[color=92278f]“My instincts have long since rotten away, but my hunger remains. Every campfire is a hunting ground; each soul either ally or potential prey.”[/color] The druid did not falter in disclosing his perspective, having been flanked many a time by threats ignored. His days and nights fending off pirates, all after the same horde. [i]Treasure.[/i] His bones knew of this possible tactic, discard a faction to follow the rear, ever so often, then send word by bird or smoke. The rub kindled, whether the presence of the smolder was actually a message, or its absence a herald of followers. Likely the former since the cult remained on the move, trafficking its members with crude expediency. [color=92278f]“I suggest we test the waters to the side, lads, lest we become swept in any cagy tide. The power of discretion is soft. It is the firm leaf unyielding to a tornado.”[/color] With a snap of his fingers and an outstretched hand, feathers twirled into a squall emanating from his palm, sprouting the familiar ebon frame. Eventually the whirling beaked dervish coiled into the heavens, to scout ahead if they decided, collectively, to advance upon the curious tangent. [color=92278f]“War soars upon the meekest updrafts while peace brawls against the gales of a hurricane. It is now the way of the world. We must change it.”[/color] [@Hekazu]