The sun was just beginning its gradual ascent into the sky as the group began to assemble. They were a varied bunch, each with their own skills and specialities - brought together and hired through various contacts. Some had reputations, some did not – but for one reason or another their employer was confident in their abilities.

The werewolves that had attacked time and time again had become more than just a nuisance. They had proved themselves to not only be capable and savage fighters, but also cruel monsters. They had slaughtered families and livestock alike as well as having taken children into the forest. Prior attempts to stop them had ended in either death or disappearance and the local population were now living in constant fear.

Several nights ago, some of the group had met with the Duchess and her captains to discuss the situation. They had learnt that throughout the raids one of the werewolves had been captured. Though thoroughly unpleasant and uncooperative they had managed to pull some information from the creature before it had been put out of its misery. It had divulged that the werewolf pack itself has a dozen members, but their numbers are also augmented by many wolves. The leader of the pack is a man named Kiril, whomst they agreed must be dealt with for the threat to be considered dealt with.

Though the origins of this seemingly well organised group of werewolves was still unclear, the origins of the attacks were not. They were each launched from the Misty Forest, always accompanied by a strange and thick fog that had rolled out as if on command to engulf the area surrounding the attacks. They had too decided, that if possible, the source of this mist must be determined and brought to a stop. Of course, there had too been talk of payment, and it was clear that the Duchess was determined to see these attacks halt with the rewards she had offered.

They had agreed on the location and timing of their meeting, and sent messages to those who were not in attendance. That time was now upon them and stood before the gathered group was a rather large and well-groomed man. He was wearing an almost regal set of half plate mail augmented by a fine red tabard. He had a hulking Greatsword slung across his back and a longsword at his hip, both were adorned with the sigil of House Morwen. He was Captain Lanniver of the Duchess Morwen’s guard, grunting greetings to some as they arrived, silent nods of acknowledgment at others. This wasn’t the first meeting for most of them, but for some it was. He was not a man to mince words and wasted little time on pleasantries. Once they had all assembled, he eyed each of them wearily before he began to pace back and forth as he spoke.

“I’ll keep it quick. There was another damned attack last night” he began, his tired eyes darted from one to another as he did. His voice was hoarse and the deep bags under his eyes showed that he likely hadn’t slept the previous night.

“The beast struck at the Floshin Estates, killed several of their best guards and worst – they’ve taken more children for the gods knows what foul reason. Two of them are Lord and Lady Floshin’s own” he paused as if almost for dramatic effect as he ran his mailed fist through what little hair he had.

“As well as wiping out those foul creatures we need you to bring the children back.” He hesitated for a few moments before adding “of course you’ll be rewarded far beyond and above whatever contract you’ve agreed with the Duchess, but only if you get them back alive and well”.

He waited no more than a few moments more before adding “head towards the Misty Forrest and that dammed fog. Hopefully, you’ll find them before they find you” the big man didn’t linger for questioning, he simply turned and began trudging back towards the castle pausing only briefly to add “oh, and eh… good luck” as he gestured behind him.

---

---

Not more than a few minutes travel outside the settlement and a thin fog already began to descend and drape itself about the landscape. Through the morning haze it made everything look somewhat surreal and almost otherworldly. Fortunately, the ground was almost littered in scattered wolf tracks and they were fairly easy to follow – almost guiding the group towards the distant trees of the Misty Forest. The morning was not unpleasant despite the situation and ignoring the thin fog the weather was good.

A few hours later they had reached the first few trees as the Forest loomed before them. The journey up until this point had been easy and uneventful, the tracks of their quarry easy to follow. A distant wolf howl echoed from somewhere ahead of them, almost like a greeting as they took their first few steps under the canopy of the forest.

As they moved deeper into the woods, the trees around them soon narrowed their ranks and their surroundings darkened and became dim. The further in they went the more their needle-covered arms interlocked as if to intentionally blot out the sun. The shroud of mist that before had only covered the ground now slowly became a creeping wall of grey fog that silently enveloped everything. Soon, even the werewolf tracks began to disappear, and things started to feel… strange and almost like they were being watched despite the fact they could not see anyone.

