Hunt Mawmurk

While tending to the beast she had slain, she catches wind of your approach and swiftly turns to face you.

“Best not come any closer.”

Her sharp gaze settles upon you, one hand already poised near the bowstring, ready to loose an arrow at a moment’s notice.

You slowly raise both hands and take a careful step back.

“We seek no quarrel.”

“...Guild expedition folk are hardly worth trusting. Weak, every last one of them.”

With a mocking sneer, she gestures toward the carcass of a massive beast lying at her feet.

“Wouldn’t surprise me if the Murmoc ends up feeding on you soon enough.”

Several expedition members stiffen at the open provocation and begin to step forward.

But with a raised hand, you bid them stand down.

The pile of slain game beside her still carries the thick scent of fresh blood.

“They've a keen nose for weakness. The fearful and feeble are always the first to be torn apart.”

She lets out a brief scoff.

"So take my counsel-better to sharpen your skill than your pride."