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kingdomsofrain2026-01-17 02:26 pm
onefellswoop) wrote in kingdomsofrain2026-01-17 02:26 pm
shitlords!
placeholder title above! hmmmm
1) Prelude: Ill-Natured Shrubbery.
2) The Party Gathers: If a Tree Burns in the Forest...
3) Death House Pt. 1: Family, If You Wish It.
4) Death House Pt. 2: Onward and Downward.
1) Prelude: Ill-Natured Shrubbery.
2) The Party Gathers: If a Tree Burns in the Forest...
3) Death House Pt. 1: Family, If You Wish It.
4) Death House Pt. 2: Onward and Downward.
no subject
[Awakened Tree: 3
Faolan: 15
Sen: 8, holding
Wythall: 12, holding
Dima: 4
Rin: 15]
For Faolan's turn, he looks around wildly, thinking - what can he do? He's out of big tricks and he doubts a sword's much use against a tree!
His eyes fall on the stranger - Altair, bleeding, who has plenty of fire to bring something like that down.
In a moment of desperation - or hope, perhaps, that Altair will be able to keep it at bay long enough for Faolan to think up a plan - he casts Healing Word on the other man.
Healing Dima for a total of 7 hit points.
He'll hold his movement for now.
<.>
Halfway up the tree, a hand brushes bark, settles with a press, and a voice speaks softly: "Shhh, shhh. Wouldn't you like to go back to sleep? Don't you feel nicer with your roots in the ground?"
A mere moment later, above the crashing sounds and movements, a voice emanates booming from within the trees branches—
”What is WRONG with all of you?
”I was sleeping? Do you UNDERSTAND this much? I! Was sleeping!
”For what PURPOSE have you brought it on yourselves to wake me UP? You absolute DUNCE.”
The unseen tiefling has cast Thaumaturgy, and end their turn clinging to the branches, being very, very annoyed with the man who woke their sleeping spot.
<.>
The unexpected booming voice emanating across the clearing has brought a momentary halt to the action; Faolan, Wythall. and Wythall's attacker (now at a disadvantage with Wythall atop him) freeze, all three staring at the tree.
More than one of them thinks the tree is speaking. Faolan's hands are still held up in the aftermath of his healing spell.
Almost immediately, the action resumes: the lanky man uses the opportunity to headbutt Wythall.
<.>
There was hardly time to appreciate the sudden blast of thunder (oh, but it was exhilarating magic!). There was hardly time to register the reappearance of the man of shoeless grins, or the fact that the newcomer looks VERY FAMILIAR and sounds MORE FAMILIAR STILL, and if it were any other time that voice alone might bring on a sudden headache.
There's hardly time to appreciate the fact that he's just been healed by the hooded stranger, the alternate Altair, though Dima does take a moment to revel in the image of eyes almost aglow before—
Before the tree. Fucking. Speaks??
It might not be the tree.
It. Might. Be the tree.
And Dmitri Aubric Voronin, in a moment of calculated brilliance, points vehemently toward Wythall and calls out, very informatively: "You can thank that yolk-brained practitioner for disturbing you. I'm sure we'd all prefer you continue with your nap."
Then, shifting his finger to the tree - just in case? - he Messages in Common: ’Can you hear me?’
He's also going to take this opportunity to move ten feet to the side— Brushing a hand against 'Altair's as he moves in a gesture that is very, very like a gentle 'follow me' tug.
The tree is momentarily hesitant in its plodding steps as the voice comes roaring from its branches. Stopping where it is, it begins to shake itself, limbs flailing and sweeping dangerously. It's seemingly aware there is something humanoid far too close to its trunk.
Rin, make an athletics check.
[ATH: 22]
Rin manages to hang on just fine, and for the moment they evade any limbs that might swing a little too close to their head.
<.>
The voice from the tree DOES loudly exclaim “RUDE”, however.
