Barbara
*Blustering cold aside, the burly Orc began to enjoy the view of Gantrick. The spear-like trees, rolling white hills with their small white gales blowing between them like bridges. A quiet sort of beauty. All that was left now for the day was making it into the inn he came across through this narrow path to the south of the country. Warrenwell, the sign said. It was oaken and aged, as much as the rime-coated cobbles that made up the wall and the fortified planks that ascended above to a second and third floor that seemed to disappear in the pines.*

*He tilts his lips here, and there. He's had his fill of full-blooded, meat-headed Gantrick hospitality. It tried his patience more than most things in this place; usually, only the more predatory shifters bothered at this point, testing their gall against the Orc's guts, it felt like. No matter, Nargul thought, as he gave two pats to the Dire Wolf besides him.*

*On-marching up the winding steps to an awning and porch, the Orc expectantly felt that same apprehension as natives began to recognize an outsider. Few were the patrons today, and fewer still seemed to be those that'd make this a problem. A handful of coin at the door could buy tolerance for a short time- something he figured out early about these sorts of 'convictions.' He wouldn't miss the bonus, as he slipped inside with the even larger beast in tow.*
Rosette
*The orange, black, and white wolf seemed as if Dasvaz itself reared a mascot, the bold colors similar to their flag. More strange, an amulet was worn around the beast's neck, fashioned of tough, coiled leather strips and a symbol of Anthron at its head. Still, it was eerily quiet, eyeing others that'd deign to look at Nargul for too long, tasting the air with a sure nose and shifting ears. But, it's demeanor was calm, in contrast to its alarming size. Among it were strange half-kin, the wolf recognizing the scent of beastmen and shifters once more.*
Barbara
*Surrounding the inn itself were a cairn of tall stones embedded deep in the cold stone below as if driven there by blows. Marking and scoring each were dozens of sigils and numerals denoting the passerbys that have come and gone, with sturdy painted cords as makeshift ribbons binding them.*

*More grim, but still nearer to the door was an ominous symbol. A skull of some fanged and savage looking beast, a clean and professional hole in its skull carved by a well-shot arrow that found it's mark long ago. Now, that cavern was filled with wax, as this demure decor was used as a candle, though more like a torch for the scale of the flame. A reminder that any inn to stand long in Gantrick is well-guarded, and best to not be tried by would-be bandits.*

*Otherwise, a thousand other small signs of life surrounded this place, and in them ten-thousand tales were implied and whispered on each blowing wind that shuddered the trees surrounding it. A home among the mountains, an imperishable flame in the cold dark of the pass.*
Wayne
While spending the entirety of their life within the gelid hellscape that was Gantrick, the Beastwalker had yet to partake in the true extent of the kingdom's natural elegance. Being effectively held captive under the despotic thumb of their family, they were exposed merely to the tedious monotony of Carnifex's structures with varying shades of brown, grey, and black, only broken by the ferocious blizzards that incessantly battered the city. But with their emancipation came a welcome change in scenery, a far more amicable environment that seemed as though it were a mural made reality, straining credulity. However, the bitter chill brought on by the setting sun soured the experience as they trotted through the densely packed snow atop their conjured equine mount. Without adequate defence against or shelter from the elements, they would meet quite the grisly demise, despite the spell cast upon themselves to provide warmth sufficient to survive the gruelling trek. Fortunately, a respite was within reach as they pursued the hearty aroma of smoke to the Warrenwell Inn. 

Dismounting roughly a dozen meters from the entrance, the Shifter rather promptly felt the sceptical gaze of myriad strangers focus upon them simultaneously as their devoted steed dispersed into a cloud of cerulean particulates that soared upwards to paint the evening sky before fading into obscurity. Some faces returned to the tasks and conversations this interloper tore them from, while others continued to linger upon the Shapeshifter as they meekly trudged up wooden steps that gently creaked beneath them, leading to the sinister door. 

As if their reception was not antagonistic enough. 

A wave of heat enveloped Arel when they crept inside as though they were in the maternal embrace of Solaris herself, a pleasant change, though they did not expect the clientele to be as warm and inviting. 

