The great encampment of their enemy echoed with the minuscule announcement of their now settled quarry. It was not followed by any wild cheering, nor any booming snarls of drakes mingling with the booming shouts of the cultists.  However, flaps of tents were occasionally thrown aside to vantage the newcomers. Although the bowl-shaped bivouac of sorts was large, even by dwarven standards, it was seemingly crammed to capacity. Nearly all of Greenest’s assailants must have arrived, gathered and assembled in one winepress of a chasm. 

Brannor followed steadfastly the impersonating Parum; the giant wereman held reverently in chains, led to the indentured toil ahead. The footsteps increased in number, but Torus could discern a different sound, from within, roaring against the great vault of his mind’s ceiling, reverberating through the furry hall of his body. It seemed his bear's frame shook with the unheeded vibrations, as the druid winced as the noise made his head throb. He was suddenly stifled in the leering crowd. The ursine monstrosity, hazardly bucked the half-blood off, quickly releasing the enclosed pirate embarrassingly on all fours. 

[color=92278f]"My roots will be glad when the dew finally seeps."[/color] 

The aged sailor muttered to the shed Orchid, rising and standing next to him. His face, which always beget melancholy initially, seemed even darker and more brooding than usual, to compensate for the ruse. The end of his sentence remained pungent with silence, lingering upon the nature of its receipt of all who glanced the transition, as the motley crew marched deeper into the belly of the crevasse of their nemesis.

[Hider=Mechanics]
Torus loses the ability to maintain his Wildshape, due to exhaustion of two hours. He hopes that no one would become suspicious of such an unintentional act.
[/Hider]