IC - Village of Limm

Ognimir stands back as Rabban is sick. He doesn't scowl or show much empathy. Maybe his work as a Guardian has hardened him in a way.

It would be churlish of Quintus to argue with the skinny villager at this somber moment. He merely sketches half a bow and a limp flourish of one hand, as if to say, "As you will, sir." Then he turns away, and leads his stocky mountain horse after Damir's towards the village proper. Perhaps these Padwols will prove more informative than the field hands have been.

Ognimir hands the flute and harp over to Quintus.
"I'll do the first rounds, and meet you in the village after."
The thought of being cooped up in some village hovel, listening to the wails of peasants is too much for Ognimir. That's work best left for the new Guardian.

He climbs back on his horse, "I won't go too far-a-field, and I'll keep an eye out for archers."

Ognimir's first concern is to gauge the scope of the threat. Is this a single beast on the prowl or is this the first of a beast horde that warrants evacuation of Limm? Riding the perimeter is not a fun job, not a safe job, but it must be done. The chill of the tattoos on his arms grows along with his dread. The setting sun, despite its beauty, doesn't give Ognimir any comfort.

Now holding his horse's tack in one hand, and the pair of musical instruments balanced awkwardly in the crook of his other arm, Quintus Quail pauses once more and peers back round the horse's side. It takes all of the moral fortitude he can muster not to roll his eyes at the tall and skinny villager.

"Of course," Quintus assures them all, long-suffering. "And, pray sirs, when did any of you see young miss Ciara last? Is she here in the village, perhaps?"

Or might she be missing, having been separated from her harp at the edge of the wood, near the body of her slain paramour? Quail does not say it, but he can't quite restrain the softest of sighs.

Damir waits for Quintus to reach his side, so they can continue their way together. Ognimir has already started to make sure they are not in immediate danger. Now it is up to them to find out more about Limm, its leaders and the threats lurking all around.

Ognimir fishes his shield from his kit and holds it at the ready. Then approaches the glint of moving light but on horseback at a tangent, such that his shield side faces the unknown.

His mouth is dry. His nerves calm, as they always do when a target and a goal materialize. Ognimir tries not to lock his focus too much on the glint-- but will scan the area when he can. He's been on both sides of an ambush too many times to know if there is something bright and shiny in the open it means something sharp and deadly awaits in shadows.

Quintus returns to Damir the flute and harp that the other man discovered in his earlier searches. For Damir's ears alone, Quintus murmurs, "Will you speak to this elder for us, sir? I will watch the assembled crowd and try to determine which of these locals might be Ciara's father Fudreg. If she did indeed leave the village with our victim Tiyem..."

Well, it would bode ill for her. And they might have to step quickly in search of the maid, lest worse befall her.

Ognimir cries out in fear. It sounds like a guttural rasp from his dry throat. Nobody will hear that scream.
After the horse instinctively lashes with her hooves, he pivots, positioning the shield as best he can-- and then he makes a fist, loads up his arm like a whip, and flings the spell from his skin-- Stasis Enveloping! A plasmic ichor of spell-energy spins from his arm, as a spider might cast a web, or a fisher would throw a net. For a brief moment, the skin on his arm relaxes and looks normal, though he can feel it now coil and shift and tighten. He knows by morning--should he be lucky enough to make it to morning, it will wrinkle into a hideous pattern again.

Then he drives his heels hard into the horse to make a hasty retreat. The mirrored surface of the wolves might give him an advantage if he can just weave his retreat toward the setting sun. Light at strange angles will make it hard for the wolves to track him, perhaps.

Ognimir stops turns and looks at the frozen creature and the shattered creature.
He gives his horse a pat on the neck, "Well done, Maple, well done."
He cautiously circles and looks for more of them. He ponders. The shattered mirror, might be quite valuable- more than a wolf pelt for sure. Capturing a live Mirror Wolf might be even better...

Damir explains the situation.