"Close it quickly before you let all the hot air out." A gruff voice bellowed from behind the nearby bar count

Er, and Arel quickly followed their suggestion.
Barbara
*Woe to the wanderer. Each step up the wind-beaten path to the entrance would've felt colder and colder to Arel, as if the suspicions of those within were palpable. Though, the door itself, pocked by the impact of hail from storms over the years, swung open all the same with a heaving creak of strained hinges. Facing in, a wave of warmth seemed to drag Arel from their feet for a moment- a bliss, or blessing, or whatever it could be called; it was far better than the bitterness behind.*

*However, stepping inside, here and there eyes slipped from cards, drinks, and cross-sat patrons to gaze over Arel's form. Sizing them up, even seeming to paint the room with their shared incredulity. It wasn't animosity-... Not yet. Though, all the same, some patrons seemed more pleasant in demeanor, if rarer. A kindly server wandered between tables, steps swift and dance-like as she made each stop another step in her rhythmic flow of service and stories to keep the patrons eating and drinking. She had given Arel a warm smile, beckoning them to a few open tables with a wave of her hand, but nothing more intrusive than that.*

*The gruff one behind the counter there seemed more beast than man, and had a stone amulet of a ram half-hidden between the gnarled forest of blackish chest hair that must've constituted a layer of clothing in itself. He barely gave Arel a second look, and seemed to be fixated on small tasks of maintenance to preserve the well-kept appearance of his bar. His domain, his own little kingdom.*

*Seeming to have put his back to a wall, there was one figure that especially stood out as an oddity - even more than the pair of Goliaths making brief chatter about a hunt across the way. An Orc, with gray skin and a hulkish figure sat straight and alert, eyes slowly shifting in his head, side to side. Laying on the ground next to him was a massive wolf, which seemed to be tolerated only on account that removing it could mean-... Unwanted finalities.*
Wayne
"At least there's one friendly face."

These words resonated within Arel's mind as they met the server girl's gaze with their own, briefly nodding in acknowledgement of her offer whilst removing the thick fur gloves from their delicate hands. The revelation that they stood out amongst this crowd was not lost upon Arel as they glanced about at the gathering, who scrupulously assessed them. Their focus finally fell upon a towering Orc and his canine companion, the former of which had well beyond a head on the diminutive Shifter and appeared as if he could reduce them to a viscous red pulp if provoked. Luckily, he did not seem to possess any enmity for them, at least not yet, but they were not intent on generating friction between them. It was only when they started towards a vacant table far from the rest of the patrons that they realised the Orc's hound bore the colours of the Dasvan flag. 

Perhaps they were not the only peculiar transient in the Warrenwell after all. Still, regardless, their stomach tightened with apprehension as their mind ran rampant with the possible outcomes of their visit, very few pleasant. Perhaps entering this hostel would prove a misguided venture, but they were not intent on spending yet another holed up in the wilds of Gantrick at the mercy of the weather or whatever feral creatures lurked therein.
Barbara
*Heavy fell the silence like the packing snow above. Arel's presence seemed to disrupt some imperceptible aura about the place, as more and more, other Shifters seemed to glance over their shoulder between drinks. One or two errant points, kept 'hidden' from under ribs or across the body. Certainly something to provoke tension and preserve it at the precipice of paranoia.*

*Nargul otherwise shifted his eyes, taking in the small little gestures, here and there. He seemed somewhat cognisant of-... Something. The large Orc's brow squited, lowering on his face almost like the image of a steel bar being flattened on an anvil. At least, that's what having a calloused face that looked like a personified battering ram would do for someone. The wolf besides also seems to lift in tension somewhat, a few bristled hairs sticking up along his back.*

*Across the way, between a large central firepit where staked small game roasted and stews bubbled, the little serving dance of the barmaid continued back to Arel, before the young woman placed her hands, and then forearms, on the table with a little tap-tap, leaning in to whisper.* "Are-... Are you staying? Do you need anything to eat or drink, dear?"

*Her cautious smile implied- or belied, perhaps- the tension that seemed to sit behind her eyes. Once they flicked, over to another table, where four sat that seemed to have pointed at Arel the most of the bunch in this tavern. The barkeep seemed heedless, or perhaps complicit in whatever seemed to be brewing.*

*The barmaid spoke again, lower than before.* "Why don't you get something-... Small? Keep the coins hidden. Please. Please."

