Sitting in a bush, Yem inspected the fire from a distance. It was clear that whoever had been there just a few moments ago had left in a hurry. They could have heard him approach, but it wasn't likely. Most did not detect Yem unless he wanted them to. This left Yem with more questions than answers, and a few possible scenarios. In the best of worlds, the people sitting by the fire had become afraid of Rexicorgs grim reputation and, fueled by the darkness, they had simply left the place. They could also have spotted him, however unlikely, and either run off or prepared a trap. It was also possible, and Yem hoped that it wasn't so, that something else had driven them off. Something that might or might not still be somewhere close by. It was not a safe situation, and Yem was concerned.

He had seen the black shape in the fire, of course. Just lying there, unscathed by the flames, shimmering with light from the dancing flames and the watching stars. Yem suspected it was one of the relics. It felt appropriate, somehow. Meant to be, like in a great story. He also suspected that this was some sort of trap. It was too easy and obvious to not be one. Someone was watching the fire, waiting for the ideal moment to strike, or perhaps there was more to the fire than it seemed. Yem was no sorcerer, but he knew plenty [i]of[/i] sorcery. And if sorcery could be one thing, it was subtle. The only way to be sure about anything was to deduct the possibilities, one by one. The easiest one to deduct was the presense of others. Yem might have been a mere human, with poor senses of sight, sound and smell, but he had his ways. 

The transformation was almost instant. Yem breathed in and closed his eyes. When he opened them again and exhaled, the world was a different place. The night was as bright as day. He could hear and place the individual whispers of the leaves in the bush. The scents of the night flowed through his snout leaving trails almost like colors through the air. Every fibre of his body stood in rapt attention, his muscles vibrant with energy. He needed one sniff to confirm his suspicions; there was someone or something nearby. It reeked of corpse, but it was moving, which told its own disturbing tale. Yem was up against an undead of some sort. This always unsettled him. Corpses should remain still, such was the way of nature. He would have to be careful. Gripping his spear in one powerful, fanged hand and his curved blade in the other, he leapt from the bush and charged the being with terrible speed. As the creature came into view, his instinct was to retreat but he forced himself to disciplin. He thrust at the Drider, the dreaded man-spider, with the full force of his charged but was easily turned aside by a flick of a chitin-clad leg. Stumbling past, it was all he could do to throw himself away to evade a stab from one of the creatures other legs. Yem rolled on the ground, quickly regaining balance, and brought his spear up to keep the fiend at bay. He would have to finish this quickly, lest he'd tire from the strain of his totem.

[color=orchid]Vile creature![/color], he cursed, [color=orchid]Putrid thing! Die again in the name of all that is good and living! Return to the ground as you should have long ago![/color]

If the Drider had understood him, it gave no sign. They circled eachother, kept apart only by the length of the spear between them. Then, suddenly, the monster moved with lightning speed and forced the tip of the spear out of the way. As it jumped for Yems flesh, screeching madly, he ducked beneath it and sliced it with the blade while passing. It was not without cost, however, as the creature pricked him in the back just below the shoulderblade. It left a long scratch down Yems back, and he yelped at the pain. The two combatants quickly found their places again, and continued the dance like before. This fight would prove interesting.