Part 1: The Return of the Blazing Meteor

Amongst the group, though noticeably not as physically close to the others (perhaps a newer member), is a hobgoblin. He wears dark blue robes, his exposed hands and head are red, and his hair goes down to his shoulders before he stops. At his waist is a rapier on his left and a wand in his right. He carries his backpack like it is nothing, not because he seems strong, but like he has carried much heavier many times before. He looks gruff with an slight scowl as a default facial expression. He seems concerned with his surroundings and doesn't appear to talk much unless talked to by someone else first.

Chakan is taller than the average human, but probably considered quite short for an orc due to his half-orc heritage. He is wearing the traditional dark robes of his monastery with the edges dyed a bright red to represent the element he is most attuned with. The end of a large flame snake tattoo can be seen peeking out beneath his robes on his right wrist and a well-used scimitar is slung on his back. He has been light-heartedly chatting and joking with Breg and Umr, but wanders over to Dorash who is concentrated on checking their surroundings. He keeps in step with the hobgoblin as they make their way to the next stop. With a small nod of his head and clasping his hands together in greeting, Chakan speaks to Dorash as they walk.

"Good morning my friend, it is a beautiful day. It is good to be alert, but it seems like you are expecting something in particular to appear out of the flowers? What troubles you today?"

Without altering his actions, Dorash replies, "Nothing different than usual. The flowers may hide a plant creature, or be a distraction from a bandit ambush. It is also possible we are being followed. The enemy had the advantage if they are unknown." Dorash talks like someone with military training and the inability to relax.

The aasimar accompanying Chakan chuckled.

"I, too, endeavor to become more cynical with each passing day, look gift horses squarely in the mouth, and find clouds in every silver lining."

Arcs of blue light ran across Umr's bare upper body and burned like hair on his head, presumably branching across the rest of his body but hidden under dark pants and surprisingly well kept traveling boots. Two daggers hung on his belt, and a backpack and light crossbow were slung over his shoulders. Umr's smile was snide yet somehow friendly, and his eyes twinkled with sunlight and celestial energy as he also admired the flowers.

"Feloran bromeliads, I believe. Quite beautiful. Quite poisonous if ingested."

Breg walks cautiously along the path. Pausing just long enough to make casual small talk with his friends, quiet but friendly.

Nature’s a mixed bag, friends. Beautiful at times, but also unforgiving.

Breg’s hazel eyes gaze warily from beneath his green cloak. He pauses during rest breaks and has a customary way of perching his trusty boy into the dirt, and leaning his lanky weight up against it.

"No amount of worry will keep an ambush at bay," Reginald chuckles. "While a certain level of prudence is understandable... life is for living. It would be a shame to waste it, fearing that which may never come to pass."

The man strolls easily, his helm off so he can feel the breeze in his hair. The sunlight glints off his heavy armor, the ringing of metal striking the ground is heard with each step.

"And if it does come to pass, then we face it and we best it."

Breg gazes warily at the crawling humanoid creature.
What sort of help do you need, replies the ranger to the feminine voice.

Dorash looks for where the female voice came from exactly.

"I didn't realize these flowers were also hallucinogenic," Umr said through gritted teeth as he inspected the construct and the surrounding countryside. Could he find the source of the cry for help?

"The woman cries from within the construct!" Umr shouted to the others.

"How do we free you?!" he shouted back.

"Did it eat her?" Reg asks, taken aback at the prospect as he draws his longsword in case immediate action is required.

Chakan slowly, but deliberately unsheathes his scimitar and holds it low.

"Perhaps I could stun it. Any objections?"