[center][url=https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1325473]
[h3][color=000000]▬▬[/color] [color=000000]⌘[/color] [color=a0410d]Dalanth [img]https://i.imgur.com/nezClSt.png[/img] Liadon[/color] [color=000000]⌘[/color] [color=000000]▬▬[/color][/h3]   [color=000000]▬▬[/color] [color=a0410d]▬[color=000000]⍭[/color]▬[/color] [color=000000]▬▬[/color][/url][/center]

The tribe was gathered. Torches burned just at the limit of the bonfire's light. Eight sages stood in a ring around the fire, around the ranger next to the flames. The rest of the tribe stood on the edge, in line with the torches. Watching, waiting. The sages chanted under their breath, the moonless night made darker by the canopy high above them. 

The ranger had everything he would need for the journey. Weaponry, of course, but also more mundane things. Food. Trinkets to remind him of the tribe and all its people did for him. He could feel the air around him crackle with magical energy as the spell's power picked up. He breathed deeply to calm his nerves, closed his eyes and remembered his training. 

The heat from the fire vanished, instantly. He could feel the moist air on his cheeks, his hands. He opened his eyes slowly to see an assembled group of adventurers. He could hear the children playing, the gypsies at their caravan. One of the women in the group spoke, as the oppressive mist that surrounded them seemed to slowly seep closer.

Glancing at each of the strangers before him, Dalanth casually asked, "So. You must be the welcoming party, then?"