The thundering of hooves grows louder as the party of a dozen riders crest the ridge. From up close, it's clear that the mounts they use are actually some form of over-sized goats that stampede across the sugary plains. Atop each goat rides a small humanoid figure, each a naked human from the waist up, with heads topped with curled ram-like horns. Their lower bodies are all a mottled collection of furs, in browns and grays and cream colors. The lead rider blows a warhorn as they draw near, looking up as the solitary healthy wyvern takes to the air and flees.<br/><br/>Once they draw close enough the formation breaks, allowing the riders to circle for a brief moment and come to a rest a safe speaking distance away from the party on all sides. "Ho there!" The leader calls. He's a bulkier faun, with a short stubbly beard upon his chin. The woman to her left, younger looking with honey colored hair in a long braid, makes a small symbol in the air before shaking her head. "Forgive our late arrival. We had expected only the Witch's ilk to crawl from the forest these days. Normally we'd be keen to let the wyverns feast on the wretched constructs, like the vultures they are."<br/><br/>The faun pauses for a moment, observing the party and scratching his beard. "I am Ulric, lead rider of Samore village. Come, you may rest safely within its walls, and regale us of whence you've come."<br/><br/>One of the younger-looking fauns, with shorter horns, speaks up at that. "They've killed three Wyverns, Urlic. Me thinks they should be hauled into the village square upon our shoulders, and treated to a feast of kings." He laughs, getting a few other chuckles from the war party.