[center][h1]Bartimus
Crypt[/h1][/center][hr]

The curious owlman dropped back from his warden duties as they entered the library-esque room. His ear-tufts twitched and laid back as his muscled posture relaxed. He ran his taloned fingers along the spines of some of the dusty tomes and sighed. So many tales to be read. So much knowledge to be bestowed and they were just rotting away in this stinking dungeon. It saddened him, but his focus remained forward as his young ward, Kara, advanced.

The shouting cut Irthorne's analysis of the situation of and, in a flash, Bartimus had his iron draw and his eyes set on the encroaching shadows of the crypt deeper within. He gave a gaze to the other party members as they disturbed books on shelves and interacted with their surroundings, leaving Kara to run off with her blade drawn. He admired her spirit but her safety was his concern.

He followed along, shortsword held at mid-guard and ready to strike out as he too approached the voice. He clacked his beak softly as they neared.