<.>
Annnd we are back at the top of the round, which is Faolan -
Who at the moment has no idea what to do, but 'Altair' has given his hand a small (nice?) (kind?) ((not unpleasant??)) tug, and the man seems to know what he's doing - more than Faolan does, at any rate. He follows, his gaze cutting from the tree to the wrestlers to the tree once more.
He'll hold his action.
<.>
The voice from the tree echoes again: ”Oh, this is NONSENSE.”
If the tree isn't going to be reasonable, and if no one is going to stop whatever the tree is up to, Rin is going to attempt to scramble-leap from its branches to the ground, though first they’ll take a stab at the tree with one of their shortswords.
[ATTK: 7, miss. The tree's thrashing makes it impossible to land a decent hit; their blade glances off the bark and the tree doesn't notice the attack attempt at all. ]
A string of Infernal curses sound loudly from the branches, and Rin will now attempt their scramble!
[ATHL: 17. They land unscathed save for maybe a hair out of place.]
Whatever movement they have left, they're using to move back and in the non murder thumb direction! While fixing the out of place hair back into their cloak.
<.>
Wythall, now at a disadvantage and bleeding from the nose, has been distracted from his combat by the tiefling leaping to the ground. (Above him, so has Sen, who is looking oddly at Rin, one hand pulled back with a knife's butt threatening to land a blow to Wythall's head.)
He begins to wriggle with more intent, reaching and shouting, “Get away from my tree!” as he struggles to break free from Sen's hold.
Faolan whips around ("YOUR tree?") and acts suddenly, releasing Altair's hand (how long was he holding...?) and using the remainder of his movement to run at Wythall and Sen, drawing his scimitar as he rushes them.
And he's going to attempt to bring an attack down on Wythall's upper torso / head / neck area. Wythall is pinned and prone beneath Sen, so Faolan gets advantage., amd—
Faolan catches Wythall in the shoulder for four points of slashing damage; the man screams, but continues his struggle to free himself.
<.>
(There was a hand twined with his own, and he feels its lingered impression even as he tracks the scene unfolding, even as he reacts.)
Having determined that the tree was not in fact speaking, and seeing that 'Altair' (a little, little flex of his hand as he thinks the name) and the all-too-familiar loudmouth have Wythall in hand, Dima is going to move within ten feet of the tree and cast Burning Hands in an upward cone, figuring that if he can't take down the fucking thing, he can at least set it aflame.
<.>
The tree begins to burn, sustaining first 11, then 22 points of fire damage. There's a sound like a roar, branches flailing, the roots stomping wildly as it attempts to shake off the fire.
Behind Dima, Wythall is shouting crazed protests.
It would seem the tree is vulnerable to fire damage.
The tree is, however, still standing. And it is now said tree's turn.
Enraged, it 'turns' toward Dima and Rin and throws itself forward, the wide spread of its limbs hurtling towards the ground.
Rin and Dima each sustain seven points of bludgeoning damage and learn a very important lesson about the reach of the tree.
Which is 10ft.
[note: When Fae healed him, Dima got a few extra, temporary hit points. Which is very good because otherwise he would be very unconscious oops.]
Seeing the tree first burst into flames, then throw itself at his allies, Faolan feels a clench of panic in his chest. He turns back to Wythall and draws his dagger, now wielding both blades.
Fae gets two attacks with dual wield; first one hits. Second one bARELY hits
[FAE HOW DO YOU WANT TO DO THIS.]
As Sen grapples the writhing man and pins him to the ground, Faolan stabs deep into the man's chest with his scimitar; for good measure, he draws a clean line across Wythall's throat with his dagger.
As the man falls still, so does the tree. After a moment or two, the only noises in the clearing is the combined sounds of the four survivors' breathing and the crackling of fire as the now-still tree continues to burn.
Faolan straightens and begins wiping the blood from his blades on the hem of his tunic as he turns back to look for the two survivors of the tree's onslaught.
