The walls of Desperloch groan against the attack of one of the creatures out in the darkness as the vigils manage the threat, arrows shot from the top of the thick, sturdy walls that keep the settlement safe, and then: quiet.

Whatever beast had been roaring seconds ago has been handled, and the townsfolk watch for a moment as the vigil on the wall sheath their weapons and setting aside their bows.

A figure, wrapped in furs and simple black clothes, walks through the forum, dragging a long halberd on his back, rusted, the handle worn from usage over the years. He eventually reaches one of the posts of access to the top of the walls, asks the guard about the recent action as people begin walking away, keeping on with their daily chores and their jobs.

Exterior hooks and ropes are lowered down and other vigil step above. Ghosthook Branwythe, an outsider-turned-revered-citizen in his forties notices Idyl, and nods at him from atop the Slagwall.

“It has been handled.”

The senior warrior says, gesturing at a figure inside the walls, limping toward the healer's tent. It seems Snyx, the faun messenger, has come back to Desperloch.

“If you need anything, I'm never far. Excuse me.”

Idyl says, perhaps a bit too eagerly for his own liking, as he turns and walks in the messenger's direction.