"They're vermin," Ellowyl says shortly, recovering her parchment from where she'd dropped it and dusting it off. "They live in shallow warrens and old abandoned mines, and send troops of young males out in all directions to scavenge off of travelers they can overpower."
She sighs and carefully folds the paper before putting it back in her pouch.
"The only unusual thing about this was that they didn't break and flee when the first few died. I expect the presence of the sorceror bolstered them...they have a peculiar obsession with their few naturally-occurring arcanists."
The eladrin approaches the fallen wyrmpriest and pushes his body over onto its back with her staff; face set in a mask of controlled revulsion.
"Too proud to flee, even in the face of certain doom. And thus comes his end."