While Elvish is still a new language for her, Neya is still able to hear their message loud and clear.

In Elvish: 

Having halfway anticipated the reaction, Doozey just faintly shook his head and took advantage of the initial scramble/chaos retrieving from his pack Halvin's cloak. But as he held it in his hands he couldn't help losing himself staring at the enchanted fabric. Even as the elves made their demands(or so Doozey would infer from their inflections) he hardly glanced up once before looking again to the cloak, steeling himself for what was to come.

Then after Nara spoke her piece, Doozey finally speaks if albeit in broken sylvan and without seeming to direct his words at anyone in particular:

Seeing Utar's purposeful non-aggressive stance and listening to Neya's polite request, the leader of the welcoming party of elves makes a decision. In Common, he replies: "Yes, we may speak in the Common tongue if it speeds up your departure. Now, tell us what is it that you seek in Greenhall so we can conclude this encounter as fast as possible."

A couple of these armed elves are looking at Doozey suspiciously. The fact that the halfling seems more interested in choosing his next outfit than pleading for his life when outnumbered by well-trained elven scouts is somewhat unsettling to them. The sentence spoken in broken Sylvan does little to assuage their concerns.

@Drache & @MB: You can each roll a persuasion check or one of you can use the help action to assist the other.

Utar looks towards Neya, "Best you speak for us, Neya. Unless they want to switch to Orcish."

Reaching out a hand, Utar blesses Neya, offering some additional aid from Torm by way of divine guidance.

Turning to the Elves, Utar addresses them in common. "Originally we sought some farmers from Kabel's Hill. We suspect some might have made it here, we would like to return them home if they are. We do not seek a fight with Greenhall or it's citizens."

Neya continues Utar's plea, "We only need to, at the very least, give closure for the families."

Persuasion: 14 (14)

Advantage: 19 (19)

Guidance: 4 (4)

Under other circumstances, and perhaps even a life time ago, Doozey might've corrected the err in judgement in unsettling the elves in favor cultivating a more peaceful and productive atmosphere. Instead, he seemed to leave it to Neya and Utar to at least get the group's foot in the door proper. But there was more yet they -- 'he' at least needed from the elves than simply re-confirming the whereabouts of any missing villagers.

For the moment, however, he would slide off the back of Biscuit(who at least looked wary with so many weapons aimed at him!) and sat down on the ground. Then from there, he set about carefully and meticulously folding up the keepsake cloak, and all the while still avoiding meeting the gaze of the Elves until satisfied with his work. At which point he continued to sit there with the cloak folded in his lap, seeming content to wait patiently to see what came of the entreaty, but all too likely further unnerving the elves with the nonchalant smile practically plastered on his face.

They turn to Utar as the half-orc mentions Kabel's Hill, but there is a sudden additional injection of hesitation in the air once the Tormite utters spell incantations and delivers magic onto Neya. The elves reach for their weapons, but fall short of attacking: "Woah!" the group leader says. "Did you think your blatant spellcasting would go unnoticed?"

-> Tension feels the air: I'm adding disadvantage to the persuasion roll, which cancels the help action. Guidance was still delivered, so the total comes to 18.

Nonetheless, Neya's follow-up plea succeds in continuing the conversation with the welcoming party, at least for now. There is sincerity in her words, and no CRAPer is reaching for their weapon or following up the spellcasting with other potentially aggressive gestures. Behind CRAP, Denae even raises her hand to further relay the message of non-aggressiveness. Doozey's strange behavior under pressure still earns the death stares of two of the guards, and his unnerving smile is probably working against him here.

The elven spokesperson shakes his head as he convinces himself to speak again: "Fine," he says still handling his bow. "We did encounter the villagers you speak of about a tenday and a half ago. The villagers had run out of food at that point and were rambling about an insane woodworker who 'didn't mean the elves any harm,' I quote." That quoted phrase is delivered in a tone that conveys disbelief. He continues: "We had not seen a woodworker, insane or otherwise. The group of villagers were the first humans we’ve seen in a century." He stares CRAP down even harder and adds: "They wouldn't leave when we asked, and so we had to attack the villagers to drive them away from Greenhall. They had no business being here, and neither do you."

Letting silence fill the air for no more than two seconds, he concludes: "There. It doesn't provide you with much closure, but that is all we know about your villagers." 

Doozey continued to pay not much mind to the effect he had on the elves, and just listened with rapt attention. But after giving the elven spokesperson a chance to answer the groups initial inquiry, he looks up expectantly to Neya, yet remained ready should their be any confusion to reminder her of the group's other goal in uttering the words: "Faewow. Wimhorm. Wemember?" If, however, she or the others appear reluctant to even broach the subject, Doozey would bow and shake his head in disappointment, before regarding the elven spokesperson.

