An Elven man walks into Ost Numen from the south, his clothes in tatters, face scratched and bruised, his stomach bulging. Citizens nearby offer to help him, at which point some overhear:

Elven Man: “I don’t- I don’t know what happened… they’ve always been so calm and friendly with me…” A concerned citizen, a much older Elven gentleman, grabs the man before he can fall to his knees, hoisting him up and walking him along the road to the inn.

Concerned Citizen: “Its alright, whatever happened, you’re alive at least. Let’s get you something to clean up with, and perhaps a spot of food. My wife is preparing a roasted romanesco salad back home that will-”

“NO! Not another ounce of food, please! I can’t bear to eat anymore!” The man begins to weep uncontrollably at the thought. The elder man holds him upright for a time, his face a mixture of confusion and concern.

“Young man, if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly did this to you? I’ve never seen something rip a person half to shreds whilst feeding them like a glutton.”

“It was those sweet teensy horned rabbits, the ones that are always so calm! I went out to feed them some fruit from the orchard, like I do every day at sundown. but something- like a twig- snapped in their little minds! They glared at me as I approached, and I ripped past them like a- like a demon trying to get to the neighbor’s garden for some reason! They bit my legs as I passed and I tripped, and I suppose the rest came next… I covered my face, and I don’t know how long I was there. Someone must’ve came and done something, though, because when I came to this morning, the Chihares were all gone.”

The citizen wordlessly pulls the man along as he wails, with a furrowed brow. “Well, that’s… strange. I could swear someone else had a pretty nasty run in with a spriggan recently…” The older man finally mutters as they head into the inn and out of earshot.