*And then, as the gentle drift of snow outside turned to a violent whorl of wind that rattled the walls, the sense of being trapped in would begin to settle deep in the wanderers' minds.*
Wayne
In the face of the young barmaid's faux smirk, Arel's otherwise barren expression scantly broke as their thick brow furrowed in scepticism of what she had implied, clear as day. They observed the momentary flick of her gaze towards a relatively nearby table and followed suit, swiftly compiling a mental catalogue of those present, eyeing the stalwart barkeep's supposed blissful ignorance. As sure as this lass stood before them, the shifty band had openly fixed their collective attention on the Beastwalker. It did not take long to deduce that remaining within the tavern without adequately addressing the party would be ill-advised, and they would have to vacate the area, risking their death at the hands of the bitter temperatures, or mitigate the potential threat these four posed. 

The fierce winds which now battered the Warrenwell curbed the former prospect. For all their skill as a wizard, they were no Solaris.

With a brief moment of meticulous deliberation, their mind spawned a collection of measures to be taken should they take action against them. The first and most direct was confrontation: engaging in a dialogue with the four and possibly reasoning with them, intimidating them, or otherwise inspiring them to let them be. Secondly was evasion: taking advantage of their proficiency with the school of illusion and eluding them, likely with the use of an invisibility spell. However, they were open to less subtle concealment methods should the circumstances demand them. Thirdly, their least desired option was bold and decisive action: raising a commotion and, as some may describe it, "Dealing with conflicts the old-fashioned way." However, this was highly impractical, as they were highly outnumbered and utterly outclassed in terms of physicality and likely martial prowess, as the four appeared as if they were more than capable of holding their own in a fight.

That and they had never engaged in physical combat with another person, scraps with their mother and father not withstanding. 

The trustworthiness of this fair maiden had also come into question, but Arel concluded that regardless of her alignment, their prior methods would, hopefully, remain sufficient. Finally, the Shifter inclined their head forward, their opiate voice being a mere wisp, akin to a gentle Findaran breeze.

"Avoid me, at least momentarily."
Barbara
*The rabbit-eared maid kept her fuzzy twin poles on a swivel, trying to make her evident alarm seem natural as the small, pink button nose she had tossed around nervous lips. She gave a nod to Arel, continuing on in her little dance. Perhaps she was simply observant from years of misfortunes on the frontier - maybe she finally wanted to try to stop it. Either way, before parting, the maid had slipped Arel a little piece of parchment. Inked on both sides, it looked to be a copy. Likely something replicated- but once opened, it appeared as a map of the winding paths underneath the inn itself, the warrens of the namesake. Small caverns one could use to traverse the crossroads ahead through the winding mountain path without an ignoble and ignorant death to the cold and heights.*

*Arel, attuned now to what was coming, that heightened perception that came with lucid anticipation, would note that the Orc aside wall had kept his sharp, now yellow-ish eyes peeled on the table of Shifters. Looking away only to avoid attention. Whatever the Orc thought- or if he was accomplice or foe- was hard to tell. A race known well for their slaveholding here in Gantrick was likely not a good impression.*

*And so Arel went avoided by the barmaid, and as the barkeep seemed to watch with bleak eyes between two curling, caprine horns, one of the wolfish Shifters at the table of note slowly stood and began to approach Arel. It seemed-... Innocuous enough, for now. But then, the eyes were staring and stark, sizing Arel up even if the wolf-grin belied his intent behind a charming exterior. Between man and wolf was the huge, half-transformed figure, who loomed over Arel in their cloak, offering a far too long-lasting grin.*

"My friends and I were just wondering where you came from - Carnifex? You don't look like you live around here." *He was softly smelling them, assessing their blood in that strange way.*
Wayne
The maiden's nervous demeanour lent the slightest modicum of credence to the notion that she was a friend rather than foe, but Arel would continue to eye her with harsh scepticism. Similarly, they scrutinised the parchment that lay before them, absorbing what little details they were able to whilst sneaking in periodic glares at the predatory Shifters who continued to observe them without regard for whether the young blonde knew. With the lack of any indication as to what location this was a map of, assuming its legitimacy, Arel needed clarification. For all they knew, this was the system of caverns on the opposite side of Lucidien. They likely would not receive clarification for some time, if at all, however. Still, they opted to set the map inside the travel pack that currently rested in their lap. Perhaps it may prove itself relevant.

