Neverwinter Forest the slightest touch forced to fold

He huffed at the description of three psychos, but Mal was right about that. They were psychotic, at least what little bits and pieces Dirge had put together about them. And as far as he knew, they were still out there somewhere... though preferably wrecking havoc somewhere else far, far away. It had kept them on edge for a spell, still did in some regard by any wager Dirge made, but he thought his ventures outward were worth the gamble.

"Yeah, that's the one," he murmured with the same good note attached. "And we've been tending to our own for the most part. It's good those nasty strays haven't turned up again, too. But you on the other hand seem to be fairing well. Winter hasn't been a kind season thus far," and while Roangeda had fallen into disrepair, Mal seemed to be doing something right after all.

"Must be hiding a herd in there, aren't you? They always liked that forest." Humor colored him further, and a smile graced his features. He didn't know if it was the sort of thing his company would take to, but short of knowing what else to offer as an olive branch it seemed the best route.