They say that Malachite Hunters are not cursed as the other Hunters are, because they are extremely lucky. But nobody ever said whether it was good luck or bad luck...
Mallack had been locked to Roraldi by his own personal curse for the better part of a millenium, although he never aged due to the magical equivalent of fine print. Technically he had the full range of the forest's sprawl, but he had found it easiest to stay within ten miles of his tree; sense of direction was not his strong point. The tree in question had his curse attached to it, as well as containing his makeshift home beneath its roots, and it contained his few important possessions.
One might think that living in Roraldi would be exciting, but one probably has an average lifespan for one's species. While Mallack knew nothing of the far reaches of the forest, he was incredibly bored of his tree's ten-mile radius. Since another part of the curse dictated that he didn't need to eat, most of his time was spent watching the world from under his tree in the hope that something new might come by.
He was also waiting, though he would never admit it, for someone to break his curse. Like the Hunters of the Shrine, he couldn't leave Roraldi on his own. Which was why, on the sixth of November, he happened to be awake to feel the tingle.
He had no idea what the feeling meant, but he knew that it was the most interesting thing to happen in the last five hundred years. Having nothing better to do, Mallack got to his stone feet and wandered off in search of the tingle's source.