Their concentration was now wholly fixated on the canid Beastwalker that approached with the most voracious of grins, which clearly served to belie his malintent. It was a smirk they knew all too well, as it was one their brother frequently wore, and it never had positive results. However, now was a poor time to focus on such details as he hovered over their diminutive form, well beyond twice their weight. No matter the tension they felt, Arel possessed an uncanny ability to remain seemingly apathetic in the face of those who chose to confront them, often inciting unease. This encounter was no exception, as they appeared to almost stare through the beast as he explained his purpose for engaging with them. No matter their course of action, they could not afford to appear vulnerable in the face of one who seemed wholly willing to exploit such a trait.

"You have as much business knowing where I'm from as him. None. Move on." They said, gesturing subtly towards the bovid barkeep.
Barbara
*Where others would've had the wherewithal to withdraw, the wanderer hadn't wilted to weakness of the will. Now that Arel was looking and paying attention more closely - to the map, to the inn, to the Shifters aside that seemed now to be a pack of their own, they could surmise several suppositions.*

*The inn itself had an archway, lined by older stones near the bar itself, that inferred by faded text on guide-stones a pathway to the depths below, where the very same caverns that they saw scrawled on that note stood. Baths and paths - and many, many ways to break line of sight.*

*Above them now, the wolfish Shifter stood, a wide and toothy smile seeming all the more uncanny as he didn't blink, not a single time, with grey-yellow eyes like twisted storms peering down at them. They seemed unfettered by the words, though not wholly unaffected. A small twitch of the eye implied an irrtation that itched away at the would-be hunter, mugger, killer- whatever he and his companions were, that now likewise seemed to turn in their seats to watch the going-ons. The barkeep himself continued cleaning, and now seemed sincerely compliant with all this. For whatever reason; though it hardly mattered now.*

*The small sight of subtly stuffed knives and blades into belts and under cloaks from the cadre might well tell Arel what they could do. Hilts of well-worn leather, chipped blades. These men were well-guaded. Among them, all transfigured between beast and man, were a boar, a blackish bear, a hawk, and the wolf looming even now.*

—

*There was however, an interesting sight that only Arel would see from their current position. The Orc, who had remained so quiet, was now looking at the back of the head of the wolf. Onto his knuckles slid a piece of metal, sockets for each of his huge fingers, so that a bar of cold iron sat as a heavy ram for his fist to slam into something. Back into his cloak his fist withdrew, as he aimed to catch Arel's eye and guide them to the arch.*
Wayne
Dividing their attention briefly, Arel reflected once again upon the map, considering the possibility that they had dismissed it too rashly. However, concentrating would prove a considerable challenge as they gazed upon the fellow Shifter's devilish smirk and those harsh, unfaltering eyes that dared not blink and practically radiated contempt. Every visualisation of the map that entered their mind was supplanted with his detestable visage. To alleviate the palpable tension that threatened to suffocate them, Arel swallowed hard, though the thick collar of their black tunic obscured this action. Was this how they appeared to others? An enigma whose true intentions remained simultaneously indiscernible yet undoubtedly antagonistic? 

Ultimately, they were able to loosely assemble a lay of the land, namely the stone-lined archway they took notice of but dismissed as they entered the tavern. Perhaps this map would provide them with safe refuge from this cadre, who Arel now realised were armed with blades of diverse sizes, but it could easily lead them to a dead end or an ambush. However, one thing was clear: they could not stay here and continue to test the wolf's patience. 

However, as they silently pondered their future course of action, they caught a glimpse of the hulking Orc out of the corner of their vision, not-so-subtly urging them toward the arch with his eyes, grey as the storm clouds outside. Acknowledging him, they chanced a glance in his direction, playing it off by fixating on the exit.

They did not expect an active threat so soon after abandoning home, but it was time to test the extent of their magical prowess. 

Arel muttered an incoherent phrase under their breath, an innocuous action easily dismissed as the result of elevated anxiety. However, those more intimately familiar with the magical arts would recognise they were casting a spell utilising semantics. 