<.>
no subject
Dima takes a little longer to extricate himself from the burning wreck, telling himself that maybe, maybe he should be more careful with fire, though most of his attention is on the stranger (his alter Altair) (the man whose hand took his own, who followed when he nudged) and the image of the kill he was barely, fortunately able to glimpse.
That was beautifully done.
As he pulls himself up, dusting himself off and favoring the fallen tree with a brief scowl, he finds the stranger turned in his direction. There's not another glance for the tree; Dima moves toward 'Altair,' speaking as he approaches—
"I saw that." The kill, he means. And the magic. And— Oh, everything. He bows his head, extends his hand, palm upward, an offering to clasp. "Dmitri Voronin."
And: "I'd like to know your name."
Yes, Dima is bruised; yes, Dima is bleeding. No, he doesn't care, though he does flick a concerned look toward the man's own wounds.
<.>
Faolan watches 'Altair approach with something almost like concern in his expression; he looks worse for the wear and a tree did just fling itself at him. However, whatever his wounds may be, the man -
Dmitri.
Seems -
Seems.
Voronin, he said. There's a flicker of unease in Faolan's expression and whatever else might have been going through his head, it's replaced now with his usual reminders to be cautious. Don't trust, don't speak too much or confidentially. (Don't hope for anything better than what's been left.)
His gaze flickers down to the hand extended, then away - briefly - to the corpse. (Which is being rummaged through by their erstwhile ally.)
No longer shadowed by the hood that has fallen back, but by the fallen deep night, he returns his attention to Dmitri and offers a tight smile. The proffered hand - the hand he so recently held (and never will again) (why should it matter?) - is left unanswered. " 'Altair' had a nice ring to it, but I'm afraid 'Faolan Rhys' will have to do."
<.>
Sen was preoccupied with the sight of the Tiefling, whose tail flicks very charmingly, and really, who ever thought a tiefling could LOOK so - charming, yes. Even in a fit of irritation. Even battered up by a tree. (He can't look much better, himself. Wythall got in a blow or two. Or four.)
He watches until the group begins to gather, unmoving from his seated perch on the corpse. However, the nearness of Dmitri - who he was planning to rob anyway - sets him in motion. He begins digging through Wythall's clothing, coming up with a few interesting items. He feels rather badly about pocketing them, though. Gold, he'll take. The rest? Well.
"When you two are through flirting," he interrupts. "I'm going to take the gold. And any you've got in your pockets. Dima here can explain our arrangement." A beat as he examines a bag, opening it and peering inside, then reaching a hand in - and then his arm to the elbow, fitting into inexplicable space. He withdraws and tosses it up to (at) Dmitri. "That's none of my nevermind. For a shoeless bastard, he has a lot of salvage, hasn't he? I -"
His eyes light on Rin once more and words (for once) (not for the last time) leave him.
AND. An inspection of the corpse will turn up:
- The bag tossed to Dima
- 30 GP, 5 SP, 3 CP in a pouch, now in Sen's pocket
- An unlabeled potion
- A gemstone
- A pearl.
One last loot item:
- A small onyx raven totem.
Additionally, the party receives 220 XP per person.
<.>
That name, at least, explains the shift in the stranger's demeanor. Explains the hand left untaken (though it doesn't erase the sting).
Dima ought to be wary, he knows. He ought to feel ire, perhaps; if not at this man (really, Dima never was convinced that the blame for that entire 'situation' lay outside the familial 'friend' who couldn't keep his mouth shut, for fuck's sake), then at the fact that even miles upon miles away, Dima can't escape Morovsk's more mundane dramas.
If he feels any flare of pique, it's that this moment should have been marred by wayward histories. It's that the hand he'd anticipated in his own has been withheld.
If he feels worry, it's at the thought - briefly-twisting with soft panic - that the man might flee.
