the distant sound of a mighty crack. You have no time to wonder at its origin as yet more wolves press you. Another falls, and hesitancy is starting to spread among your foes. Used as you are to facing massive groups of enemies motivated more by ferocity than skill you realise your time has come. You abandon your defence, trusting your armour and their fear to preserve you, to strike down the largest opponent. Your faith is rewarded when claw and fang glance from you and your blade strikes true. The greatest of their number fallen, the beasts step back, fear taking a firm root in their hearts. You raise your blood stained blade and roar out a challenge. So focused on the fight are you that you forget to speak in a language they might understand.
"Man veryëa mahata i enna yondo Fëanáro?"
You do not know if they can, in fact, understand your words, but they certainly understand your tone and expression. Their fear spreads and the werewolves turn and flee into the forest. After the sounds of their flight fades, you allow your blade to rest on the ground. Your limbs, leaden since the moment you arrived in this world, protest even worse than usual and you are covered in bruises on your arms and torso. Turning to look at you companions you see that Tamlen's shield has shattered, and his arm seems broken with it. His blade is wet with wolf blood though, and the bodies of werewolves indicate that he did more than you expected. Auriel and Junar have spent their last arrows and Junar's fingers are bleeding from overuse. You cannot continue to the heart of the forest. You've only travelled half a day and the resistance is this stiff. With your companions so spent and you not in good enough shape to cover them there is only one choice. It grates upon you but, after tending to Tamlen's arm, you turn back and return to camp. You will return, if only to spite the voice. How dare it try to command a son of Fëanáro.
You return to find the clan dealing with an outbreak of disease. While you were gone a number of people have fallen ill. There are few healers to go around, and thanks to your miraculous actions last month most Dalish believe you to be some kind of magically gifted healer yourself. You do not feel comfortable admitting that you're really only trained to patch up battlefield wounds, and that on your own people who are much hardier than either Atani or Dalish. Despite your uncertainty of how much you will be able to help you do agree to try. If nothing else, you will be an assistant who cannot catch or spread the disease. You are led to a clearing where those who are infected have been laid out on bed rolls. Most of them are suffering from flu like symptoms and high fevers. Once you see them, you are struck by the challenge ahead of you. Quendi do not get sick, unless one counts some of Morgoth's nastier curses. Treating illness is not something you have ever had to do before. Never one to flee a challenge, though, you desperately search your memory for anything relevant. You find one.
Kano is going to be absolutely insufferable when you tell him about this. He had said that teaching Elrond and his brother would prove useful and this is the second time it has done so. For after Elros had made his choice Elrond had searched high and low for every text on disease he could find. He feared, quite reasonably, for his brother's health. As the one in charge of the treasury and well used to people attempting to sell you 'miracle solutions' you had ended up reading most of them to make sure he was not wasting your money. Thanks to these tomes, and Elrond's habit of roping you into practicing the contents of them, you have a broad base of knowledge to pull on.
Due to your limited experience, it takes you some time to come up with anything that is not already being done. You spend this time soaking cloths in water to bring fevers down and ensuring that the patients stay hydrated. You vaguely recall reading something about losing salt through sweat being a problem, but it is beyond you how you are supposed to fight thirst with salt water. As you are attending to this you run through possible diagnoses. It is not Dysentery, that much is certain. It could be camp fever, though you would be surprised since the camp has been kept well fed by the hunters and the recent addition of horse milk and horse milk products to the Dalish diet. You ask a few of the patients and the healers about whether there have been any outbreaks of lice recently. There have not been any particular outbreaks, but you are horrified to discover that they are a very common problem. This leads you to the revelation that as a general rule people bathe maybe once a month and wash their bedding maybe once a year, if that. You'd always known that the clan had never smelt clean exactly, but neither had you. There was no easy access to warm water and soap was pretty rudimentary. You had assumed that they, like you, were struggling to bathe properly. You really want to immediately force every clan member into the river but there are more important things to do right now. If this is not camp fever it could be any one of a number of things. You focus on discerning if there are any injuries that could have been affected by the, apparently, filthy conditions around camp. There are none and the patients are still not improving. It is becoming clear that this is some kind of serious disease, and a treatment option needs to be decided on. The other healers are talking about unbalanced humours and discussing the feasibility of bleeding the patients. You think it sounds ridiculous, everyone knows losing enough blood will kill you, but they are the experts on the matter. You do not have any good treatment options, but you do have some ideas to help contain the spread.
