"I sense a stir in the Vile Ichor."
Meilyr crouched behind a cliff as his silvery eyes surveyed the land below. Lone, unremarkable ruins lay in the middle of a green-covered patch, its serenity broken by the exuded fumes of a lit bonfire.
"There are five magi. Two are somewhat strong, but I should be able to manage without problems."
Alwina raised her brow after a glance. "How is the movement inside?"
"Nothing of note, I would guess? They seem to be resting."
"What would be the cause of the stir, then? Protective barriers don't produce erratic outflows. The cause must be something else."
Meilyr tilted his head, trying to ponder the reason. He sighed after a few seconds. "I don't know."
"It's most likely a trap," she remarked. "Discrepancies between physical and mystical perceptions are always suspicious. Look to the northeast, near the edge of their barrier. Do you see any strange object?"