He hasn't let silence settle long before he speaks, voice musing, his eyes just a little wary but without hostility—
"Faolan." A name, a curl of sounds he lingers on, lets himself taste perhaps a moment too long. Taking space to breathe after, letting the name settle between them (thinking he'd like to say it again) (thinking this name never ought to have been tarnished with calumny, or spoken on lesser tongues). Then: "You're very forthright, aren't you?"
He considers his still-suspended hand a little sadly, wistful, fingers flexing in the empty air before he lets his hand drift to his side. He hasn't stopped watching the man (Faolan); he has no desire to ever cease watching this man.
"I thank you for that, and for your aid earlier." Dima attempts a crooked smile. "I'd have fared far worse without it."
"As for the rest—" He taps his fingertips against his thigh, cants his head. "I hope you aren't thinking of slipping off."
((note: bracketed words are spoken in Infernal))
Rin, meanwhile, has made it over to the corpse, and to the elf who's making very quick work of emptying each and every pocket. (Well, he's not bad at it. He's got a method, and that counts for something, even if Rin would have preferred to take dibs on rifling.) They give the body a nudge with their boot, still very cross with this man, watching the elf begin divvying goods. They don't care at all about the bag - let the caster have that - but regarding the rest—
"All of it? Excuse me, but I don't believe this [shit-for-tits] bastard turned your accommodations into a waking nightmare.
"I was sleeping, for what it's worth! He and his tree woke me up, and it's only fair that I take some compensation." A pause as they tilt their head, evidently listening to a series of soft sounds somewhere in their cloak, then nod. "Curio too. We were both sleeping."
Rin's just going to snag the pearl before the elf can get his hands on that! It's while Rin's slipping the pearl into their hand - and, why not, snagging the gemstone as well - that they catch the elf's eyes and pause mid-motion, thinking, thinking (not disliking what they see; this one's rather a dashing rogue, if a little bruised up), and—
"I think I've seen your face before. I'm very bad with faces, but you— You have quite a distinct, what is it, visage, do you know?"
<.>
He was thinking of slipping off, as a matter of fact, and his expression clearly speaks this intention before surprise shifts first to wariness, then to something not unlike weariness.
When it comes to people who know Faolan's name, there are two types of nobles: those who react negatively, and those who think of him only as utile.
Easy.
Whoring.
To be fair, he was. For a time.
(He doesn't have the heart for it.) (Not after -) (Don't think about it.)
Dmitri Voronin wants him to remain. There's no trouble guessing what else he wants. No trouble either in shattering those hopes.
Other than the commotion of the approaching tiefling and the elf ransacking Wythall's body, that is. Faolan begins twice to reply, interrupted once by his own exasperation as he takes the bag slapped against his arm.
There's too much here to process all at once (or perhaps he's been too long away from people?) between Dmitri (Dima?), the elf, the tiefling, and who- or whatever 'Curio' might be. After one final failed attempt at speaking, he only shakes his head and turns away to look for his pack. It was blown somewhere by the force of his spell. Whether or not Dmitri follows him, he finally replies neutrally, "I'm not staying. I'll find another fire for the night."
<.>
There's an exasperated look toward the perpetual chatter-mer, and Dima half-considers Messaging the jackass to stay right where the fuck he is and stop looting the body before discarding the idea; he doesn't really, really want to invite a response in-kind. Particularly not when Faolan (has he ever heard the name spoken without rancor before this night?) (that, too, is a crime) is already moving off. In any case, there's little chance of the mer slipping off without another word; Dima simply isn't that lucky.
So the fuss around the corpse is ignored, half-forgotten, and Dima keeps close to the not-quite-stranger, thinking a shock of thunder and a ball of flame, a knife drawing blood down an open throat; thinking the firmness of a hand against his own; thinking how beautifully blond hair catches moonlight.
Thinking as well that Faolan is awfully focused on finding something, and keeping his own eyes peeled as they travel the campsite, and as Dima speaks: "I don't believe that's necessary.
