"Hmm..." The Lord takes a moment to internalize Utar's words and Doozey's reaction. "So both Redfoots (Redfeet?) favored a deal with the old hag over an audience with me. Brave of you to share that so openly." Witchthorn then raises his staff. "Before we continue, let's us parley without being bothered by that witch's tricks, shall we?"

Witchthorn ever so slightly and gently swings his staff in CRAP's direction, releasing spores into the air. You can't help but breath them in and immediately feel your brainwaves be slightly altered.

-> The party, and potentially others, are now under a magic effect that resembles that of the Rary's Telepathic Bond spell. You can communicate telepathically for the next hour, and while within the Feywild.

Ignoring Utar's prompt about the deal between the forest and Phlan, Witchthorn speaks in your minds: "With your kin now dead, I am afraid your clan's debt falls on you alone, Doozey Redfoot. What do you know of your clan's oath bond?"

Utar catches himself before he can launch into the whole story. Havlin, the villagers, Seranolla, the hag herself...

It not being so much being a preference of theirs to deal with Jeny o' the Woods over Lord Witchthorn and no slight was meant, more the need to fetch the villagers home quickly, and their knowledge that at least one found her, because of the no eyes or tongue thing, and since their parley they found another two and got them safely home. Plus the elves at Greenhall weren't the friendliest bunch when they met them before and they said they hadn't met Halvin but they had seen some of the villagers had chased them off and the poor fools had likely killed by forest creatures and those same elves tried to do the same to them. 

Suddenly realising his thoughts have been running together, Utar hopes he hasn't mind blurted everything to Lord Witchthorn because he has no idea about Clan Redfoot or their oath bond and actually it would be good to know about that.

Neya has been curious about the archfey's (and other factions') interest in the Redfoot clan. Outside of their tangential connection to lycanthropy, she knows very little of them.

If at any point Utar's thoughts ran so much amok as to bleed into the link, a much less reticent Doozey immediately shoots the half-orc a hard look and demand via the bond: "Utar. Focus! Please. What's done is done, and we need to focus on the present. At least-" Doozey then would turn his gaze to Lord Witchtorn and add in a more solemn tone: "Mostly..."

But even without such a distraction to delay answering the Feylord, Doozey would yet lower his gaze and in time even growl a bit in frustration in pondering the question, before then eventually giving up in a curt shake of the head. "Unfortunately, even with this trinket bolstering my mind-" He gestures to the bandana firmly wrapped about his head. "-I can't recall much of any oath. At least nothing that I'd blindly trust, as I was bit too young to really learn of such things before... well... Before the end came upon most the clan that apparently left the Feywild -- Which I have many a questions about, but, eh... It would be best time is not wasted on such dalliances, hm? So, uhm... If you would be so kind as to furbish the details of that Oath, that would be most appreciated... Even if I might soon come to regret the knowing." He flashes a weak grin before his countenance fell into a more serious one. 

It's at this point had Lord Witchthorn's magic extended to Biscuit, enhanced as he was by primal bonds, the mastiff cheerily broadcasts through the link, "Oi! What's all dis den, Bruv? You get yer tongue back without me knowing? Fookin weeeyyy! Got one on dat old cow, eh?! Serves 'e Git right getting one on me boy!" Doozey sputters and blushes as he frantically looks between Biscuit and Lord Witchthorn, before uselessly trying to cover the Mastiff's mouth and "Shh! Shh!" him. "Oi oi oi! Watch the nose now, Bruv! You know how senstive it can get! Already hard enough maintaining me old handsome physique without ending up in a sneezing fit like dem wooly prats hanging out in'em fields all casual like." Biscuit adds along with a few outward "Boofs!" after shaking and backing out of reach of Doozey. "Oi! So what's this bout some oath? Is it bout, eh, four seasons one? Or we talk'n more 'bout, ehh, one 'bout Sticks and Bones and Stoney homes?" 

