"Perhaps I will. I want to see what they're doing though," Orshallan says distractedly. He watches for several more minutes, until the ceremony is complete. The druid removes his elaborate horn and hide headdress, and the farmer and his sons go to collect the water money. They nod quickly at the two travelers, but continue on toward their farmhouse. The druid comes to the two travelers, leaning somewhat on an oaken staff in his hand.
"Greetings travelers. I see our ceremony caught your eye," he says in a raspy, aged voice. Orshallan nods in agreement, and the old man gives a quick explanation. Apparently there have been plagues of vermin on the fields as of late. Wardings by the druids at the seasonal ceremonies have driven away the worst of them, but this is a plague of monumental proportions. Needing more than simple crop charms and scarecrows, the druid is calling up the spirits of sacrificed scarecrows to protect the crops. Once released from earthly bodies, the scarecrow spirits are far more effective at driving off vermin.
"It's an old ceremony, not often done, but I am an old man, and I prefer the old ways. But I am sure it will be successful. Now, let us speak of happier things. What brings two young lovers such as yourself along this way?" the older druid says, his wrinkled face breaking into a broad smile.