"If nothing else, you really ought to have your wounds seen to." Dima starts to reach forward, to settle a hand near a deep-lashed cut— But stops himself. (Faolan seems wary.) (Perhaps that's fair; certainly, it's a suggestion that Dima ought to take some care in his acts.) Instead, he furrows his brow and glances around the treeline, rolls his eyes. "Gods know what else our plant-loving shithead may have stirred up out there."
He catches sight of something. A likelihood, a hunch, and Dima settles his foot on a knapsack's strap. "Is this what you're after?"
<.>
He's being followed.
What is it Voronin wants? (And is this the eldest one, the one everyone knows is ruthless, is vicious and - well, didn't he see how Dmitri fights? Dangerous.) (Beautiful -)
(Beautiful men were always the problem for Faolan, and the problem WITH beautiful men is the damage they can do. The lies they can make a young man believe.)
He turns back to respond that there's likely nothing else 'stirred up' by Wythall, only to see Voronin has found his belongings.
Voronin is standing on his belongings, as though Faolan can't simply lift him and move him to the side -
Which means touching him.
No. He won't give him the satisfaction of that.
His gaze raises from his pack and settles on Voronin (not his eyes, only his face, there'll be no getting caught in a (blue-eyed) gaze and swept up, none of that!) His expression resounds with the same weariness, more pronounced now than a moment ago.
"There won't be any more - not shrubs or trees. Not with him dead. I'll be fine."
And. "Thank you for your concern."
He stoops to take up his pack despite the foot pinning it down, stopping only when he meets resistance. Faolan looks up (oh, blue, they are very blue even in the dark -) and, with a soft, patient (tired, and firm, and final) voice, says, "Please."
<.>
Faolan isn't really here.
Not entirely; not in his heart. Whatever ran between them during the fight - when their eyes first locked across the fire; when their hands twined; when a glow-eyed stranger offered healing words - it's turned disparate.
(It was Dmitri's name that did it.) (It was the weight of a history that's never hit close to Dima, was more story than truth for him, but must run deep for this man.) (Doesn't Dima know the look of mistrust when he sees it. Doesn't he know the sight of bone-deep weariness.)
For the first time in speaking with Faolan, Dima looks - and Dima feels - uncertain. Thinks he's misunderstood or missed something vital, and his expressed turns clouded, turns worried as he steps backward, off of the pack, eyes darting toward the ground, toward the trees— Before finding Faolan's again.
He isn't willing to lose that sight just yet.
He isn't willing to— To let this man leave? To fail to give him cause to stay?
Dima opens his mouth to speak; finds no words, finds only the shadow of an inhale. Bites his lip, tries again, and—
"Stay."
It's more request than command (he meant it to sound firmer than it does; there's no helping it now), and he quickly follows, half stumbles in his words to add: "For a brief while, at least. If you won't—" A blink; a glance at the sky, then back. "If you won't remain through the night, or if you can't, at least permit some manner of discussion.
"We ought to discuss what happened here tonight. You and I and— Those two, if they can be stalled in their plundering."
He makes himself cease speaking (before he can say too much) (before he can level demands) (before he finds himself spilling into pleas). He doesn't take his eyes from Faolan's.
<.>
He should leave. He should take his now-liberated pack and go somewhere, anywhere else, far away from Dmitri Voronin. (His eyes. His interest. His hair glinting in moonlight like raven feathers, like obsidian.) He's dangerous. Faolan knows what he's after; he can't be trusted.
No one can be trusted. Isn't that why he fled to the forests?
Wordlessly, he straightens and shoulders his pack. It takes an act of will to look away (it doesn't take anything else, though, and thank the gods for that small blessing.)
He makes it five steps past Dmitri with the vague notion of slipping away into the shadows of the trees, but there was that 'stay' and the way it was spoken. (The look that accompanied it. The way Voronin stumbled into babbling. The way he bit his lip and seems to know -
What?
What does he know about Faolan? Nothing. Nothing at all. He wants what he sees, he wants the rumor he knows. Just like any other.)
