The forest path that once led Qatrand and the squad of Ironclad members to a mysterious essence reading that ended up being a gravity distortion made by archaic sigils was now well cleared and marked. Guiding a purposeful expedition team as they moved with the urgency of wartime.
A brisk pace that still maintained awareness of their surroundings. For while some of the Voidlings had been scattered, that did not make them threatless. Qatrand took point, her heavy blade occasionally catching glimpses of sunlight as she shifted it to navigate the terrain.
Her pigeon blue eyes scanned constantly for threats, though her attention and stray spirit tendrils periodically drifted to her wife who walked several paces behind with Master Jevri and the others bringing up the rear.