You raise the possibility of regular bathing as an option for stemming the spread of the disease. There is far too much resistance that solution for it to be practical though. A number of healers believe that disease can spread through bathwater and those that don't say that the handwashing the already takes place is more than sufficient. You concentrate your arguments on a quarantine for the sick and those who have had contact with the others. The healers are very sceptical at first. Most believe that disease spreads from fouled air of some kind. You spend nearly an hour convincing them that if that were the case then there would be some kind of sign of foul air in the area. Most specifically you point out that there is no smell beyond the usual in the camp. Eventually they come to the conclusion that the fouled air is likely generated by the sick and sticks closely to them. You would argue further with their ridiculous position. but frankly at this point you will take whatever argument convinces them to quarantine the patients. After the difficulty of convincing the clan to cut off all contact with the sick is raised, you volunteer to try. You gather the clan up and explain to them what is going to happen and why it is necessary.
You finish explaining the need to cut off contact with the sick, emphasising that if they do not there will be dire consequences. There is a moment of silence. Then there is an angry roar from the crowd. Panic and fear have taken hold and they are looking for someone to blame. It is difficult to follow all the accusations that they are making. Some are claiming that you are trying to conceal the full extent of the disease. Others are yelling that if their families are dying, they are not simply going to abandon them. Far too many are yelling that you're performing some kind of 'blood magic' ritual on the sick and trying to cover it up. You raise your voice to try and convince them that they are overreacting. You will admit partial fault for what came next. They may have been acting like complete morons but saying so out loud did not help bring order to the chaos. By the time your shouting match with the crowd is finished the overriding argument seems to be that you brought the plague. Nobody seems to agree on the reason, some believe that you carried it like anyone does, others that it is a divine punishment for bringing an outsider into the clan. There are several tense moments where it looks like you are going to be mobbed by the clan, but the intercession of the keeper and the clan's warriors stop that idea before it manages to gain enough momentum.
Your failure causes you to feel a burning shame that grows more intense as the days pass. People are not just refusing to quarantine they are either actively seeking out their loved ones, visiting regularly, or they are avoiding the healers entirely. Every person who is dragged into the clearing by friends after they have avoided the healers until the collapsed causes the shame to burn higher. You cannot allow this to stand; you must act, you must redeem yourself.
Briefly you consider making house visits. To use your talents at talking to people to convince them to accept treatment. You discard the idea after some honest reflection, many of the people who are avoiding the healers are explicitly avoiding you. Forcing them to accept your help is what your pride wants you to do, not what would be best for you to do. Your best option is to take on most of the other healer's work to let them go to the rest of the camp and tend to them. You are not much of a healer, but you need much less sleep than they do and the treatments that are being given patients in this area are very simple. Convincing the other healers that you are capable of doing the job of six or seven other people is a challenge. You manage to do so by demonstrating that you can treat every patient as long as you know how much attention each one needs and schedule them individually. They remain cautious but head out to treat those who refuse to come to the clearing without too much protest. As long as you succeed on your first day, they will be fully convinced that you can manage the clearing alone.
You spend your first day almost running from bed to bed. Applying treatments as well as ensuring that everyone gets their daily needs. You also have to confront the emergence and spread of the red markings that have been observed in some of the patients. You spend a good portion of your time applying coverings to prevent scratching or infection. When the time comes that you would normally stop you can't. There is no one to take your place. You already know that you can sleep on the march, but you dare not risk sleeping while tending to your patients, it's too delicate of an operation. If your first twenty four hours of treating patients was a challenge that stretched your abilities to their limit, the second was a torment designed by the foul mind of Morgoth. Since you are alone the pace never slackens. You have to run from bed to bed just the same as the first day. As the day passes more and more people come in. You increase your pace to match. You find yourself in the state of dazed focus that you have only previously found yourself in at the end of hours of battle. You press on, you refuse to give up. When the third day dawns the Marethari and Merrill arrive. They take a great deal of the pressure off you allowing for attending only to the daily needs of the ill rather than alleviating their symptoms. When the healers return at the end of the day, they bring the dire news that everybody who resisted quarantine is now infected. They've been forced to set up a second clearing to treat the new cases. There are only a handful of able bodied people in the clan, including the keeper and her first.