[b]Domhnall McRaith[/b] 

	[i]Well, that had certainly been something unusual...[/i] 
He had been a hunter and trapper most of his life, true, but his usual prey did not get much larger than deer, and even with larger species of deer, some caution was advised, especially during a certain time of the year. And moose were just as bad as deer…
	The worst of all normal game, however, were boars, and those all year round. Not bears, not wolves, not big cats - [i]boars[/i]. Get too close to one and you likely [i]would[/i] be attacked, and those tusks were not to be trifled with - something he had felt on his own skin quite some years back, and still carried a nasty scar on his leg from. He had been quite lucky to get away alive indeed… Heck, who was he kidding - he had once found the corpse of one of the great ol’ striped ones gutted by what he had managed to identify as a boar. [i]Vicious creatures. [/i] 
	That thing they had taken down now, though… Whatever manner of beast the gray-skinned brute had been, it certainly was of the monster-variety. He was not entirely certain he would like the reputation that came with being a monster-slayer, but he supposed they could call themselves such now… Most of the honor fell on his companion, Iridiel, though - she had been the one to deal what was most likely the killing strike. 
	Iridiel was a marked one of Sulis; through Her favor she had called forth heavenly lightning. ...Or something of the sorts; Domhnall was a fairly irreligious fellow and thus little acquainted with infernal and divine affairs alike aside of simply acknowledging that gods and devils existed and were better not excessively angered. Iridiel, however, was devout and took her status as a marked one quite seriously. Was quite evidently rewarded for that, too… 
	Domhnall himself had just made the first move and drawn its anger onto himself with shouting and a crossbow bolt (apparently, shouting had not worked its way into the forefront of the brute’s mind; it had taken more drastic measures to catch its attention), and later on, when it was already flat on the ground and smoking, just rammed a spear into its throat to make sure that it was, well, dead proper. One never knew with these kinds of beings, and the Planes knew it had acquired a particular taste for his blood as soon as he shot that bolt into its back…
	A bit of a strange thing, that … it had been an impulse that had little to do with self-defence. Oh no, he himself had been safely up in the tree. It just so happened that the lohk had not noticed them first, but rather attacked another being some ways off, and they had initially merely gone to investigate. That other being? He was still quite not sure what it was. It was large, had black fur and looked a bit like a wolf-man. But it … he? seemed a fair bit more sophisticated than the eleven-feet-tall brute that had attacked him, so he had opted to aid him. 
And so here they were: the gray brute was dead, the wolf-man had disappeared to the side, and his ears were still slightly ringing from the crack of the lightning Iridiel had summoned. 

	With both his crossbow and spear in hand, he made his way over to where Iridiel was still standing, but a rustle of leaves made him turn just in time for him to witness the re-emergence of the black-furred wolf-man. He certainly looked bigger now that Domhnall himself was standing on ground rather than sitting up a tree... Now’s to hope that he had been right and the wolf-man would, indeed, be positively - or at the very least neutrally  - minded towards them. 
	It, however, seemed that the wolf-man was not immediately interested in them, but rather headed directly for the downed brute, leaning over the still-twitching corpse. At first, the hunter assumed that the being was simply going to consume the dead monster in a rather straightforward manner, but instead the creature did something a bit stranger. The wolf-man seemed to concentrate and take a deep breath, all the while the air between them lit up with a faint eerie luminescence. The phenomenon did not last long, but whatever it was, it most likely was something magical. (So the wolf-man knew some odd magic? Would certainly explain the sensation that had briefly washed over him when he and the brute were fighting, and the monster stumbled...)
	Much to his surprise, he realized that Iridiel was carefully moving forward as the wolf-man straightened up, inquiring in her clumsy Rodorian whether the being could understand her. - It was usually him who did the speaking to the locals - or interacting with strangers in general -, and while he still spoke with a strong accent and was not too confident in expressing himself on all occasions, he was certainly better at actually speaking proper Rodorian. It was certainly an unusual experience, staying back and observing for the most part for once...
	Quite evidently, the black-furred being did indeed comprehend their words, as he responded to Iridiel. He thanked them for their aid and offered them a share of the dead monster in turn, but also asked them why they had helped them. Indeed, why? He could probably not fully explain his own motivations, and Iridiel’s even less, grateful for the support as he was. [i]Call it intuition.[/i]
	For a long while, the wolf-man - who introduced himself with the Rodorian word-name “Claw” - conversed, with him offering fairly minimal input. Mainly only when he was asked for it. Talking about who they were, why they were here, trying to get to know one another… At one point, Iridiel offered to heal the nasty axe-gash in Claw’s side (and the other minor bruises and cuts he had possibly sustained in his struggle), but the being declined on basis of honor. Something about principles, enduring one’s mistakes. ([i]Wouldn’t it make future confrontations needlessly harder?[/i])
	In the end, the damage and weariness took over the black-furred being; having eaten, he found a place nearby and succumbed to slumber. He was not entirely certain what had happened here, but it appeared that the black one was now with them...
	Iridiel took slices from the downed beast’s meat - the grey brute was vaguely humanoid in build, but meat was meat, he supposed… “Waste not, want not” and all that. On related note, were the brute’s horns valuable, should he figure out a way to detach those in a somewhat clean way? Not only as a crafting material - given the nature of the monstrous brute, he would not have been surprised if there was some kind of reward for slaying them, even during the hard times that had befallen these lands. (Since in the end, they, too, had to earn money for all those things they could not acquire from the wilderness, and the pelts and other things they bargained with only got them so much. Taking everything they could from the beings they killed was not only respectful towards nature, but also terribly practical...) - Unless, of course, he was gravely mistaken in how the world around these parts worked and the gray brute was in fact some manner of holy beast that was supposed to be free to kill and take whatever it wanted. In which case, he had gotten them in a terrible mess...
	Domhnall eventually took a short trek back to their old camp, bringing along the supplies they had left behind there; Iridiel, in turn, retreated a way off to pray to her goddess in relative privacy. 
Left with not much else to do, he eventually settled with gathering a number branches to fashion simple crossbow-bolts out of. Those bolts, made from available branches and with his knife, with no metal tips or anything fancy, were not particularly good, but with small game, those were serviceable, never mind the lack of any kind of cost associated with obtaining the metal-tipped variants. And it gave him something to do until Iridiel returned and opted to keep watch beside him. 