(OOC: D'awww, I just had to get this post number. Rip)

Lord Witchtorn looks at Utar as his thoughts go wild. His yellow eyes squint but it is otherwise hard to tell whether the Feylord heard the half-orc's words through the mind link. If he has, he saves that information for later, preferring to focus on the current topic of the Redfoots. "Much better..." is all Witchthorn manages to say after Doozey confesses knowing little of the oath bond but before Biscuit let's his own thoughts run wild. Should he not be a a fey of high station, Withcthorn might have inadvertently let his jaw drop at hearing the mastiff's thoughts. "Hmmm... A mistake to include the beast. Control it so we can converse in a proper manner."

Assuming Biscuit stops rambling for a moment, Lord Withcthorn continues: "Your clan left their ancestral home. Surely, by now, you have learned that this original homeland is located here in my very own Quivering Forest. But more importantly, have you ever asked yourself why your clan left my domain? Along with other clans of the forest, your people swore an oath bond to me and, yet, the Redfoot was the only clan to leave, to seek homestead elsewhere, to abandon the Feywild in favor of the Material Plane. Leaving the protection of a Feylord and the wonders of the Feywild for a life of suffering in the Material Plane... such decision surely did not come lightly. Were they seeking something? Was it wanderlust? No, my dearest Redfoot, they were running. They were afraid. Something scared them enough that betraying their oath to me seemed like a wise choice. So, Doozey Redfoot, as the last of your clan, it falls to you to see the oath to its completion. Luckily, you have already proven yourself to be much braver than the rest of your clan, for whether you know or not, you have already come close to completing their mission once."

At this point, Witchthorn sits on his throne once more, seemingly tired or bored of standing since your arrival. "Claugiyliamatar is a very old dragon. It has accumulated many enemies over her brutal life. Ever since the dragon begun attempting to encroach on my domain, I have counted myself in her long list of foes. Many a battle have I waged against Old Gnawbones, but our power has ever been evenly matched. My court alone cannot defeat her. Her followers alone cannot defeat me. Under the scope of the agreement with Phaln, Lord Valero Brokengulf created the opportunity that brought me the closest I have ever been to defeating the dragon once and for all. But the dragon had accumulated many allies of her own, and the battle ended in a familiar outcome." He looks at Utar, Neya, and Doozey: "You were there. I need not recount the details."

Raising an arm to gesture towards the many shadows sitting at the sidelines, he monologues on: "That was the closest battle yet, but not the first. My court and I had other opportunities in the past. In many of those, the halfings that called the Feywild home joined the fight as my subjects. Oath-bound to serve me and defeat my enemies. Oath-bound to kill Claugiyliamatar. Fierce and brave they were. Well... most of them." His eyes linger on Doozey now. "Your clan abandoned their post. Ran from the fight. Escaped into the Material Plane. But, here you are now. Back home. Back where you belong: in service to me. Your mission is simple, Doozey Redfoot. Kill Claugiyliamatar and redeem your clan."

Witchthorn's voice raises in volume, becomes more powerful, reverberates all around your minds and the surroundings alike. The trees surrounding his court quiver intensely, showing why the forest is named as it is. Both of his hands are raised now, motioning past the shadows and to the tall, eerie, quivering trees directly: "Wash away the Redfoot cowardice, or join what remains of the other clans feeding from the same soil you once called home!"

@All: If you think your character would have had a chance to study the Fey at some point, feel free to give me a history check. Doozey certainly has, but others may have as well. For Doozey, Hunter's Bane applies. 

Utar's eyes go wide at finding out the scale of oath bond the Redfoot clan swore in the dim and distant past.  Killing a dragon is no small task, an adult dragon another and one of Old Gnawbone's age is something else again, although Lord Witchthorn is correct; they have come close in the past.  Although it took the power of Lord Witchthorn's court and Lord Brokengulf's armies, with some additonal allies they might be able to win the day the next time they clash.

