<div class="floatright">(https://78.media.tumblr.com/7c29525a6544f8e21f81fedc988a141a/tumblr_oggp33Tmy51r3m39wo1_1280.png)</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span class="bbc_u"><strong>Mirish Penumbra</strong></span></span></div>Mirish was content to walk in silence, once again pacing herself in order not to race ahead. As a group they made an unlikely and decidedly untidy bunch, which suited the monk far better than a more conservative party might have. More importantly, each one of them appeared competent enough should the farmer's story turn out to be based on more than legends, shadows and spirits of a nature more alcoholic than mystic.<br/><br/>She followed the group into the farmhouse, still wondering whether this journey would amount to anything beyond a much needed excuse to leave the comforts of Tollmouth. The half-orc couldn't really understand why Redford was so unwilling to explain exactly what had caused him to abandon his farm and rush to seek aid. She was torn between a desire to force the farmer to reveal whatever information he might have and the knowledge that this part of her heritage was probably not best expressed in a small building while surrounded by strangers.<br/><br/>Then, the tall man strode outside and decided the matter before Mirish could deliberate further. Glancing around, the monk quickly decided that this building was not a battlefield she should choose. Its close confines might favour her fighting style, but there was no telling how much destruction she might inflict on what few possessions the farmer seemed to have.<br/><br/>Mirish was half way to the door when a thought occurred to her.<br/><br/>"The boy," she growled, "where is he?"