Tatyana was one of the best and one of the worst people for a job like this one. She had the training and the skills to handle something as menial as this level of work, especially - she was finely honed against all otherworldly beings, despite her lack of experience with the scarier types, and there isn't a lot she wouldn't do for the quick jewels (within reason). If this small village in the Worth Woodsea was that desperate for a mage to take on their request and clear out the spirits bothering them ... but it wasn't that simple. She wasn't mean to come here and slay the specters that begrudged the populace with little pranks. Her job, within her capacity, was to pacify them.

Tatyana hates demons, but she considers herself hostile to most all non-mortals until given a reason to act otherwise; while not irrational, she's equally uninterested in entertaining forces with more power and knowledge than your common man and the ability to use that, and them. She didn't want to get trapped in another scheme. She didn't want to suffer them to turn anyone else into ... what she's been turned into, and there wasn't good reason to believe spirits weren't capable of some type of malicious curse. She swallowed down a sip from her waterskin before hiding it away, donning lighter sherwoodian cloaks than her usual cold weather attire. This was a problem she had to approach with a bit more grace: and with less sweating, ideally. She struggled with greenery.

The girl of red disappeared into this sea of trees, leaving behind the village's requestors with a curt agreement on their terms and no more of a plan in her pretty little head. She'd have to take this on instinct, measuring what hers were in this moment through the lens of her wife glasses and the tight line that tugged at her lips. She's trudge deeper into the forest, a hand always ready to brandish her favored knifeblade and a keen hunter's eye cast in all directions for all the typical signs of what she'd come here to face - no, help. She'd almost sigh if she wasn't so focused on the job.

Following various ritualistic tracks lead her to a small clearing and a shrine that sat in its middle, and the howling and giggling of forest spirits lost in their mirth before they could turn her attention on her rung in her large, fluffy ears. She stalled ... thought ... and noticed, when a malevolent presence began to peer back at her, that the offerings at the shrine weren't the only thing lain haphazard. The very base of the small wooden structure had been knocked over.

She clenched her teeth, nudging up her glasses with her forearm, and then crouched to a sprint as laughing played like a track around her. She made it to the shrine stand before more than a sense of cold could brush her, running its schematics through a frenzy of thought before accepting she was out of time and piecing it back together on that selfsame aforementioned instincts.

The spirits calmed, their home restored, and she took a greater number of minutes to assure its proper placement before heading back for payment.

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