"'It'?! Me names Biscuit ya foo--" Biscuit to start to say before Doozey sharply interjects: "Biscuit! Enough! Aright? You keep this up, and it'll be no more seconds for ya for a month!" Hearing this, Biscuit looks so taken aback that even the primal glamour that made him look mostly like a typical tundra mastiff is shed in the moment. "Aww Come on, Bruv. That's just cruel and-" He starts to add, but abruptly stops seeing Doozey raise his brow as if daring the beast to continue complaining. Biscuit then whimpers as he lays down with paws over snout and leaf-like ears flopping over his eyes.

With that, Doozey turned and regarded Lord Witchthorn with an apologetic look in his eyes, before seemingly bracing himself in anticipation of hearing bad news. What he hears next is something the stoutling visibly looked as if he couldn't fully believe at first, let alone accept! The Redfoots he knew were no cowards! While not exactly battle maniacs or proud warriors in an orcish sense, he'd seen and heard of plenty of brave moments in which kith and kin, when cleverness alone would not win the day, freely put their martial and magical abilities to the test to overcome many a foe in defense of kith and kin and then some at times alongside their bonded beasts(most of which being mastiffs and the occasional giant badger)! And though Doozey and his mother personally favored Big Mama Yondalla, mother of the Hin, and Cranky Old Uncle Urogalan, protector of souls, it was a largely held belief among the Redfoots of being favored by Uncle Arvoreen, the halfling god of War, Duty, and Vigilance.

So at some point he squinted just a touch at the Feylord and tried to carefully analyze his words. Lord Witchthorn had already tipped his hand a little in how he treated Halvin, after all. And given how he "coerced" Seranolla to act as some semi-eternal guardian as part of a bargain to deal with a threat he already NEEDED to deal with in the first place, Doozey didn't exactly see the Feylord in much of a favorable light after the first few minutes of actually meeting him.

-Insight: 24.

... And yet, even if he could somehow discern some half-truth or blatant lie in the Feylord's explanation, a troubling thought nagged at the back of Doozey's mind. Was it really just wanderlust that got the better of the clan? For having in his journey met plenty of other halflings and their clans, for an entire one to be infected with the desire to uproot themselves and see the world was... strange, to say the least. And there was still the matter of the beast -- the monster that had killed so many all at once. Was the creature somehow connected to old Gnawbones taking advantage of their situation? Was it perhaps a byproduct of the oath being broken? Or was it simply Bashaba's ill will simply overcoming them in the end?

For better or for worse, Doozey's thoughts aren't able to truly run amok beyond the confines of his own head when Witchthorn's voice rattles the world, leaving the halfling clutching at his head. "That's a taller order than expected, but not one I'm of a mind to shirk... assuming I'd even be allowed to at this point. But if'n yer a mind to extend one bit of kindness, uhm... what exactly do you mean by the other clans feeding from the same soil'? Do you mean like Ms. Seranolla's current situation?"

-History: 9.

For a moment, it looks like Utar is going to speak next. The Feylord turns to face the half-orc but it soon becomes clear that the cleric is keeping his next thoughts to himself. This brief pause in the conversation gives Doozey time to consider Witchthorn himself.

@Doozey:

Doozey extends his analysis of the situation to recall more aspects of fey society that might be at play here. He recalls from his studies that swearing oaths is a practice favored by powerful fey entities known as Verdant Princes, usually cruel and tyrannical fey who live only to fulfill their own desires. They possess an unique fondness for making bargains through binding oaths. Called an oath bond, this magical binding comes with a heavy penalty when broken. If one party brakes the oath, then the wronged one is instantly aware of the oath-breaker's distance and direction, and the oath-breaker would be sickened or weakened in some way. Only powerful magical effects could break an oath bond, as well as death, or the completion of a specific task detailed in the original bargain. The wronged party would be aware that the oath was ended. With this recollection, Doozey then realizes that, if his clan broke the oath, the Feylord must have been aware of their exact location all along. 

Witchthorn responds, pointing to the quivering trees: "Are you telling me that you do not recognize your kin from other clans?" He then gestures toward the soil: "That you do not recognize you homeland?" His hand then joins the other in gripping his staff. "Somebody had to pay for your clan's betrayal."