	It did appear that they were not to be left without company, however, as he caught a subtle motion on the foliage not too far from them, instinctively halting his hands and ever so slightly turning his head to take a look at the disturbance. What he saw made him very, very slowly set the unfinished bolt aside and focus completely on the newcomer, a beast unlike any he could name. 
	The color of its fur and plated limbs and face melded perfectly into the yellowing autumn foliage. It moved almost soundlessly, carefully pushing the plants aside and keeping its head low, much like a predator stalking its prey. It moved almost like a large cat - [i]almost[/i]. It walked on its middle phalanxes rather than on paws, and a closer inspection of a few of its steps made it evident that the being was, in fact, limping. Its left forelimb was stiff, probably swollen - the plating made it hard to tell - and its outer side had remnants of trails of dried blood running down it.
	The eyes in its elongated face were brown, deep-set and uncannily intelligent - and what was worse, it was looking directly at them. If it had ill intentions, then … well, it was injured, but so was Claw, Iridiel probably would not be able to call upon her goddess’s power again so soon, it was also massive - over seven and a half feet tall at withers - and clearly built to kill. If they had any luck, it would not try to attack them in its injured state and would allow them to just slink away. It was most likely the smell of the dead grey brute which had lured it here. Many carnivores were also opportunistic scavengers, and injured carnivores were doubly so…
	His thoughts had been occupied with the exotic beast, but once most of its length was out in the open, he registered that the creature was not alone, but rather accompanied by something following behind it, and for a brief moment, he seized up completely as he was trying to further consider their options. [i]Of course there would be more than one...[/i] 
	It took a couple of heartbeats before he realized that the other beings were both much smaller and noisier than the first ([i]It had offspring with it?[/i]), and soon after his eyes could distinguish white specks amongst the leaves. A moment later two horses - one white, the other a dark brown bay - emerged along with their riders. The hunter relaxed slightly, but remained wary; if the creature was traveling with humanoids, then it probably was not immediately hostile to all humanoids. Hopefully, at least. Now to see the humanoids’ intentions...
	The one riding the white horse was a human man wearing a black coat - perhaps in his late twenties, maybe thirty or so. He was either fairly tanned or had slightly darker complexion than most Rodorians ... the facial structure was different, too - could be a foreigner of some sort. (Would explain his rather exotic beast companion, at least, not that Claw was any more common sight.) The other man riding the bay donned an ill-fitting brown cloak and was much younger, by the looks still a few years short of twenty, and seemed much likely to be local - pale-skinned and blond-haired. 
There was much he could read out from the expression of the younger man - he looked mildly confused if anything -, but the older one bore an expression that was at once hardened and, it seemed, also tired … nay, exhausted, seemingly almost to the point of collapsing. The large beast continued to scrutinize them and their recent kill in a distinctly unnerving manner. 

	Domhnall’s eyes momentarily flickered to the crossbow next to him - against the large beast, it would hardly have any considerable stopping power unless he managed to hit it directly in the eye, but the humans and horses were a different matter -, but quickly reconsidered. They could do without any premature hostility. At the very least, the newcomers did not look like bandits, and even less like the so-called Crusaders. Besides, it was not like initiating a fight could do any good aside of convincing the beast to rip their heads off after all.
	Slowly, he got to his feet instead, his gaze shifting from the beast to the man on the white horse. He was not entirely certain whether or not the older man was the more important figure - or whether there was any kind of order between the two, for the matter -, but well, he simply looked more important, and the younger fellow seemed to be following the other. 
In any case, he took a few strides towards the newcomers and stopped, waiting for the others to make the next move. He was still holding his knife, though his arm was hanging neutrally by his side. The beast made a slight half-circle around them and came to stand to the side, waiting. The riders came to a halt in front of him, the older human man looking down at him, inspecting him, still stern, still seemingly worn out to the point of being only partially conscious. [i]Well, it certainly doesn’t look like you’ve had the best morning behind you…[/i]
	It was but a moment of silence, but that was one uncomfortably long moment. 
	“Can I help you?” he finally asked. Whatever it was one was supposed to address men like that. Certainly was an odd place for them to end up, in the middle of nowhere…
	The man closed his eyes for a moment - it seemed he was trying to concentrate. 
	“That would be a question for Etakar, rather than I. It was he who insisted we head this way, rather than straight to our destination.” He probably picked up the confusion on Domhnall’s face, as he continued, referring to the beast, “Etakar is the dekkun. Him.” The man sighed, dropping the arm he had briefly raised to motion towards who was apparently something called a dekkun, gripping the horn of the saddle. “Quite surprising; with his leg, I’d have assumed he’d not stray … we’re headed for Zerul City, and he knows well there would be healers. Unless you have a healer amongst you, I would not know. Not unless he decides to elaborate.”