That 'stay' echoes in his head, a request - an offer of a choice.
He tells himself he really doesn't care to find somewhere else to sleep. That he doesn't know these woods as well, that maybe it would be wiser to remain and slip off at daybreak when he's rested.
He corrects his course towards the fire as though it was his intention all along to resume his seat beside it.
Well, his blanket was here, as well. He tells himself he didn't want to leave it behind.
Blandly, he tosses out a warning. "If either you or your friend try rifling through my trousers for anything at all, someone will lose a hand."
<.>
It's something, anyway.
That Faolan - who, yes, looked for all the world as if he was about to disappear - turns back toward the fire. That Faolan settles in, and Dima thinks that every minute the man stays is a win, is another chance to keep from losing him.
Now that the man's moved away, Dima is also becoming cognizant of his own weariness, and of the way his ribs ache with each breath (bruised? maybe; he'll need to do something about that), of the sensation of blood welled along his arm. Probably, he ought to sit. And if he doesn't return to the fire, the godsforsaken mer is liable to make off with the entire corpse.
So Dima heads toward the group, careful not to approach too near to Faolan (though he wants to); careful to project his intention to settle on the opposite side of the fire.
He doesn't sit immediately. Instead, he (looks at Faolan first; he can't help that) glances at the mer and the tiefling, looks at the paltry remains of Wythall's loot. Finds the tiefling tossing an item - a stone raven (!?) - idly from one hand to the other, and on impulse, Dima attempts to grab it from the air.
<.>
[DEX, d: 19
DEX, r: 18]
Dima is able to quite deftly snatch the raven out of the air.
no subject
Faolan is experimenting with the bag that was thrust upon him.
<.>
Dima would like to investigate the raven totem in particular for any magical properties. He'd also like to do the same for any of the remaining/visible loot.
Rin, who has just vocally protested the raven theft - they were enjoying a nice game of catch with their new mer maybe(?)-friend! - will be attempting to hide the gemstone and pearl, and will be reluctant to admit the existence of either.
<.>
[DEC, r: 17]
Sen begins to wonder if maybe he just misplaced the gemstone and pearl. Clearly, Rin doesn't have them.
Fae isn't fooled by any of this, but doesn't exactly care that Rin has them; he will (now or later) quietly try to pull Rin aside and ask just to see the items to confirm a theory he has.
[ARC, d: 23]
The totem is clearly an item of power, though Dima is certain there's nothing quite like it that he's ever encountered or even heard about. It hums with energy somewhat removed from itself, as though it bears a connection with someone - or some*thing*.
The longer Dima holds the totem, the less he will want to part with it.
Roll a wisdom saving throw.
[WIS, d: 19]
Dima might feel a sensation in his mind as though something has attempted to influence him to do more than keep the totem, but it isn't strong enough to break through his formidable defenses.
What would he like to do with the totem?
<.>
He's wary regarding this sensation, but it absolutely isn't enough to get him to pitch the totem, and he certainly isn't going to mention the sensation to anyone.
He'd like to wrap the totem in the set of fine clothes in the set of fine clothes in his pack, and tuck the bundle in the center of the pack for safekeeping.
...And he is going to very pointedly.
Look at Sen. Look at Rin. Keep his eyes fixed on Rin and vow that if anYthing happens to the raven, there will be blood. "You can KEEP the rest as you like. I believe I've earned this one."
[INTIM, d: 12]
<.>
Sen is now determined to steal the totem.
Rin also was unimpressed by that effort, so up to you there.
<.>
Rin is currently determined to steal the totem! >:o! They'll show this ridiculous man!
There is, however, a very good chance that Rin will forget about the totem by the time half an hour has passed.
Rin will in fact absolutely have forgotten it in half an hour.
It's a cool raven but not that cool.
Dima is just going to. Plan on cuddling his pack tonight. He does not trust either of you.
And hmmm, Rin would like to know what for! They don't know you at all!
