As Ettamri neared, she could make out clearer details through the white fog. The silhouette was certainly humanoid, with perhaps a dancer's physique: long limbs with muscles like thick rope. No flesh-tearing claws extended from the hands, nor was there any impressive coat of fur that masked the skin. There was a lump beside the figure, perhaps their clothing and armanents, and as her voice sounded through the tranquil place, one arm casually rested against the non-descript lump.

The figure's voice was gravelly yet refined, carrying a gravity akin to an experienced leader of men. A few vowels were drawn out unnaturally, a couple words pronounced in a curious way, but it was more accent than inadequacy, an exotic, wild undertone beneath that tongue.

[b]"Merely a pilgrim seeking respite in this holy place,"[/b] was the masculine figure's response. [b]"Will you strike me down for such a small overstep?"[/b]