“Monster!” Ytharra howled, charging at the villain who’d skinned her pack-mates alive just to sell their pelts as ‘novelties’ in Waterdeep and the cities of the Sword Coast. Slamming into him, she bore him to the ground, landing astride his fat belly, her twin daggers at his throat. She, Syn and Torryn had broken camp at dawn, making their way back to where he’d peppered the game trail with his vicious, silver toothed devices. Rather than pick their way through the dangerous traps to disarmed them one at a time, Torryn had held Miir at arms-length as the sentient bow sent out a blast of telekinetic force that safely triggered them; hurling them up from where they laid hidden like leaves in a breeze. Then they’d gathered them together and Syn fused them into a twisted mass of metal with a magically invoked bolt of lightning. The trapper had obviously found them, only to have his scream of rage bring the lythari running. Her bull rush had caught him and his four heavily armed guards unprepared, but they quickly moved to defend their employer only to be confronted by a sun elven woman with a rune inscribed longsword, a wood elven man with a composite longbow and a large, very angry grey wolf. “I should skin you alive like you did them,” the enraged wolf woman snarled inches away from his face, her eyes afire with animalistic fury. “But that would make me as evil as you,” she hissed, reigning in her anger, “and they deserve better than that being their legacy.” “Legacy!?!” the fat, human mage taunted with a sneer. “They were nothing but dirty animals, just like you, the only legacy they deserve is the gold their pelts put in my purse.” Then, looking toward his guards he commanded; “What am I paying you for… kill them, but take to wolf bitch alive… I want her pelt!” “They’re trying to decide if the gold you promised them is worth their lives,” Syn replied for them with a cruel smirk. “Trust me boys… it isn’t… and he won’t be around to pay you!” Seemingly to agree, the armed men lowered their weapons and backed away, scurrying down the trail that they hoped would take them out of this damned forest and home to Waterdeep. “Cowards, I’ll see that…,” the trapper’s threat was cut short as Ytharra brought her daggers down across his neck like a pair of scissors, ready to snip his ugly head from his flabby body. “You forget, I’m a wizard,” he growled up at her with a triumphant grin, then spoke the trigger word in Aragrakh, old high wyrm, the archaic language of dragons used today only to cast arcane spells, that would whisk him away to safety, but just as he did Torryn’s hurled dagger struck his thigh, triggering its enchantment to dispel magical effects at his mental command, causing the teleport spell to fissile ineffectively away. “You’re not going anywhere… accept to whatever hell will have your soul,” the wood elf taunted as he knelt to retrieve his dagger, and addressed Ytharra; “What do you want to do with him?” The lythari took a deep breath and considered her options, then she looked over at Torryn as a capricious grin spread across her lips and wicked gleam light her sapphire eyes; the trapper’s muffled cries echoed behind them as they headed down the game trail. They’d salvaged enough chain from his traps to bind him, naked, stretched out between trees; left to the tender mercies of whatever hungry beast happen by… the very same beasts he had become rich trapping.