[IC] Wyrm Food - Riddle of the Sphinx, Wherein our good GM gets a spell... Options

[HeySparky]

When I am young, I go on four legs, then I go on two legs, then I go on three legs, and then I die.

The night winds down and the team retires, glad for comfortable beds, hot showers, familiar food. You sleep and it is deep, restful – the sleep of complete exhaustion.

Dawn approaches, and far away a whirring drone speeds toward a ring of worn and weathered stones. It has detected an entity within and is zooming closer to get better readings.

Its sensors register two humanoids one entering the rough stone circle and one inside, badly hurt. A burst of invisible energy pegs out the drone’s sensors before returning to normal. The information is cataloged, indexed and all relayed back to the drone’s distant master. One of the humanoids is a strange, unfamiliar creature the other quite clearly an elf. It is, it’s him! I found him!

Dogma stirs, sounds and smells begin filtering into his mind. He is alive. Only barely. He senses another standing over him and opens his eyes cautiously. A wild-looking creature, sits on its haunches, it is metahuman, but willowy and long. Elf-like, but feral looking. The creature is looking over its shoulder into the air beyond a circle of weathered stones. A whickering draws Dogma’s attention to the hovering drone, barely visible to the natural eye.

Back at the inn, Gypsy is the first to wake, a pulse of energy tugging at his gut. The link. He felt it. Headed off to the north and west. No mistaking it.

The team convenes for breakfast and has messages from several newspapers requesting interviews with Gypsy. Forms move outside, indistinct through the curtains and cameras try to peek in through the cracks. The formerly kindly proprietor is curt, not at all pleased with the prying attention. “T’weren’t gonna ask where you all came from, oddly dressed as you are. An I still won’t. But I will ask you to leave. Can’t have this non-sense at my place of business.”

He serves breakfast, all the while fielding trid calls from eager reporters. “No sir. My guests’ business is their own. … No sir, I don’t want it to break on my doorstep. I said, ‘no,’ Mr. McGarvey.” He plunks the plates down and a teapot. “I s’pose you lot want coffee?” The trid chimes again.

He wanders off muttering about f’riners. Slinky looks after him, her eyebrows raised as she settles a napkin on her lap – this is different – sausges – and not that soy-garbage – real sausage! She tucks in, “Fo… wha aw we gunna do?” Not the best table manners.

Sylph:
The strangely dressed man is badly hurt, but the circle is warded. The sight of someone more out of place than yourself is a welcome one, and curious too. The ward around the standing stones flickers and you see a way through. Stepping across quickly you feel a deep pulse of magic and a strange feeling of being watched. Over your shoulder you see a drone, hovering, looking. The strange man-elf stirs and as you turn toward him he goes limp again.

The drone circles, electronic eye watching. If you are identified it is all over. But this strange man, he is hurt. What do you do?