Immersive Ink

Alrik follows, trailing behind.

Phadian

I follow along with lantern and staff in hand.

Urist sees Squishy stop for a moment then wag his tail and give playful bark before going forward into he shadows. Urist is certain he heard a voice of some sort. Who might that be?

"That fool dog," grumbles Urist.

"Friend or Foe?" the Dwarf calls into the darkness.

From somewhere amongst the rocks and darkness into which Squishy has just padded happily comes a woman's voice:

"I might ask the same of you. Who are you and whither art thou come to Tor-Xonor?"

Phadian

"To be honest I do not even recall why we came in the first place, but we lost a friend and that has angered me. So now we stay to rid this place of its curse and any evil that inhabits it. Show yourself and declare plainly if you are friend or foe, beyond all hope we wish it to be our friend."

"Tor-Xonor claims many. It is fell. It is a knave's command to send people hence and a fool's errand to come freely. Tell me of the friend you lost."

From the shadows ahead a female figure begins to emerge, Squishy playing happily around her feet. A bow is discernible in her hand but no arrow is set upon its string. Currently.

Urist hear the charismatic words of Phadian (cha 15 vs 8) and resolves to keep his mouth shut (and his hand on his warhammer). Squishy seems happy, perhaps it is our lost Elf after all? he speculates to himself.

Rhegaer stands quietly, the beginnings of something like impatience starting to show on his face.

Suddenly his stomach growls so loudly that Squishy turns and looks at him.

"Come out from the shadows, woman, and join us for a meal if you want. I'm hungry."

Feeling no threat from the newcomer, Rhegaer removes his pack and retrieves some trail rations from it before sitting down on a rock to eat.

And cautiously, gracefully, out of the shadows she comes.

Do some of our company of adventurers eyes widen? Does their breath catch? For in truth, the face of the woman approaching is near identical to that of the mysterious Elf they buried so short a time before!

But as she draws nearer they see there are differences. Her hair is dark where the other's was silver-blonde. Where the dead Elf's eyes were green, this girl's are a deep, entrancing blue.

But, with bow in hand, sword at side, shield across her back and clad in leather greaves, bracers and breastplate, the one thing that appears plain about her is that she is a warrior.

She stands, ruffling Squishy's ears, surveying the party evenly with her cool, blue gaze.

"I am Faeraidel - Scout-Verderer unto the Knights of the Dragon. I ask again: Who are you?"