[ Dorian came prepared, with a notebook and pencil in a satchel that hung across his shoulders, but he carried his glowing crystal topped staff at the ready as well. He's had time among the intense fauna of the Quarantine. They aren't the underestimated. ]

Spirits, I'd wager, and a lot of them. They're typically harmless, though. Something has them rather angry.

[ He chuckles though. His skin was crawling, a nervous sweat was tricking between his shoulder blades under his enchanted robes and leather-reinforced armor. It was time to wield another power in his arsenal to ward away the unease: sarcasm. ]

You can hit anything if you know where to aim, even a spirit. They seem to be touching us just fine, after all.