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Sheets of rain coursed down in a way that Illario couldn't help but take personally. He was soaked so thoroughly that one might assume that he could ignore the water dripping from his hair, into the collar of his shirt and down his back. Instead, he hunched uncomfortably as he picked his way through the brush, trying to remember the meager directions that Bellara had provided before sending him out into the nearby forest to search for firewood.
Summer in southern Antiva was dry, warm, and encouraged one to spend a large part of the day lounging with good company in cool, shaded comfort. Slow days with a lot of time for wine, food, and nights under the stars. When Neve and Bellara had suggested a trip to one of the beaches bordering the calmer areas of Arlathan Forest, that was what he was expecting to find. Good weather. Relaxation. Apparently in this part of the north, the weather alternated between damp and uncomfortable, damp and ragingly hot, and raining like the Maker felt that you, in particular, could be a bit cleaner. Not at all what he had in mind.
Still, as miserable as he was, it was at the very least a different kind of misery than sitting with nothing to do in his family's home.
"Blood of the Maker!" Illario cursed as his foot banged against a dense root unexpectedly. He stopped to prod the offending tree with his foot, and realized that it was actually just a large branch laying across his poorly lit path. It had a good heft as he lifted it, and importantly, none of the purple, green, or orange fungus that Bellara had warned them all about. Looking around, he could dimly see several other promising branches as the path wound further into the trees.
Picking through the brush and trail, Illario reflected that when Rook had asked if he 'wanted to get out of the house' he maybe should have asked more questions. Questions like, "Is there another house where I'm going?" or "Am I going to have to sleep on the ground?" sprung immediately to mind. He had slept in all manner of uncomfortable places, in bad conditions, but it was with the knowledge that he was going to get to kill at least one person at the end of it and get paid handsomely.
Several moments later, with only a moderate addition of mud to his person, Illario had collected a full armful of branches. Finding his way back to the campsite was easier than entering the forest, but still took him a decent amount of time. He didn't bother disguising his passage, and was clearly anticipated by the time he broke into the clearing.
"About time," Davrin groused at him from near the campfire where he was busily feeding a very small flame some of the better materials they had brought with them. Overhead, Neve was maintaining a small shield to give him a better chance, but from the pinched look around her eyes, Illario assumed that wouldn't last much longer. Assan, the Warden's griffon, hunched as closely to the two as possible, and might have been the only person there more miserable looking than he was.
"Oh nice! You got a lot! Let me take a look," Bellara ducked out of a half-erected tent and started inspecting the armful of wood, making increasingly excited noises as she went. Illario crossed his arms and watched impatiently, not quite understanding what could be that fascinating about some wet firewood.
"Well?" Irritation bled into his tone, and he was wet, dirty, and miserable enough that he didn't care. He sidled close enough to take advantage of the small shield from the rain. "Can we start burning that so we can get warm and give Neve a break?"
"Burn it?" Bellara looked at Illario with confusion. "Oh, no. We'd all die if we burn this. It's incredibly poisonous. It is really fascinating though."
Neve and Davrin groaned, and Illario echoed the sentiment.
"Bellara, just how poisonous are we talking here?" he asked, spreading his gloved hands. "Do I need new gloves? Should I already be asking Viago if he can save my life? Or can I save this up as an anecdote when the man needs a new poison to occupy his time?"
"Do you have any splinters?"
"No," Illario groused, eyeing his gloves. "I didn't touch them with bare skin."
"You're probably fine," Bellara shrugged, carefully setting down the piece she had been examining. "It's raining, and you didn't eat any. I mean, I assume you didn't eat any. You found it in the forest? Would you be able to show me? Strife has us mark down very carefully wherever we see the trees that drop these branches."
"Bels, no offense," Neve interjected, cutting off Illario's biting reply. "But can we go find the death tree after we get a good fire going? I'd love to be able to dry off sometime tonight."
"Nooo… it's probably good that we do this now," Bellara looked a little sheepish. "Those trees, well. They hunt people. If we don't find it tonight, it won't be safe to stay here."
"Wait, there are trees in Arlathan that hunt people?" Davrin asked, a gleam in his eye. "I've encountered Sylvans before. They're very territorial, but won't go out of their way to track anyone down."
"Oh, no, nothing like Sylvans. No faces. It's just a big hungry, poisonous tree that kills people and uses their bodies to make more trees," Bellara responded conversationally as she started to put on and settle her gear. "They move a lot faster than you'd think."
"Is that all?" Neve asked, dismissing the shield and dousing Davrin, Assan, and Illario who started to swear under his breath. "Can't have that monster roaming around."
"Alright, let's do this," Davrin rolled his eyes at Neve as he stood and patted Assan's flank. "What about you, Crow? Willing to take a cheap contract on a murder tree?"
"What's my payment?"
"You're not responsible for the firewood anymore."
"Contract accepted," Illario laughed, despite the rain. Camping might be miserable, but least he was going to get to kill something.