—

The spell was an unequivocal success, as they were now wholly invisible to all, leaving an identical illusory double behind who accurately mimicked the Arel's unique set of mannerisms. With the time bought by this, they swiftly strode for the archway.
Barbara
*Over and oppressively still the wolf seemed to loom. The man chose to keep a mostly lupine face, so that the forced smile looked all the more like a feverish, flesh-hungry threat. The others of their cadre had fully turned to Arel, watching them as if somehow -they- were the antagonizer here.*

*Many of the other guests seemed to remove themselves now- some at the nudging of the bunny-eared barmaid, who seemed desperate to keep what storm was brewing at bay - hopelessly, at that - but with each dance of her silent steps and wiggle of her waning ears, she seemed to clear the room in time. Perhaps something to judge, perhaps not - the circumstances called for collateral, in her mind, and she could bear less bloodshed if she couldn't have none at all.*

*The whisper of incantation filled Arel's mind with that familiar fugue of eldritch echoes. The magic flourished unnoticed, at first. Subtle as the space between stars, illusion preoccupied that strange, unreachable place of nothingness in the mind that few could truly contemplate. The Orc aside the way squinted, as the wolf perked one ear, before the former looked towards the archway, waiting- preparing.*

*There was a time that the wolfish one stood watching, before a sense of displacement between his eyes, his nose, and his ears came. Steps padded here and there, even the breath of those nearby- even their hearts rattling in their little chests came to his sharp senses. Then, the scent. It was trailing. The stink of a body wasn't here with this-... Something. No, it was behind him.*

*There was a sudden -clack!- as he snapped his jaws, snarling a moment as he turns suddenly, sniffing at the air and nodding to the others of the cadre. Words were exchanged and hissed in short, surly sentences; even blame and in-fighting came and went.*

*But soon, they got up and began to follow the sound of footsteps towards the archway, aiming to follow Arel down there- into imperiled depths of natural caverns.*

*Arel would find, past the archway, that a winding stair carved effortfully from exhausting eons of work left a roughly fashioned path down to unlit depths. The sound of running water came from below, as well as the sound of winds, distantly. Escape- outdoors. The passage of wind.*

*Though, how they'd deal with the lowlight was up to them entirely. From behind, the small clacks of metal caps of boots, claws, and shoes followed - distantly at first, but then more hurriedly. They knew their way down here, and there were only so many paths and routes to take, with no telling which were reliable. Some corners were cubbies with odds-and-ends, like memorial urns and carved graves, or makeshift supply closets of draperies and miscellany. At times, the warrens opened into larger chambers of crags and river-split canyons of ebony granite, from multiple joining paths.*

—

*Nargul stood after a time of counting in his eye. With Lohmar in tow, he moved from his corner over to the archway, before the barkeep finally seemed to take notice and try to intervene. A sharp condemning bark told the Orc to press no further - but a returned stare from that Orc's grey eyes put the ram-man on his back leg.*

"Find your heart. You could not stand to them. Your word means nothing to me." *Nargul says, contemptuous of this inn's strange arrangement of bandits and ransom. Now, finally, he had a chance to attack it directly, with the arrival of a stranger. Turning and wandering below, he began to stalk deeper into the warrens, hunting the hunters with Lohmar in tow.*

—

*That left the barkeep only to sneer back a lip - he looked at a once-wielded mace under his counter. And thought.*
Wayne
As Arel scampered down the spiral stairwell into the warrens, a frigid draft emerged from the depths, washing away the warmth from the tavern like writing on the sands of a beachfront. Hopefully, their illusory double had bought them time sufficient to slip away from their harassers. However, they were well aware that as Beastwalkers, they would possess a significantly bolstered sense of smell and likely sight that would assist the group if they decided to pursue them. And most unfortunately for them, their spell of invisibility had worn off, negating their sole advantage. As they finally arrived at the bottom of the stairwell, Arel's pace slowed as they took advantage of their acute hearing to determine whether they had been followed. Until then, they remained perfectly still in the shadows, careful not to make any more noise than they already had.

