<em>Towards the middle of the shift, Emrys arrives. Well, sort of. He could sense them from a long way off. The fools had left the fire burning. They could be spotted a mile away. If there was anyone who was behind the dungeon infestion, they'd have guards. And they'd know the group was coming. Brilliant. Well, nothing left to do about it now. What was done, was done.<br/><br/>As he came within 50 feet of the campfire, the shifter broke his uneven, loping stride, standing up straight and instead forcing himself to assume a more steady pace. He had learned that, at least among the other races, first impressions were the most important. At least for now, he didn't want them to think of him as an animal. Dismiss him. It had happened all too often until they had seen him in a fight. Then they knew he was much more. Terrifying, that is.<br/><br/>He keeps his hands up, held at a forty-five degree angle from his body, his elbows bent, to show he wasn't carrying weapons. His pace, slow for him, almost seems to be a power walk, but the others, not knowing the magic of his boots or his lifestyle, will probably find it a bit disconcerting how quickly he moves.</em>