In the deepest fold of the Wyrmglen Forest, where the trees grew so thick they whispered secrets to each other, Casper had been foraging with his usual intent frown. A basket dangled from one elbow, already half-filled with damp mushrooms, moss tufts, and a possibly sentient beetroot. He muttered to himself in German, complaining about slugs and the confusing smell of deathroot when warm.

And then—snap—a branch broke. Not by squirrel, not by deer. Something... unfamiliar.

Casper froze mid-step, lifted a knobby wand from his robes, and vanished with a flick and a cloud of bees (accidentally mixed the spells together). Creeping through the underbrush like a cloaked, invisible frog, he spotted someone. Doing... something. What, he couldn't tell, but it was definitely something new. Very much not squirrel behavior.

His heart—which he assumed was just decorative by now—did a strange bloop. A wrong spell later (he meant to freeze a leaf to spy better, not paralyze a whole stranger), the newcomer became quite immobile. "Oopsie...eh...mein Fehler," he muttered. But curiosity triumphed over morality, as it often does with hermit wizards. Casper grabbed the stranger by the legs and dragged them home like an oversized turnip.

Now in the corner of his stone cottage, the captured guest sat roped to a creaky chair, next to a nervous badger and a raccoon holding a teacup. Casper poked at his guest’s boots, his ears, his possible fangs (just in case). He muttered all the while, mostly to himself and partially to the confused bat overhead.

"Ahh...so...you are...like...ein biggish man? Or...vampiric creature? Nein? Hmmm..." Casper leaned closer, squinting with his nose. He tapped the wand lightly on his guest’s forehead. "Hallo, yes, I bring you hier. Very normal. Is good meeting? Du verstehst me, yes?"

Casper blinked twice, then whispered proudly to the raccoon, “He has...eyelashes. Like deer.” It was unclear if this was a compliment, a magical diagnosis, or just forest-speak.