"HA! that will teach them!" exclaims Thurston tapping his hand into Adien's shoulder. "I am not tired... but I would rather spent the night... other ways than smashing gnolls skulls... And you know what bother me most?" he says looking around "That now we have to move our camp and find another spot. This one is ruined by the stench of burnt fur... "

“Well, that was easy,” Vark remarks as he watches the remnants of the aspiring marauders flee through the fire and flames. Shit, the flames. Though Vark had no qualms about collateral damage from his destructive combination of elemental and infernal magic, but he had no intentions of letting a forest fire rage on as a result of his self defense. His wards dissipate as he runs forward, going from battle mage to firefighter in an instant. His incantations now are soft whispers in the primordial tongue, coaxing cool rain from the sky above him to douse the burgeoning inferno.

The heavy raindrops hiss upon contact with the flames, steam rising as the fire is gradually subdued. Once the immediate threat of the fire has been neutralised, the Acharnost regroup and secure their position.

The remainder of the night passes without further incident. The forest, though scarred by the recent battle, settles into an uneasy silence and the usual nocturnal sounds gradually return, as if to reclaim the night from the chaos that had briefly disturbed it.

Once the first light of dawn filters through the canopy, the Acharnost prepare to continue their journey. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and lingering smoke.

The morning sun breaks tentatively through the dense canopy of the Wentwood, casting fractured rays of light onto the forest floor. Despite the sunlight’s attempt to brighten the path, shadows loom heavily around the Acharnost. The twisted branches above seem to conspire against the warmth of the day. The air is heavy with the smell of damp earth and pine needles and the occasional gust of wind carries an unsettling hint of decay.

The six companions march on in quiet resolve, their pace steady as they navigate the uneven trail. As the day wears on, the forest grows more oppressive. The undergrowth thickens and the faint sounds of the forest became unsettlingly distant, replaced by a disquieting hush. Occasionally, the wagon rolls past other signs of the gnoll presence — shredded bark, claw marks on the trees and crude fetishes hanging from the branches.

At midday, the travellers stop briefly by a shallow stream that winds through the forest. The water is cold and clear, its gentle babbling offering a rare moment of reprieve. The journey resumes and, by the time the moon begins to occlude the sun, its golden light barely penetrating the dense trees, everybody's nerves are frayed. They pass beneath an ancient, toppled oak whose gnarled roots form a natural archway and, as they walk through, Valaith's sharp eyes catch something: a faint trail of blood leading into the deeper woods.

Valaith stops as her keen eyes pick up the blood. "Hold. Blood here." She kneels down and puts her nose close to the sticky blood, taking a deep whiff to see if she can determine the type of creature this blood originated from, but could not determine anything specific about it. She shakes her head as she looks to the others. "Keep going or follow the trail?"

Vark looks up from brushing Touvoa’s mane as she sips the cold water. “Xej and I could scout along and check it out.” he offers, glancing towards the half elf.

Xej looks up in surprise, he had not felt particularly included in the plans up to this point and blood was hardly his specialty. He smiles though, "of course, perhaps someone needs our help. Maybe one of the gnolls from last night!"

Vark chuckles and grins, thinking Xej must be joking about the potential of helping one of the horrid creatures. “Alright then, let’s do it.” Vark whispers a word to the breeze around him and his form dissipates like smoke. Then he begins to creep along the bloody trail, keeping as quiet as he can.

Xej smiles and disappears into the bushes beside Vark. Though he can't see the halforc, keeping track of where he is poses no problem. He whispers, "You know, being invisible is only so much use in the woods, you must avoid the branches and the thick leaves or you paint a clear picture of yourself as well as you might just standing there openly."

Stumbling through the woods in the dark, Vark quickly loses track of the bloody trail and Xej's eyes are no better.

“Well, at this point I’m less concerned with being seen and more with finding this trail… I didn’t think it would be so hard to follow, gnolls are messy eaters, ya know?” With a sigh he gives up. “We should have had Val come.” Again he whispers to the wind, though this time the breeze carries the words to Val’s ears. 

“Hey Val, we need your help. We lost the trail.” as the spell is sent off, Vark reappears amidst the brush and gloom, a few feet from Xej.

Val chuckles as once again Vark's impatience has led him an awkward position. "They have lost the trail. Come, let us all follow it together to avoid become too split up." She says to the others as she begins to follow the trail of blood.

Lifting Rikkazarik's to his shoulder Thurston follows Val, trying to pierce the growing shadows around them.

"Soon we wouldn't be able to see a thing in this forest. Perhaps that's what happened to the previous owner of that blood... ambushed by some creature..." 

Val crouches besides the faint trail of blood and finds that the dark crimson splatter has dried against the damp forest floor, leading deeper into the oppressive thicket. She glances back at the rest of the Acharnost, before following the trail silently, her heavy steps muffled by the thick carpet of pine needles.

The forest seems to close in around the goliath as she moves forward. Gnarled branches claw at the sky, blocking out what little light remains and the scent of sap and damp earth mingles with something far less wholesome — the tang of iron and decay. The trail leads Val down a narrow, uneven slope, where twisted roots formed treacherous steps. Her boot crunches on a brittle twig, the sound echoing unnaturally through the heavy quiet.

Pushing through a tangle of thorny underbrush, Valaith emerges into a small, shadowy glade. In its centre lies the source of the blood trail — a mangled carcass. The quadruped has been savaged beyond recognition. Deep gashes mar its hide and chunks of flesh have been torn away. The ground around it is soaked with dark blood, the earth churned by violent struggle.

Spotting the fresh kill, Val immediately begins to look around the area for any signs of lingering predators. She holds a finger up to her lips before looking at Vark and pointing upward, hoping that he would understand her suggestion.

Vark nods, face grim as he comes upon the grisly sight beyond Val. As quietly as he can he mutters an incantation to lift him up off the ground. Carefully he drifts up into the still night air, twisting as he rises to scan the forest around them from a better vantage.

The air shimmers faintly around Vark and he drifts upward, his cloak rustling softly against the cool night air. The towering pines sway slightly below, their dark branches clawing at the sky. The grisly scene beneath him shrinks as he ascends, but the scent of blood lingers, sharp and acrid. The forest is a patchwork of silvery light and deep shadows, the gnarled limbs of ancient trees forming an eerie, twisted web.

Vark holds there for a moment, taking it in, before he again sends a whispered message down to Val “Don’t see anything.”

Val nods to Vark as she continues to scan the area, but likewise does not observe any threats around their small group. "We should return to the path... and stay away from anymore of these types of trails..." She takes a moment to ponder, trying to sort of the series of events that led to this moment from the trail.

While the others investigate, Thurston feels an urge that cannot be denied much more. He has been feeling it for some time now and, this stop, makes it imperative to attend. 

He leaves the path, making his way across the bushes and find a tree to walk behind it, where he could be hidden from the track his companions are, or are returning after looking for troubles. 

He manipulates his armor and his pants and finally, with a sight of relief, he answers nature's call, making sure not to hit the trunk of the tree so no splashes got to his armor. 

"Loki's horns... too much mead last night " he mumbles to himself.