The man looks up at the the newcomers and tilts his head to the side. 'More strangers' he muses, 'And also not of the Cinnidhean, I think. Most peculiar. Sit, traveller. I am known as Slépti. It seems that we have business.'

He reaches for something behind him and produces a small kettle, which he fastens to a twig and hangs over the fire. He then fills it with water from a small jug and drops a handfull of dried leaves into it. The smell of sweet herbs soon fills the tent. He stirs the brew with a wooden ladel, all the while staying silent. After a few moments he scoops up a mouthful from the pot, tastes it and nods. He then offers each of you a clay cup. 'Tea' he says, 'Help yourselves'. 

The camp is silent, apart from the clattering of the charms and the crackling of the fire.

Suddenly, he speaks. 'I know not how you came to be here' he begins, slowly, 'But I am not ignorant of its significance. You may not think it, but you were meant to be here, and I can only think of one reason why. You must continue what I have started.'