These savages exploited the ardor of my compatriots, irked slightly by trusting the word of a previous adversary for potential profit. What ensured was the near death of my honor guard, both stricken painfully by the coordinated assault intended for them. Temptation lingered for that one death, lost in the fervor of battle and survival naturally. Some bickering with my opulent mouthed roughed feathers, nonetheless the fellow Eldakar in Siroin adopted the creature dubbing him red shirt… cannot recognize the joke in that one. Among the treasure was some rusted equipment and some peculiar ax. The Lore Warden jested by pushing the minion into my path, parrying it excellently. Learning of its rusting properties, I suppose my equipment was quite superb in such resistances.
Traveling closer to the Wizard tower left me astonished at the sight of more of the winged harlots tailing us. This disturbed my sleep heavily, keeping myself on guard during those restless nights. My stability mattered little for a temporary problem in this magi. Yawning profusely, we were swooped upon by an unknown. Could they just bother a more wakeful group?