Suddenly they noticed that there was no longer any birdsong or indeed any sounds of life and the trees around them now looked almost sinister, gnarled and twisted as their branches reached out like grasping claws as they passed. The ground and indeed everything else around them too seemed to have taken on a more sickly and deathly appearance – dark and waterlogged. Though the transition had been very slow and gradual, it was if suddenly they were aware of it, or rather if somehow as well as being slow and gradual suddenly everything had changed in in instant.

The air was split by another long wolf howl, this time however it was only some short distance behind them. It was answered by several closer howls, some before them others off to the side of them no more than a few hundred feet away. It very quickly became apparent that they were suddenly the ones being hunted and the howls narrowed in on them.

A few moments later a huge snarling wolf emerged from the mist as its eyes seemed to stare into each of their very souls. Its fur was thick and black, shaggy and matted with dirt, covering its powerful and muscular form. Thick saliva was dripping from its maw that was of course lined with razor sharp pointy teeth.

All around the group, more snarling and growling wolves emerged from the mist and began to stalk around the edges, disappearing in and out of view as they hungrily eyed up the adventurers.

---

---

“And I’ll smash your puny head if I ever see you again!” a voice said so loudly that it seemed to reach every corner of the town. Bystanders in the streets watched with bated breath as a raged barbarian took one huge step towards what looked to be a child, ready to do what he said he would do ‘the next time he saw him’. If it were not for the fighter who stood between him and the child, no one would have been surprised if the barbarian did smash the child’s head in the middle of town. The man practically huffed smoke through his nostrils before stomping towards a parked wagon. The wizard of the group, uninterested in the whole ordeal, followed the barbarian into the wagon. When the possibility of a child being beaten up and a fight ensuing vanished, so did the interest of the onlookers. Many resumed what they were doing previously.

“Are you alright, Olo?” the cleric asked the child. The child nodded weakly, but his honey flower eyes were glued to the ground. The cleric parted her lips, intent on saying something until a new argument erupted from the wagon between the barbarian and wizard. She glared at the wagon with annoyance, tried to continue, but the escalating bickering in the background distracted her once more. “You should go,” Olo said, meeting the cleric's eyes, he offered the smallest of smiles, “I’ll be fine.” The woman returned the smile, “May Lathander watch over you and the dawn bring you hope.” Olo, not sure how to reply, simply answered, “Stay safe out there.” “And you,” the cleric rushed back to the wagon to calm her party members down, leaving the leader of the group with Olo.

“Sorry about all this.”
“No, no. Don’t be. It was my fault. If I wasn’t such a klutz we wouldn’t have almost died back there. I,” Olo’s voiced stuttered, “I know this is for the best… I just wish I could’ve done better.”
The fighter extended his hand to pat the halfling’s fluffy hazelnut hair then thought better of it. Instead, he knelt down to place his hand on Olo’s shoulder. “You’ll get there. We just… can’t risk it right now. If things are as bad as rumors say they are---”
“I’d be a liability.”
“Olo.”
Olo smiled, “Don’t worry, it’s not the first time I’ve heard that.”
The fighter grimaced for a moment, “Maybe… we can team up again. After we clean up the mess around Daggerford.”
“That’s… kind of you to say, but you don’t---”
“I’m serious.” Firm hands turned the halfling so that the two were facing each other, “When you hear that Daggerford is no longer plagued by whatever it is suffering from right now, come find us and then we’ll try out something easier together. Okay?” Befuddled, Olo stared at the fighter’s expression to gauge how serious his offer was. Why would anyone want him back into the group, especially after such a debacle?

“Christoph!” the wizard cried out, “Let us depart! I cannot stand wasting more time than we already have!”

“Coming!” The fighter stood up to leave, “Think about it. Oh, and no pressure.” Christoph glanced towards the dark figure sitting patiently next to Olo’s luggage. “Take care of Olo for us, Dorothea.” The large feline gave a slide-glance in response to the request but nothing more.

As he watched the wagon carry the four adventurers out of town Olo waved both of his hands in the air, “Good luck guys!” He smiled when he saw two out of the four waved back, but as the distance between the wagon and himself grew, the smile slowly faded away and both his gaze and his hands started to lower. By the time the wagon disappeared into the distance, Olo was staring at the ground once again, kicking the dirt every now and then.

Dorothea butted her head against Olo’s side, snapping him out of it. “Well Dot, it’s just you and me again.” Olo scratched her forehead, “I think I can use a drink, what about you?”

