[@Andreyich][@Dusty][@Lucian][@POOHEAD189][@BangoSkank][@Chicken][@ClocktowerEchos]

[i]Thump...thump-thump...thump...thump-thump...[/i]

[i]Something[/i] was coming.

Severo let his ears, which were honestly not as acute as they had once been, pick up the sound of something (or some things) moving toward their current position at a rhythmic pace but certainly at speed. There were, he decided, two options here; either those were drums, hooves, or most likely both.

"No necessito això ara mateix!" He burst out with in his native Estalian, although a very specific dialect if anyone cared, whipping his cloak back over his shoulder and drawing forth a rapier and shorter dagger from his waist, his entire body taking the half-hunched but relaxed stance of a duellist, "prepare yourselves, look to the treeline."

They did not have to wait all that long for the first horned adversary to appear, the pug-nosed face of an Ungor - the lesser threat of all Beastmen bands - emerging from one side of the clearing alongside a cohort of his compatriots, a skirmishing party of two dozen or so at most, but by the Gods there would undoubtedly be more coming soon.