The consequences of the actions of Redfoots past was quite a revelation to Neya. But she can only imagine what that means for Doozey.

Doozey went wide at the revelation before he looked about at the various trees, and subconsciously took a step back or two as the full weight of Witchthorn's reliation against the clans. All because his closest kin had decided to leave without them? "Hold on 'eir, guv. Ya tell'n us most of'em trees shaking about are...... Ffffoookin ey man! Bit much, innit?" Asks Biscuit of Witchthorn, incidentally shaking Doozey from another downward spiral in the process.

"Be that as it ma yor not be, Biscuit, it's not our place to judge. But, uh..." Doozey looks from Biscuit over to Witchthorn. "Once the dragon is dealt with one way or the other, you will return them to their halfling state, yea?"

Witchthorn can see the surprise in Neya's and Doozey's faces before any responses are uttered, including Biscuit's, which is promptly ignored by the Feylord. He is clearly enjoying having the upper hand in this conversation, and seeing the shattered looks in the CRAPers' expressions. "Hmm... Perhaps. Whether you succeed in bringing down the dragon or not, it doesn't change the fact that the Redfoots betrayed me. The betrayal will always taint your clan, so perhaps the price of it should also be permanent." He points a long finger at Doozey and furthers his thought: "You should worry about yourself first, Last Redfoot. I have given you two choices: kill the dragon or join your distant kin as part of my Quivering Forest. Either way, the oath bond will be concluded then."

Denae finally asks a question: "And what if we die facing the dragon?"

He responds as if the answer was obvious: "Then the last Redfoot perishes at the hands of a great beast. It wouldn't be the first time, would it? And again, the bond would be broken at that point. My rivalry with Claugiyliamatar lives to see another day and new plans would be devised. If you die, not much changes, does it?"

If the Feylord expected to further sow dismay in the stoutling in flippantly making no assurances of restoring the other halflings, then he was to be disappointed on that front. Rather, not only had Doozey's expression turned cold, but Biscuit, despite the earlier display of power and other potential threats around, dared to at least weakly growl at the Feylord in response to the threat in time. Yet, if he's not punished first by the Feylord, it is Doozey that calms the beast nerve in placing a hand on his head. Though Biscuit would continue to glare at Witchthorn all the same.

"Perhaps. Or, perhaps not. Forgive the impertinent sounding tone in my few next words, your 'lordship', but I seem to recall that you weren't exactly in best state despite coming so close the last time ya tangled with the dragon. And if I had to guess, having proven yourself more than just a thorn in her side, she won't be making any future opportunities nearly as favorable... In fact, I think she might have been already taking a more proactive effort at that of late. Otherwise, why make a sentinel of Ms. Seranolla? Or why even bother giving me the choice between slaying the dragon or joining my kin, if you feel that 'betrayed' by the Redfoots?" Doozey ultimately asks with his expression taking a more playful nonchalance towards the end. And yet for a moment, there was a knowing look in his eyes as he mentioned the word betrayed.

But then following a shrug he continues: "Frankly speaking, having endured what I have, and having made the sacrifices that I did, at this point I'm far past the point of minding much my own fate. And while you can always sour the pot by setting your sights on the others with me and thensome, a useful instrument of vengeance to ya might dare to wager you'd be cutting off your nose just to spite that immaculate face of yours in needless antagonism. So, in the joint interest of assuring the upmost cooperative experience for all, can you really not make but two minor assurances? One being of course to revert the other clans to their halfling state once the deed is done, and naturally provide at barest minimum whatever support you can, to ensure old gnawbones bites it. I dare not be bold enough to say it would be the wisest decision. But why hedge bets if it means the removal of a less than comfortable neighbor from near your home? Especially one with the audacity to play challenger to your rightful rule of the forest."

-Persuasion: 22. (if needed)

Witchthorn sends a shadow from the sidelines at Biscuit. This is the mastiffs third strike. Whether the attack hits or not, it fulfills its purpose: a warning that the beast will be granted no more room to intervene or show disrespect.

