[center][h2][color=82ca9d]Irian Sinewell[/color][/h2][/center][hr]
The rest of the Lions disappeared into the tombs leaving Irian and a number of guards just outside the stone gate, on alert, but with chatters here and there. Something something goats vs cows when it came to its milk taste. A conversation Irian would join, if not for the relative importance of making sure the entrance was clear of enemies in case of any evacuation were to be had, and absolutely not that he absolutely despised cow milk for giving him all sorts of discomfort, and joining that would just trigger bad memories. Just hope that things don't come to a [i]boil[/i] with the guards.

The elf simply kept tabs on his surroundings with his bow resting on his thigh, his feet tapping on the ground to a melody in his head, something he commonly does whenever he needs to keep watch of the forest to ward away boredom. But the melody was quickly overridden to a high-pitched squeak. To the fortune of the recipient, Irian recognized that voice, and so knew to not have his weapon up upon arrival, but not without pain as the high-pitch continued onto the explanation.

[color=82ca9d]"Wo-wo-woah, what murder doll? What witch?...Wait..."[/color] 

Witch...Doll...Doll Witch?

[color=82ca9d]"Stay here, yall."[/color] Irian gestured immediately upon suspicion towards the guards, who seemed just as confused as he was a few seconds ago. But the keywords Lirrah blurted out let him knew what his opponent might be, and the arrow he drew from his quiver glowed a cyan color. [color=82ca9d]"Chill, I'm here. Just guide me there, alright?"[/color]

[@Octo]