The troupe left their horses safely tied up behind them as the followed Nazir closer to the mansion. Each of them felt tense and tired after their restless night. But they knew that today would have to be the day they striked, another night in the dark would surely be their doom.

The half-elf quietly lead them through the fields around the outskirts of the town, giving the cemetary and stone circle a wide birth. But he heard nothing, he saw nothing. The whole town was silent and lifeless. Chunks of disturbed dirt and toppled gravestones, with shovels strewn about the site were the only reminders of what strange magics he had seen that night.

"****," Gerric muttered, coming to a stop, looking down at his feet. The rest circled around, seeing a small pool of blood next to tracks on the ground. The tracks were human, but strangely proportioned. The two feet were far too wide, for a normal walk. A handprint was preserved in the dirt, though the print made the hand look as though it was split in half between two of it's long fingers. The tracks pointed off where their camp had been the night before.