The swamp was a chill and silent place. For the man who was jogging quietly through it like a leaf on the breeze, silence was not unnerving. There was the import of the person or thing he pursued. The shade of a man he thought long dead.

Could it be that the necromancer still lives?

However since he had entered the moldy air of the swamp, he had managed to lose the trail of the cloaked figure he had taken to be the ghost of Veltimber Blackspire. Five long and empty years have passed since he gained his freedom by taking the soul of the man who had perverted his own. Rage pushes him forward now. Frustration and fear are his motivation.

The air is still and stale as he gulps it greedily into tightened lungs. There is more danger here than he sees. This much is for certain.

OOC: I personally don't mind, but many others prefer past tense. Just a heads up. ;0

IC:

The loremaster, though hardly a novice to the great expanse of nature known as the Wild had to solemnly and sadly admit to himself that he was out of his depth when he considered his nourishment. Or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say, total lack thereof. He had always been a stunted, stymied runt of a lupine with poor self-preservation skills but even so! Even so! He should have been more than capable of foraging and providing for himself- hadn't he done so on many other occasions? Wasn't he part of a tribe that considered itself- no prided itself- on being totally self-sufficient? Wasn't that the reason he had been peacefully banished in the first place from the great, icy lands of Calaring? Because weakness had to be exiled even if it brought strength to the Clan?

Perhaps. But no matter. It was troublesome but he had not had sustenance in over two days now- and while that was undoubtedly not so horrible for the average lupine (whose wolven half predominated the human/wolf mix that they were fabled to come from) it was becoming a frightful annoyance to poor Geis who was hardly average and whose short experience with the plague had rendered him near as weak as... a... fur-head. Grach. Every few moments, he wished he had something to eat and was quite certain that if this intolerable situation continued he'd fast start to see images of things that were not there. Vaguely aware that he had decided on not eating mushrooms after that not-so-safe-experience wherein he -had- been seeing things that were not there Geis sighed.

Then he caught wind of a scent. It was faintly... well, he wasn't sure. He was just too hungry! Oh well, at this point it could hardly matter. Loping towards it the loremaster determined that he would either obtain food from it- or make it into food. So be it.

Ooc:"I can do that"

Terion stopped short, spinning around slowly in a knee deep puddle of mud. There was most definately someone else out here, but it didn't seem to be the someone he was chasing. There was little noise on the wind but Terion could hear something. It was like a soft padding footfall, gracefully quiet in this hellish mire. He drew out his longsword with a dull, resounding ring and stood quietly, stooped down, waiting to see what creature it was that approached him. Being a ranger of the wilds he was rather good at hunting and tracking but he had lost his prey. Perhaps the unannounced newcomer would be able to point him in the right direction, that is, as long as the other was not dangerous. A wolfin shape loped into sight on the edge of the grey mists where Terion was planted firmly in the muck. He whistled at the creature.

"Proceed slowly, umm... sir, I would know your intentions here. I am Terion Blackwind, a ranger. Have you seen a cloaked, somewhat crooked old man passing through this way? My sword has business with him, and hopefully not with you."