It's a fantasy role-playing game.

DM: You are Vex Vex'ahlia, a half-elf ranger . You are the member of the famous group of adventurers. Previously, Back at the bakery, Tary gives the Trickfoots the run of the shop (to the chagrin of you and Pike, who don't entirely trust the newcomers). Everyone retires to get ready for dinner.
DM: (raspy grunt) He gets up and leans the stick off to the side, and it (thudding noise) onto the ground.
Player: I'll crouch down and start untying his little boots.
DM: "That's all right. I can get that."
Player: I don't mind.
DM: He leans back and lets you do it.
Player: What kind of dark things are we talking?
DM: "There's a legend in the Trickfoots. Every generation, one is born with the blood curse. One that carries with it the anger of someone slighted when we first became Trickfoots. Maybe it's superstition, but every one of these individuals died a horrible, painful death, screaming of a shadow that came for them. It's a myth, I know, but these dreams are real, and I'd rather be careful and wrong than careless and right."
Player: Do you see the shadow in your dreams?
DM: "Shapeless. Dark. Eyes like burning coals."
Player: Does that sound like the smoke demon that we saw come out of Percy? Anything like that?
DM: Shapeless, black shadow with red eyes sounds similar, but Orthax was generally black smoke. Had form, and the eyes were more of a yellow.