-> Shadow Strike vs. Biscuit: Attack: 25 Damage: 13

Once the mastiff is properly warned, and the Feylord listens to Doozey's latest counteroffer, he grins widely and says with a tinge of satisfaction in his voice: "There they are... your fangs. So few of your people showed them when pushed into a corner. I'm glad to see you are among the exception. Good! Use your defiance against the dragon because, as you have noticed yourself, there is no real choice here. You can only go face the dragon. Unlike the others, you are not going to lay back and wait to be transformed into a tree, are you? So, let us both drop the veil and move on to an agreement. Create an opportunity and kill the dragon, fulfill your clan's oath, and be free of any debts owed to me. Agree to it now and I'll give you the assurance you seek: your people returned to their halfling forms."

Showing further signs that his patience is running dry, Witchthorn concedes to Doozey's arguments, albeit in his own, insult-laden way. "As for my help in battle, and unlike the Redfoots, I shall not run. The opportunity must be created however, for my aid to be executed. I don;t expect you to leave here and single-mindedly search for the dragon. You won't be able to find her that easily. Claugiyliamatar is too smart for that. Go on about your lives, train, get stronger and wiser if needed. Recruit allies. When the opportunity arises, or when you are ready to create it yourself, then you shall have my aid."

After a dramatic pause, he concludes: "Now, all you have to do is say yes."

Though Doozey had managed to power through with what he wanted to say following the harm brought to Biscuit, there was for the briefest of moments a tightening of the jaw from burgeoning anger. But beyond that, the stoutling hadn't dared so much as look to his whimpering and wounded brother. Sympathy had to be tempered, or so Doozey figured, least the Feylord feel prompted to make sure the third warning 'stuck' with Biscuit beyond just the meeting.

As for what followed his own counteroffer, Doozey continued to keep up the facade of confidence despite striking home in his own assessment of the stoutling's character. "Hmn. So long as they are returned immediately once the deed is done, I see no reason to dance around a yes. So... Yes, I agree -- though, I must ask how best might we reach you when the time comes? Mr. Utar here might have the means I think, but I'd wager such magics can be a bit on the fickle side when it comes to other planes."

Making it official:

-> Biscuit takes 11 psychic damage from the Shadow Strike.

The Feylord's answer is short, and accompanied by a hand gesture that suggests the audience is nearing its end: "Your talkative beast has tasted my shadows. I will know when the mastiff has approached the dragon."

"I see. How, uhm... fortuitous." If words through the bond could sound as if they were spoken through clenched teeth, Doozey certainly did so, if not indicated as much visible in the moment. "Then best we be off doing what we can and informing potential allies in the endeavor. As I understand it, time can get a wee bit, eh, funny in the feywild, and it would not do to give the dragon too many opportunities to muck things up on the other side." With that, Doozey stiffly bows to the feylord, but holds the pose until he either saw another gesture dismissing the group or until the timing seemed appropriate. 

If the others for various reasons seem hesitate to do the same however, he clears his throat and tries to subtly gesture for the others to do the same. Biscuit needed no such prompting, but looked every bit as reluctant to do so as the ranger, if albeit more from lingering hurts. 

(OOC: In case it was missed or if a bit unclear, Doozey had agreed in the previous post as well to the deal.)

Not wanting to be the reason for another sudden shadow strike, Denae watches Doozey and follows suit. She turns to see if Neya and Utar are also agreeing to the deal and mimicking the halfling's gesture.

If they do, the Feylord waves one last time in agreement and dismissal. A number of shadows leave the sidelines and join CRAP, taking the form of Greenhall elves once more. If CRAP is ready to leave, the elves will walk them back to the material plane.

Utar catches Danae's glance and follows suit into a a fairly stiff bow.  His eyes now fixed firmly on the floor, he hopes that Lord Witchthorn does not attempt to dismiss them with a gesture that he will now not see.

Neya also bows to Lord Witchthorn.