The massive bonfire at the center of the camp cast frantic shadows across every surface, running and jumping from wagon to wagon, painting their walls in a constantly shifting tableau of darkness and orange firelight. The patterns formed were somehow swollen in appearance, as if the radiance of the flames was fighting a losing battle to prevent the darkness from engulfing everything it touched.
At the rear of the camp sat the largest of the wagons, slighty farther from the fire than the rest, which had the effect of increasing the size and depth of the shadows tenfold, to the point that the wagon's entrance was completely hidden from sight. Puncturing the darkness, however, were a pair of sickly green torches. These torches cast no radiant light of their own, merely guttered and spit their green flames in a companionable counterpoint to the darkness.
One of the shadows leaping across the space between the bonfire and the wagon solidified at the last moment, revealing the hunched shape of a figure, laboriously making its way towards the large wagon. It disappeared from view as it reached the torches, and the shrill squeak of a creaky hinge puncuated the silence.
Inside the wagon, the visitor straightened as much as they were able. A trembling hand reached up and removed the cowl of its cloak, revealing the heavily bandaged head and face of a man. The left side of his face was completely covered by filthy gauze, held in place with ragged lengths of cloth. The makeshift bandage completely covered his ear, and the bandage extended all the way forward to cover half of his nose. What remained visible was visibly desiccated, but despite his appearance, a broad grin spread across his face, revealing badly cracked and broken teeth. His focus never wandered, however, as he stared at the sunken form reclining in the room's only chair.
The chair's occupant was covered completely in a bulky, misshapen green robe. The hood of the robe concealed anything about its facial appearance, and the only thing that revealed the presence of a living being was the gentle rise and fall of the robe in time with its wearer's breathing. After a long pause, the robed individual took in a single, lengthy breath, then exhaled, shifting its position slightly as it turned its attention to the newcomer.
"Sssspeak... Phesssstor. What have you to report?" it queried.
Phestor cleared his throat, the sound guttural and heavy with fluids. When he spoke, his voice creaked dangerously through his misshapen throat, coming out uneven and harsh.
"Ziito found him, Matriarch. Found him and brought him back. Ziito's got him in his wagon, and is trussing him up real nice for the others to see."
The Matriarch was silent for a time, then a low chuckle emanated from the depths of her robe.
"I look forward to ssseeing what Ziito hasss to ssshow usss thisss time. Hisss lassst creation wasss... quite impresssive."
As the Matriarch spoke, she leaned forward, the hood of her robe falling away. Phestor kept his countenance free of any reaction at the sight of her, though it was a struggle. Deep black scales covered her entire head, which was somewhat misshapen. Slightly flatter than usual, with the eyes a touch farther apart than was normal. Her nose was a pair of reptilian slits, and her mouth was twisted into a wry grin. Despite the expression, her flickering forked tongue appeared and disappeared with regularity.
-GM Quilic
"I have a question... possibly two..."
