You must bring us, a Shrubbery.

Ruth shrugged, “It’s relatively simple. I can help by casting a ward and talking you back?” And if Ghilly got a little agitated the elf could kick Grim awake. He didn’t enjoy the idea of the soul taking brief control though, the thought caused his brow to furrow a little. “Yes, there’s the small risk the Old Boy might surface, but that’s where we’d need a totem… Something to snap you back, a thing, a memory… the dogs, for example.” Not that he was proposing the man let his beasts bite him, but it was perhaps more comfortable than him telling Ruth, a complete stranger, a deep dark secret.

If the tomb were like the many others he’d rummaged through it wouldn’t take him more than an afternoon to pick over the items and knowledge left behind. Ruth could afford the time to prod the traveller into a meditative sleep if he wished. “I wouldn’t be able to help you, or be there, but it might help to introduce yourselves to one another?”

Eyeing the dog, Ruth chuckled again, his hands going deep into a pocket. “He smells the jerky. But the choice is yours, I reckon though, you could do with a drink after all that. I can also help with that.” Instead of the formerly mentioned jerky, a flask came out of the folds of his robes, fingers easily unscrewing the top to take the first swig before offering it to Grim.