His next words are a question in Sylvan, asking if they understood him. If so, then to the best of his ability he goes slowly as he flits between Sylvan and common words and phrases that at least roughly (or so he hoped), conveyed the following while navigating around his speech impediment:

 But if they didn't understand or frankly refused to even acknowledge the question, then still holds out the held up the cloak to the spokesperson and says just in common, "Woomworer were'm humam." He shakes his head, then pats his chest. "He hafing. Kim. He responsibeh for elf moses a way bam." He adds, gesturing behind himself, and as need be going forward, doing the same for other words to help better convey his meaning.

"Friem here say be'er. 'spain be'er afer. Bum, uhm... Moam.. *sighs*... He mo more. Elf woses avemge, so you mow. We cam only gif 'mass pomession. You mo wot you wimm wit it. Burm. Unwavem. Curm. Whaeva you wim." There's a pause on Doozey's part as he works himself to conclude things on a more solemn note, "If mo emuff, 'em... I pay in pwace of kim. Face pumishmem in his pwace. Only beg brief beway to answer Kimg Wimhorm requem for aumience." By the end Doozey is sweating, not from nervousness or fear, but just the exertion of trying to convey his thoughts in some sensible matter. And while the thought occurred to him to simply write things down and have Denae or the others speak on his behalf. But by the determined set to his face throughout much of the explanation, the halfling seemed unable or unwilling to stop, let alone even consider the notion. But after all is said and done, Biscuit places a comforting paw on the halfling's shoulder, before looking up pleading at the elves. 

-Persuasion: 28.(28) 
(If needed, and if at advantage or disadvantage for whatever reason, here's the second roll: 26)(26)

With the elves considering the conversation about the villagers completed, and with no other topic being immediately broached, Doozey takes it upon himself to try to communicate the importance of their visit. The spoken delivery is difficult, as the halfling is still getting used to his new way of talking. The change between Sylvan and Common works well for some ideas and sentences, but not necessarily for all. Doozey sees some elven faces dismiss his arguments simply based on impatience, confusion, and likely misunderstanding.

Nonetheless, even at a disadvantage, some ideas get through to the one elf that has been taking the helm in this conversation. In stark contrast with Doozey's multi-sentence approach, the still unnamed elf keeps his response brief, if not curt: "An audience with Lord Witchthorn? Are you the Redfoot?"  

Neya keeps tabs on the elves' collective demeanor.

Insight: 14

Doozey is visibly taken aback, but swiftly recovered enough to slowly nod in answer. "Aye, I be. But, why be-..." He stops as if struck by an epiphany. "You are hiss vazzazes, yea? His, uhm.... Cimizens, er, bah! You gim my meaming wem emuff." The halfling waves a hands dismissively. Upon hearing the note of hope in Doozey's words mid-way, Biscuit stood up and began "Boofing" and "Barking" and wagging his tail excitedly until a chiding growl from Doozey instilled reluctant calm in the beast. 

@Neya:

The elf's demeanor changes abruptly. "Lord Witchthorn told us you'd come."

Denae finishes confirming something in the background and interrupts: "A portal to the Feywild. Less than a half a mile away." She points into the woods beyond the lines of elves. "That way."

The elf speaks up again, after giving Denae a confused look. "How would you know... That is not important now. He has been waiting for you. He'll want to hear of the fate of the other Redfoot."

Weapons are fully lowered now. "Come, follow us into the woods. You shall have your audience."

(OOC: Does the party follow?)

Utar moves to follow.  A little sheepish that his attempt to help Neya nearly led to a all out escalation in tensions between the party and the elves.

"Oh.... well, uhm.... Mm!" Doozey had to do some scrambling to put away the cloak once more, as he didn't want to keep the elves waiting overlong. But with that settled and following a final glance and nod to the rest of the party, the stoutling moved to follow after the elves alongside Biscuit. Though seeing the sheepish look in Utar, Doozey springs onto the back of the Mastiff just to pat his Orc-blooded companion on the shoulder in a comforting gesture before its back to walking on his own two legs again.