---

---

The tavern Olo found was far from the cleanest place he’d ever been to. The floor was mostly littered with dirt from shoes, pieces of food that fell off the plate for one reason or another, and other questionable things that he and his siblings would have been scolded for if they had not cleaned up back home. What an absolute fit his parents would have if they saw this place. At least the establishment had the common decency to wipe the tabletops when the patron left.

Olo maneuvered his way towards the bar counter with Dorothea right alongside him. After a few attempts at climbing the bar stool, Olo placed some coins onto the counter, “I’d like a pint of beer, please.” The barkeeper studied Olo, “I think you’re too young to appreciate the taste of beer.”
Glancing at the bottles in the back, Olo asked, “Does… that mean I should try your whiskey?”
The man burst into laughter and was joined in by the other patrons who were close enough to see the whole exchange. “No, kid, I mean that alcohol is for adults, not kids.”
Olo crossed his arms and puffed his chest to look bigger, “I’m not a child.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure thing kid.” The bartender surveyed the crowded room, “Where’re your parents?”
“You can try looking, but I highly doubt they’d be here or this town.” Olo sighed. He hated it when this happened. Olo seemingly stopped growing since he turned ten and he was reminded on a daily basis that he still looked like a little boy at the age of thirty-one. “Look, can I get something to drink? I have the money to pay for it.”
“I don’t serve drinks to kids.”
“Seriously, I’m not a child.”
“Said every kid when they wanted to do something they shouldn’t.”

Olo let out a frustrated noise and slammed his forehead to the counter. “Okay here’s a deal,” The halfling looked up to see the bartender take a coin and slide the rest back to Olo. “I’ll get milk for you and your furry friend so you can grow up to be big and strong. And when you’re big enough, you can try the beer. How’s that?”

Olo glanced down at Dorothea, who stared right back at him, “Is that satisfactory for you?” She didn’t say anything, but he took her silence as a yes. He narrowed his eyes at the bartender, “You win this round, barkeep.”

Unable to drink his beverage without his mind worrying about what he should do next now that he had no traveling companions aside from a panther, Olo decided to distract himself by observing the other patrons. Most of them looked like locals. Something about them ---their style, their mannerisms, or something--- just felt similar to every other person in town. The few outsiders were easy to spot in the crowd, but there was one man who stuck out even more than the rest.

Initially, it was the almost outlandishly colorful attire that caught Olo’s attention: he had seen nobles and entertainers wear such garments before and wondered if the man was one or the other. When he saw the markings on his face even more questions popped into the halfling’s head. So many questions. None that could be answered unless he asked them directly.

Olo climbed down his perch and approached the man, only to realize that he was in the middle of a predominantly one-sided conversation with the other customers. He was telling stories about his adventures. Olo’s favorite kind of stories. The plan to wait till the man finished talking to ask his questions, immediately switched to him just listening with the rest of the group. He was a passive listener at first, but as he became increasingly enamored by the tales being told and the way they were being told he started inserting well-timed responses. Some were in the form of comments and questions meant to encourage the storyteller to continue; others were facial expressions that shifted dramatically depending on what the man was talking about. Even as the other audiences slowly drifted away, Olo remained, hoping to hear more from the man named Ronan Argyle.

---

---

Olo expected to see Christoph and his crew, but by the time he and Ronan reached Daggerford they were long gone. Part of him was relieved that he was not in any immediate risk of getting his head smashed by the barbarian. There were, however, many others like them. The adventuring type that is. They came from, Olo assumed, various parts of the world. One quick glance at them was enough to convince him that they were all extremely skilled in their respective fields. The others didn’t know Olo’s talent of lacking talent, but he felt the weight of it in his heart. He was an imposter amongst a group of real adventurers, the ones that could actually make a difference in the world. It was a miracle that he was able to convince anyone, let alone the Duchess herself, that he had something to contribute to the team. No Olo, bad Olo, the halfling physically slapped himself. This is not about you right now, it’s about people who need help. You can help, that’s why you’re here. Besides, you’ve been doing a lot of adventuring this past decade! You were mostly on the sidelines during battles, sure, but you’ve done lots of exploring! Yeah, you’re just as much as an adventurer as anyone else. Yeah… Yeah. “Yeah!” Dorothea ---and potentially other witnesses--- watched a halfling spend half a minute slapping himself and energetically saying ‘yeah’ without judgment or interest.