The idea occurred to them as their eyes adjusted to the new darkness: placing an obstruction behind themselves to deter, halt, or, at the bare minimum, hinder the progress of their pursuers. With their arcane knowledge, they had a myriad of options at their disposal to accomplish this: everything from glyphs to be "Armed" With elemental magic or other spells, conjured allies to resist them, to illusions that would confound and disorient. While busy deliberating over their options, the hurried metallic clattering of boots reached their ears, forcing them to come to a decision.

With a brief gesture and incantation, the Shifter placed a nigh-invisible glyph armed with acid at the bottom of the stairs, their mind once again filled with familiar eldritch echoes. While they were against making unfounded assumptions, the current circumstances demanded swift action, and no member of their party seemed magically inclined, so this snare would go unnoticed until it was too late. 

—

With their admittedly pathetic trap set, they started further into the shadows, deducing that a draft's presence meant a nearby opening to the outside world. Precisely where they hadn't the slightest clue, but this would not dissuade them from searching.
Barbara
The warrens well warned of that worry even the weary had to wonder at - becoming lost. Besides the winds, which now seemed to whip wildly with each whorl around worn corner and belie direction, the darkness was constantly shifting from small flecks of flame along the walls. Likely passages to cellars where drinks were stored. Arel's breath sounded heavy here, even if they didn't breathe especially hard. It was as if it was foreign here, the sound amplified against the distinct howl of hoarse gales.

For a time, that precarious sound of pursuit fell-... Discomposingly quiet. It was hard to place against the other sounds, though that wouldn't deter Arel from their task. A rune etched itself, almost unseen to the mage themselves by the darkness abound, into cold and callous stone. And once the sound of pursuit picked up, closer and closer still, Arel would sense steps slipping closer and closer to it, until...

*-VssssshhhhrooOO!-*

The sound of the rune activating was a strange, arcane thing. The well-guarded boar that stepped on it stepped back-... But not so swiftly as to avoid harm. Ropes of viscous and searing acids sprayed upwards, ripping through cloth and smoldering leathers into ruin, and scarring flesh that it touched into a stinking, pestilent line of pus-filled scars, almost immediately scarring from the disfiguring element. The shriek filled the caverns, enough to pain the ears of Arel and any others within. Swiftly shut up by the clasp of the Wolf's grip over his muzzle, something was thrown in Arel's direction.

It was cold, down here. Painfully so. And what came wasn't some great concoction of magic - nor was it particularly accurate. It was a large vessel of water. With a surprising -crack!-, there'd be the risk of ice-cold, bone-chilling water suddenly coating Arel, or part of them, which would mean a rapid increase in breath, a stink of sweat as the body shivers and tries to warm itself, and the risk of discovery by dripping water.

—

One of the Shifts in pursuit spoke, then. It was a cold voice, seeking to trick and terrify both.

"You! I see you- Come out, and we'll only break your teeth for that. If I have to find you-... You'll never be able to look at a mirror again. You! - Get out here. I see you." The voice seemed to echo loudly, beyond-... Normal. Nothing so subdued as incantation, it seeked like the natural endeavor of a ranger's gifts, perhaps. The echo of a wolf's howl came from behind it, challenging at the heart as the four began to spread out, taking different paths in the larger warren, each using their senses to try and find Arel. In their hands were cruel, carving blades. Ones that looked just as built for scalping and severing as stabbing.
Rosette
From above, lurking distantly, a wolf now sat in the silence that only a trueborn predator would have in such a place. His claws never even so much as tapped the surface, his massive body one with shadows as briefly - depending on where they were - his golden eyes would be visible to Arel far, far behind the group of four. Fur bristled in silence, and Lohmar prepared his own swords, jaw opening slowly.
Barbara
And the Orc likewise kept his body close to a wall, guiding himself by half an arm's distance from it, to maximize his line of sight around corners. In one hand, the knuckleduster remained sat heavy on his knuckles, a dagger held in his grip. He was slowly circling in, waiting for an opportune moment as the smoldering smell of flesh briefly buried any of their scents.

Though, Arel might also be able to tell that they were hefting more vessels of water, likely aiming to catch Arel and make them freeze to death or cast something now close enough that they could hear closely. Or even worse - move and reveal themselves to the sight-tracking eyes of the wolf, bear, eagle, and boar.