"Yarp." Says the fat stout guard. "Sir." Mumbles the taller, decidedly less comical one. Creating a whip from nothing at all, the guard cracks it over head with shocking skill. "Onward ye great ballsac o'fleas." With an unhappy groan, the Ursur began to trudge forward..
..in entirely the wrong direction.
Grumbling curses to herself, the taller woman reached out with her mind, coaxing whatever smile minds she could summon to her. Rabbits, white foxes, but mostly mice appeared, forced by her will to squeak and shamble about to get the great bear's attention. "Good thinkun'." The short guard bellowed with a yellow grin, receiving only a sneer from his counter part.
Slowly but surely with the animals as bait, the ursur began to plow in the right direction.
