"Well he was definitely better as a dog." Marcán retorts, almost defending the creature.
"Ah, we never quite figured out why ourselves. It started with the majority of our troupe, Me, Ker, Rhenmyr and Borric, finding a frozen beggar in a box, no, a shipping crate no less in Zelkor's Ferry. There we met what we believe to be a Hyperborean assassin transporting these men with the help of some clueless sailors. Believe you me we had no clue ourselves, the assassin called them "trash that won't be missed", but they were moving them for something. For slaves most likely, or some otherworldly ritual I wouldn't have the fondest idea. The assassin claimed that he was working with Zelkor, a man that I personally knew. I couldn't believe him, but the assassin slew Zelkor 'n cold blood, likely from us keeping the beggar alive. Bastard killed himself with a sort of incantation and fled, possessing a horse. A horse!
Things only got more strange when we found ourselves in Odessos, where there were reports of missing beggars among the downtrodden, along with a recent of massacre of nearby nobles. Sadly we had to flee after a few run-ins with Hyperboreans who were not only happy to pin the massacre on a meak thief (who could barely hold a vase let alone a knife), but to siege the entire local thieves guild (where we were hiding) forcing us to dress as beggars in rot and filth and sneak into the wizards tower. You know what happened there." Marcán briefly rants about the troupes first adventure with the Hyperborean's, clearly still frustrated.
"Indeed, Mab. Some other time, perhaps when I've finally found my kin and all of this mage nonsense passes us by."