Moments later, Vark hears Lúthedir's voice echo in his own mind.

"I do possess knowledge of the sisters, but first you must do something for me. Bring three strands of Lelfaer’s hair to Ambaróna market place."

“Oh? Uhm... well that’s weird. He said he can help us but... he wants us to bring three strands of Lelfaer’s hair to the Ambaróna market.” Vark relays the information, clearly confused by the strange request. Once again his fingers dance over the runestone as he speaks to Lúthedir once more. “We can maybe do that. May I ask why you want her hair?”

There is a pause as Vark seems to receive a response from Lúthedir, but this time the warlock offers no recounting. Color drains from his face and his eyes are distant. As he processes whatever information he’s just been given, the faintest hum of static can be heard building along with his apparent tension. Before anyone can ask what is wrong, he casts the spell once more. “We haven’t... we haven’t been. I- we got... entangled before we knew who he was. We’re gonna learn more and we’re going to stop him.”

There is another pause as Vark listens to the man on the other end of the magical line. His shoulders slump, indicating the end of the message, and he looks shakily around at the others gathered. “Uhm... so y-yeah... he... he didn’t really explain the hair thing... I don’t know, it seems weird. We should probably talk to Lelfaer about it anyway if we’re gonna try and get it, maybe she knows what he’d need it for and she’d be okay with it. But... uhm... he also uhm... he knows...” there is a longer than normal pause as Vark painfully considers his next words. “He knows about my connection to Matthew.” His voice breaks slightly as he reveals this. “He called him the Lord of Hell. I...” Again words fail him, and now Vark must fight back tears of frustration as they threaten to well up in his storm-grey eyes. “I think we have to talk to him. He clearly knows a lot. I just... I just wish getting information wasn’t so difficult.” There’s a tense sigh as Vark reigns in his emotions and looks to his friends for guidance.

Aiden looks at Thurston. "I always thought Helheim was cold, not fiery." He turns back to Vark. "But if this man seems to have information, let's get him what he needs."

Bründir gives a frustrated sigh, "Easy answers, for once. Is it too much? Let's go get what he wants. Hopefully we won't get dragged out in chains."

"I guess there are different types of hells " Thurston replies to Aiden "One more appropriate to each culture I guess... as none of them goes to Valhalla but to their own paradises... " he seems to meditate a little bit on this while the others talk. 

"Don't you worry Vark " he tries to reassure the young half-orc "he will share his knowledge with us... either with hairs or no hairs. I don't like it. " he says to others " nothing is so... simple. Some kind of... " he winks at Aiden " witchcraft is going to be involved with these hairs... you all mark my words friends. "

"For once," Aiden says, laughing a little to himself, "I agree. Hair can be used in spell -- er -- witchcraft. Elven hair probably all the better, though I don't know that for certain."

Three days pass while the Acharnost await the arrival of the promised craftsmen from Khaz a Grungron. The time is filled with training and preparation, both for themselves and the villagers who have come to rely on their leadership. Finally, on Sunday afternoon, the Dwarven convoy comes down the High Road to the western edge of the village. Their beasts are heavily laden with tools and building materials and, of course, Jex is waiting to meet them and make arrangements for the work to be done in the weeks to come.

The next morning the six companions rise early, ready for the five day long march west down from the mountains to Eldren forest. The route has been more frequently travelled in recent times, not only by the Acharnost themselves, but also by the cavalry sent by Lady Lelfaer and Sheercleft's own patrols that Bründir and Thurston have organised and, on occasion, led personally. It seems that these efforts have not been in vain, for the journey is remarkably peaceful, the only casualty being Thurston's supply of mead.

It is the evening of Friggsday the 26th of Silvan when Jex's wagon finally pulls into the familiar grove beneath Hyarantar's wooden halls.

"All this time, and all we've done fer'em, and they still don' have an easy way t'lift yer wagon, Jex." Bründir stares up, marvelling at the city so detached from firmament of stone and soil.

Vark spends nearly the entirety of his time in Sheercleft with Seid in the study. The half-orc's fondness for the wizard has always been apparent, but a deepening connection between them shows up more and more each time they rejoin the group after a long night of intensive studying. On their last morning together as the Acharnost set out to leave once again, Vark wraps Seid in a tight embrace. He buries his face into the crook of the man's neck and whispers something to him. They hold here for a moment, a tender portrait in the warm light of dawn, before Vark pulls back. They say one last goodbye, their hands lingering in each other's, and then Vark is off with the others towards the verdant forest of the elves.

 As the party finally sets foot in Hyarantar, Vark turns to his companions. "Uhm... should we just go straight to Lelfaer?"

Aiden, who is marveling at the elven city's architecture, barely catches the half-orc's question. 

"Uh, yes," he stammers, and returns his gaze to the street in front of them. "Do you plan to just ask the lady for her hair?"

"Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission in my experience." 

Jex chuckles as he steps off of his wagon. "What do you want her hair for though?"

"Permission costs coins an' favors. Forgiveness costs hands an' eyes." Bründir gives a hopeless shrug, "No good way t'say 'I need some of yer hair fer reasons I don' know fer someone I also don' know, but trust me I've got a good reason'."

“Yeah it’s... kind of a weird request. But maybe she would have an idea about why he wants it, or maybe she’ll be willing if she knows we need it to help us take down the witches.” Vark casts a nervous glance in the direction of the baroness’ abode.

"Wait, who wants her hair? This doesn't sound like an honest request." Jex looks seriously at the others "Why are we getting into another deal that's more complicated than it need be?"

Vark sighs and explains that their best source of information on the sisters, Lúthedir, wants three of Leflaer’s hairs in exchange for telling the group about the Morrigan and their lair. “He wouldn’t say why he wanted it. Maybe he just has a crush on her... I don’t know, maybe it isn’t worth it? I wouldn’t want to put Lelfaer in danger somehow.”

Aiden frowns. "It may be best to just be honest with Lelfaer. Perhaps she can help us somehow."

"Or..." Jex reaches over and plucks a hair from the rump of one of his boars, holding it up to inspect carefully.

"Well, perhaps not this one, but you get the idea, how will he know it's hers? Let's go pull a hair off of a cloak for him up in the tavern."

He steps in a circle a moment.

"Imagine the chaos he may cause, if the leader of such an important town falls in love with him, or under a curse. Even if the lady agrees, it could once again disrupt trade in the valley and hurt us all. A random lonely elf from the tavern though..." He shrugs. "Much less important."

Vark nods. “That could maybe work. Either way yeah...  we should talk to Lelfaer first.” With another nod, he begins to lead the group towards the baroness’ hall.