Neya also follows. Curiosity getting the better of caution 

You follow the elves across the clearing, soon reaching the end of the open space. Walking beyond all the wooden staircases leading upward, you instead move straight onward into the deep green once more, where the air seems to hum with unseen magic. The trees, tall and ancient, shimmer faintly with colors that wouldn't normally belong in a arboreal world. Leaves turn from emerald green to deep violet, before turning back into an orange hue that wants to turn blue instead. Soft, glowing orbs float lazily above the path, casting an ethereal light that dance across your faces. As you walk deeper into the forest, the trail beneath your feet begins to shift. Roots move like lazy serpents, strange whispers drift on the breeze, and the air is thick with the scent of flowers that bloomed unseen.

Soon, the colorful wonders surrounding you take a turn into the eerie. Light seems to fade upon crossing some mystical threshold. The trees turn even taller, becoming gnarled and sporting twisted branches that cast long, skeletal shadows on the forest floor. The air turns thick with a damp, earthy smell, and an unsettling silence hangs around you. It is among these tall, gnarled trees that you spot a congregation of sorts. Where there were only shadows a moment ago, you now notice a multitude of strange creature looming just beyond the edges of your vision. They turn to pay attention to your approach. The elves leading you into this somber court turn to join the figures as you continue down the natural hallway formed by only the slightest gap allowed by the tall dark trees enclosing this space. It is hard to tell exactly when it happened, but you have no doubt you have crossed into the Feywild.

Sitting in a throne of bramble, a tall fey creature of golden constitution and dark green leaves for hair awaits you. Thorns grow out of his shoulder and tree-branch-like horns sprout from his temples. He wears nothing but a blood red fabric covering the lower half of his body, seemingly intertwining with the leaves that serve as his hair. The fabric turns to old, heavy moss at about knee-height. Powerful, ancient magic flows from the Feylord's hands, flaking off at elbow-height like leaves floating in the wind. He holds a long wooden staff that bifurcates at the tip into two claw-like green thorns. You have met this Feylord before, but only briefly and in the throes of battle. This is Lord Witchthorn.

"Welcome to my court," he says in Common in a polite gesture toward his visitors. "It took you long to accept my invitation, but I never doubted your arrival." The towering but dreadful trees overwhelming the surroundings seem to quiver when exposed to the Feylord's voice. "The Quivering Forest welcomes you. What news do you bring?"

Despite all of his learnings on the subject of the Fey, never once had Doozey crossed into their realm. At least not in any conscious memory in his current possession. Both he, and to a lesser extent Biscuit, expected the crossing to be more overt at that, or for at least from some noteworthy icon to be taken out at some point to signal the plunge. As the realization of what happened instead hits, Doozey slows in step with the intent of reexamine their surroundings and reflect. But then, his eyes fall upon the figure on the throne and suddenly idle curiosity is the least of his concern.

Without a second thought, Doozey all but knelt as he bowed to the feylord. "We are most gra'efu'." He says, before his head further. Beyond this the stoutling had been content -- nay, determined to stay quiet least his affliction sour the mood. Yet if any of his compatriots fail to or efuse to answer the Feylord's question, a grimace proceeds Doozey's attempt:

"The other Redfoot was put to rest?" Witchthorn considers that piece of information for a moment. "That is a pity. I thought I could goad him into coming to Greenhall by ignoring his requests, hotheaded as your clan is. It looks like he might have found a grave before finding me. Well, it is not ideal but it does make things... easier." The Feylord lets his fingertips tap his staff one at a time, as if counting the passage of time. "Tell me, how did he die? And why are you speaking with difficulty? I did not notice such impediment when we first met."

Once again, the tall trees in the surroundings move ever so slightly, shivering in reaction to the Feylord's voice.

Not quite knowing the correct ettiquette to follow, Utar drops to his knees and bows his head.  Deciding it best to spare Doozey the extra effort of answering the feylord again, Utar steps in.

"My lord, my companion speaks with difficulty due to the payment extracted by a certain Ms. Green in restoring the pact that exists between the denizens of the Quivering Forest and Phlan.  We understand she also put the other Redfoot to a permanent rest."

As quickly as Doozey's eyes went wide at the admission did they narrow soon afterwards. Though rather if this was a reaction in suspicion behind the meaning of the Feylord's words or bitterness and anger in hearing his kin made a misstep over fey nonsense is hard to say. But a moment later, he's bowing his head, closing his eyes, and sighing softly in reluctant acceptance.

"Wea-...." Doozey started to say; but, with Utar merciful timing, the half-spoken mush is swallowed back up. He goes on to listen with an air of relief about him. Yet soon enough, almost immediately within the first sentence spoken in fact, he's grimacing and subtly shaking his head. However, leery as he was in butchering a correction, Doozey looked up to the feylord to see how he took things.