Neverwinter Forest the slightest touch forced to fold

Burying the hatchet was proving to be a bit more difficult. Though mildly aware of what all had transpired, Dirge couldn't have claimed to have a hand in all of it. Nor did he anticipate that they would make friends every which way they turned. Yet the turn of words did little more than spread a demure smile to his features—perhaps it would be unwise if they all shared where they had seen things.

"Don't feel bad, it's not just here that the herds are lacking. Word has it that it's still that way everywhere, even now that the quaking has stopped." A pause followed, and his gaze drew outward towards the plains would be had the snow not obscured it. "Though if you do come across any, be wary of them. We've found a sickly few brought down by their own illness than any of our ilk. Once you've caught wind of them it's a hard stench to forget." Presuming, of course, that they already hadn't.