You must bring us, a Shrubbery.

As Ruth sat and the others followed, the elf eyed the smaller of the dogs carefully as it padded after him. He wasn’t nervous about the hounds attention, just a little confused by the fawning. The light explanation of the lost man’s condition didn’t send him running for the hills, so Ruth nodded at his question.

“You’ve heard of this Elgar’nan I assume?” It was difficult missing the sudden darkness that had swallowed some of Antiva and paused its Empire making policy. “That’s an example of something worse. The Evanrus have returned, along with others. Strong beings from ancient times are returning. A friend of mine carries one, but hers is at least sensible and tolerant, I haven’t caught her murdering slews in a rage.” Ruth shrugged, gesturing for Grim to take a seat.

“Your blackouts are the spirit, demon or being, assuming control over you. Not all do. I rarely interact with mine as they are content to observe and aid me if asked, but I rarely do.” Perhaps if the spirit had asked first, Ruth may have been more willing, but the lack of choice in the matter was what irked him more. The elf was merely grateful he didn’t have to endure what Megara did, or dwell with a more damaging one. Compassion was preferable to Rage, he had plenty of that without being egged on.

With a sigh, the elf began rolling up the sleeves of his robes and layers to the elbows. “It is wise to figure out your companions temperament, else they land you in something trickier than a simple misunderstanding.” A brow arched, palms open in a gesture of may I? to take one of Grim’s wrists.