He didn't want to jump to conclusions about it Grian.

He really wanted to believe him.
But when his house (and friend) sprouted a magnificent moustache, Scar had to draw the line.
Rerouting a zombie spawner to dump the undead into his front yard in the first week, he could allow. Pulling that prank off was just a matter of dedication.

But the moustache. That required magic.

And Scar certainly didn't do it himself. Stress didn't seem the pranking type either, Iskall was too busy wrangling villagers, and Mumbo was off being a gremlin in the jungle.
Which left Grian.
He was the only one who could, really. He was close enough to Scars base as none of them had the artificial wings they all desired and the history of pranking.

So it had to be Grian.
And Grian wasn't magical. Was he?
You'd think someone with magic could not die every five seconds, or to iron golems as much as he did- wait.

Iron golems. The prankster hated iron, going out of his way to not touch it. Armour could be debated, but he literally asked Scar to place anvils on his manor more than once. That had to mean something.

It was a hunch, really. All he was following was a few random ideas, quirks that didn't quite line up. Scar ran to his small library, flicking through the books written in runes until he found the one he wanted. A small book, the red colour faded from age, spine cracked and the leather creased. The runes were handwritten, crammed into the thin pages to take up as much space as it could.
And he found a page, detailed drawings of wings, ears, a face that was too pretty to be human- markings of the fae.
There was a circle of runes, too, though the explanation was lost to the tiny writing and Scar was mixing up words in the dim light. He figured it was important all the same, slotting in a bookmark as he closed the book.

Right. Research done.
Red. There was a reason the book was red. The colour made it so that the fae couldn't see it.

So Scar took some leather armour and dyed it the vibrant hue and then stood in Grians base.
He was testing a theory.

And when Grian walked by, wings shimmering in the light, he didn't smile at Scar. Didn't wave with a cheery "hello!" or a devious smirk.

Didn't notice Scar until he tripped over a chest on his way out and fell to the ground in a catacphny of noise.

"Oh! Hi Scar! Whatcha doin here?" He asked, finally noticing the wizard.

From the heap on the floor, Scar stammered out "Looking around." before he righted himself and booked it out of there.

He was right. Good god, his theory was right. Grian wasn't human.
God, he needed help.

And somehow, he found himself in front of Mumbos blinking base.