Garik looks at the smelly man quizzically. Grinning, he decides to play along for fun. "Well it's about time! How've you been, friend! Not surprisingly, we could smell ya a mile away!" He grins as he notices the arrow protruding from his calf. "You know, you might wanna have that looked at. Most folks usually have issues when a stick juts out from the inside of the body. Just sayin'."
Is he insane, delirious, or both?
Coming to a stop at the bottom of the group's elevated camp, the man stares dumbfoundedly at Garik for a long moment. Slowly, he reaches a hand up to his beard, which is impressively bushy, especially given the added twigs jutting out of it here and there.
Suddenly the hand flies to his scalp, and he begins violently turning about and flailing around, sending murky water everywhere as he gibbers loudly and incoherently. The mood seems to swing from elation to anger and he appears to have actual tears streaming freely from his eyes. His wild gesticulations, done almost as soon as they started, end with him blubbering and holding a significant hank of his long hair, freshly torn out.
He shakes the hair indignantly at the group, as if blaming them for the loss.
"Sir? Are you all right? You've been searching for us? Well, I'm glad you have found success! Please, come and sit by our fire and warm yourself. Tell us what you are doing here, and why you've been searching."
Morthos nods.
"Aye, now that you have found us, we should sort out where we are going to go from here. Tell us, did you see another group pass through here recently? Possibly a group of men and women dressed in silly-looking robes?"
Garik nods emphatically in agreement with the others as his eyes travel back to the arrow protruding from his leg. Looking back to the man, "Ya know, I could get that arrow out if yer wantin'. Doesn't it bug ya?"
"'Cause it bugs me." He looks to it again, resisting the urge to grab at it and rip it out.