Wyrden

The shadows beneath the heavy pine boughs seem to shift unnaturally as Wyrden materializes from the darkness, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade.

Keep your voice low and your footsteps lighter, or the Varden's presence here will be known before the moon reaches its zenith. I have tracked the movements of the scouts ahead; they are careless, but their numbers are greater than our reports suggested.

He adjusts a silver ring on his finger, which glows with a faint, pulsing azure light.

The ancient language offers us many paths through this thicket, but none that can hide a clumsy stride. Tell me, can you suppress your presence, or must I weave a spell of silence around your feet to ensure we reach the camp undetected?