<.>
Fae will pull Rin aside and ask to see the items they're keeping and, if they allow, will run his own Arcana check.
Fae explains his suspicion that Wythall was using one of those items to control the plants.
<.>
Rin watches suspiciously.
Considers.
And: "Well. You'll have to promise to give them back."
And: "If you don't, I'll simply steal them back along with everything you have. c:”
<.>
Fae: "Don't have much."
<.>
Rin - watching very alert! - hands Fae the gemstone and pearl.
"Then I'll wait until you do." Humph!
<.>
Arcana check: 10, which meets or beats.
He's aware the gemstone is the item he suspects had to do with the plants' awakening, but he doesn't know the extent of the spell, whether the gemstone was a focus, or whether it held (or still holds) any charges.
He thinks the pearl might be a similar item - capable of holding a single spell - but he can't be sure.
He tells Rin to hang on to those; they might be more valuable in their pocket than sold to a merchant.
Fae starts to walk away after that, but catches sight of Dima, falters, then doubles back and pulls out the bag Sen gave him.
"I'll trade you for that pearl."
<.>
Rin is busy catching firelight in the gemstone; they might be attempting to discern the magic for themself (not really), or simply admire the craftsmanship (yes). At the man's words, their brow furrows; they don't want to lose the pearl, but it's a little heartening that the guy's making ago for it. Rin wouldn't trust someone who takes no interest in pearls!
"Okay, well. What's the bag do?
"If you say 'It's just a bag,' I might screech.
"Don't say 'It's just a bag.' :/"
<.>
"Well - it is just a bag. And it isn't." He laughs a little and, instead of trying to explain, turns the bag inside out. More rocks than rightly ought to fit in the bag - far. far more - come tumbling out onto the ground.
Got a decent pile of rocks at his feet now.
<.>
Rin is— Not not impressed. And they can see some definite uses for this bag; there often is more loot than they can rightly manage. So there's definite interest in their voice as they speak: "You're going to need an excavation at this rate. HM!”
"The bag for my pearl. H m."
"There's got to be a reason you're so keen to trade it. >:/" But! A clap of their hands, a sharp-toothed grin. "I'm feeling rather whimsical right now, so I shall take you on your offer."
They reach the pearl toward Faolan, though they will NOT be relinquishing hold until the bag is in their hand!
Also they may or may not be eyeing the pile of rocks. There could be nice stones in there!
<.>
Fae lets them have the bag before taking the pearl, patiently smiling all through: if he loses the bag and the pearl, he's no worse off than he was an hour ago.
And the rocks are in fact just rocks, but maybe one has a nice shape or some pretty striations.
And if there's no further loot business, Fae isn't going to urge anyone towards sleeping (Long Rest), but he himself will set up his hammock under a makeshift tent and sleep - pearl safely tucked away in one of his pockets.
<.>
Rin spends a few more minutes examining their gemstone before feeling a little - just a little! - bit guilty about having pretended it out of existence in front of the elf. So they're just going to flash Sen a smile and a glimpse of the gemstone before they scurry up the nearest tree, giving it a firm talking-to about not waking up on them please and thank you.
And Dima—
Knowing that it might not be the best idea to sleep so near a totem that's already flared some power. But also knowing he doesn't trust Sen a goddamn inch. Is going to set up his blanketroll against a tree, attempting a vantage where he can see both Faolan and Sen (if the elf hasn't disappeared... like the tiefling who went fuck knows where), and will keep the pack in his arms within the bedroll as he seeks sleep.
<.>
Sen, pleased that Rin has found the gemstone once more (and even more pleased to be the recipient of a smile) will be sleeping upright against the trunk of the tree where Rin has taken up residence.
And Dima, please make another Wisdom saving throw, this time with disadvantage as he is asleep.
[WIS, 18]
Excellent c: The night passes without incident.
Mostly.
When they all awaken the next morning, they are no longer in the clearing.