The silhouette of a hooded figure is visible against the morning sun, lingering on the doorstep, seemingly hesitant to enter. Then it silently steps into the amber-lit room. There are a few gasps and murmurs. This is no ordinary visitor. Piercing eyes from a green-skinned, mouthless face find you in an instant. She pulls back her hood and reveals, instead of hair, long vines growing from her head, entangled in an elaborate braid. An A'Dendri.

Greycane finally breaks the spell and motions her closer. "Heroes of Bastone," he says with a wink. "I would like to introduce you to a friend of mine. She has helped me find more than a few things since we have been here and what she lacks in words she makes up for in eyes." Turning to the A'Dendri, he makes swift hand motions in 'The Knock'. You know enough of it to communicate the basics, but find it hard to follow Greycane's rapid clicking, clapping, and gesturing. He seems to have a vast treasury of words in any language. The A'Dendri knocks in reply and you can discern she has an 'offer' she wants to bring before the 'leader with the hat'. From past interaction, you know this to mean the King.

Greycane takes over the translation, "She says word of the Mendicants has reached the Green Streets. The A'Dendri know what many in this city think of them. They are scorned and hated, yet this is their home too. They wish to help. She says if anyone can save the city now, it will be those in her homeland. They know more of the ways of nature than anyone. She is offering to take you to the fabled Wychwood." Taken aback you look more closely at the female. You know what it means for any A'Dendri to want to return to that place. Those that call the Green Streets home arrived as refugees from the Wychwood and although you do not know exactly what happened there, whatever it was, it was bad enough to risk the Deepwood to escape it.

No one has ever been to the Wychwood and returned to tell the tale, yet still tales have arisen. Its very name is a derivation of the word Witch, men with a belly full of ale concoct fabulous stories of its horrors. You have no wish to go there, yet everyone loses if the plague wins, and right now you are out of cards to play. You exchange knowing glances with each other. Ultimately, it won't be your decision, the King will need to hear this. Rising from the table to prepare to head to the palace, you ask what you are to call the A'Dendri and you get a single gesture in reply, "Guide".