Anger, Frustration, this will do. "Truly, a werewolf? That would explain to it some...inconsistencies. But yes, it kept you both unaware. The mage is clever, and has hidden his home well. If you had known, he could have known. It was a precaution that it was willing to take." Tilting its head upon the show of magical items, it seemed most interested in the Dentures.
"Those will be most useful should you catch him before magic can occur! Perhaps the horses should be left here and stealth be assumed." Then addressing Jaken directly,
"The Hunger is welcome to join. In fact it may be needed." Dismounting, Narn moved with the grace and silence of the Herald itself. Once ahead, it turned and pressed an upright finger to the front of the masque's mouth, as though to shush them, and then pointed to a light ahead.
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Darius sat, as he was oft to do these long days, his mind swimming with plans.
"Forol, FOROL!" Why doesn't he listen to me anymore!? He turned to where he knew Forol always stood with his drink and he remembered.
Oh yes, Forol left like all the others. I'll just have to get more help then. Then there was the ringing of a bell.
"Forol! Get that! I have no time for visitors." Once again his eyes glimpsed Forol's usual place, and again he turned back.
Of course, the ringing, it's a spell. Masterful, can improve, will improve. What was the alarm for? He lifted his robes and stepped over the mess on the floor to the dias by the window and cast a spell.
Ah! He's come to take it back! This time he has friends, very well, two can play this game! "Daga! Raga! Awaken!" His hands gestured to two statues at the edges of the room. They rose from their resting places and stepped toward their master, unheeding of the mess they trampled underfoot.
"Give our guests a proper welcome." The two strode out unceremoniously, knowing full well the intent of their master. Darius returned to his seat, and waited. He knew that Q'Urith would have to come to him, and he would be ready, he was always ready these days. He held the masque to his face as tightly as his withered hands could, its face the face of Contemplation. And all around him, the long-dead corpses of Forol and the other villagers lay strewn about, forgotten by his broken mind.