The travel towards the Misty Forrest was surprisingly peaceful. If the wolf tracks were not a constant reminder of what was lying ahead, Olo would have considered it a pleasant walk. Before the group saw the first few hints of a forest, Olo spent his time trying to get to know the members of the party by attempting to start a conversation with them. Some attempts were more successful than others, though none lasted as long as he wanted them to. When he wasn’t talking, he was taking in the scenery, gathering ideas for a song that he promised Ronan he would compose.

Olo began to focus on the task at hand only when the group finally entered the forest. The eerie atmosphere and experience told him that he should be ready to use his ‘weapon’ at any given moment. Even Dorothea’s nonchalance was put at bay. Her body tensed and her ears twitched at the slightest noise in the distance. Her alertness allowed her to take an offensive stance a second before the pack of wolves revealed themselves from the thick mist.

Despite the fact that he could clearly see the wolves right in front of him, the first strike at the group still came as such a surprise to the halfling that Olo reflexively took a step back, only to trip on the ground itself and land on his butt. One of the observant wolves nearby noticed the easy target and took the opportunity to lunge at the halfling. The panther made sure to introduce her claws to its face.

Dorothea growled at the beasts, warning them to keep away from the halfling. She would fight them to the death if she had to. She was, however, at a disadvantage in terms of numbers: Dorothea could potentially handle two of the wolves at a time, but it only took one more wolf to zip past her and rip Olo’s throat out. Based on the three-wolf formation, they knew this as well. She readied herself for the barrage of attacks. Just when the wolves ran towards Dorothea and Olo’s direction an ear-piercing noise erupted from what felt like out of nowhere, momentarily staggering those with sensitive hearing ---primarily the animals.

Olo was back on his feet but was also in a state of panic when the sound that his ‘weapon’ made was nothing like he intended to be. He had made sure to tune the hurdy-gurdy before the party left Daggerford so he could only imagine that something had happened to it since then to morph the sound. Perhaps it was the humidity of the mist ---what the forest was named after--- or maybe it was from the impact of him falling. Maybe even both, Olo didn’t know. Regardless, he needed to concentrate on fixing it quickly. Olo was useless without his musical instrument. He couldn’t be a burden, not this time. Not ever again.

Katrina Valance needed work and she needed work badly. Even throwing out the fact that she and Rolf needed to eat just taking care of all her weapons was a costly endeavor. She never had enough money. It didn’t help that she was trying to stay discreet. There were certain people that she didn’t want to find her. So, she didn’t take jobs that she knew she could handle easily simply because they were too high profile. She found herself chasing off practically harmless monsters from farmers’ fields. Well, the warrior supposed that wasn’t completely true. The monsters were harming people’s livelihoods, and Katrina truly didn’t mind assisting them They just couldn’t pay much, and she felt bad for taking more gold than the job was honestly worth. At least the farmers and their families wouldn’t let her and Rolf leave without full stomachs.

Which brought her to now. She had heard tales of werewolf harrying people. Well that just wouldn’t stand. So she had strapped on every blade and weapon she had and made the trek. Katrina was not the only warrior that had heeded the calling for fighters. She looked around at the people assembled in curiosity. That one looked like a child, and that one looked like a vagabond pretending to be something he wasn’t. There was a Leonin, several Half-Elves, what looked like a Half-Orc, and more than a few humans. It certainly was an odd bunch. She was far from the oddest one here.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t odd. She was decked out in riding leathers, steel armor, and just about every type of weapon imaginable. That wasn’t even an exaggeration. She had more than enough knifes, at least five different types of swords, a bow and arrows, a whip, and those were the ones that were easily spotted. She also had a ball and chain around her neck, a poisoned ring on her finger, and each hair stick in her tightly braided halo of chestnut brown hair doubled as a sharp pointy thing. There were also countless knifes hidden in her boots and coat. She wasn’t the tallest one here, but she still felt like she towered over the, with her solid form and perfect posture. Her grey eyes were hard, unrelenting, and unforgiving. She had clearly some for a fight.

She listened to the Duchess’s captain as she twirled a silver edged dagger around and around and around over and over again. Her eyes were not on her dagger or on the speaker. Instead they were on the forest that contained the threat. Her already hardened eyes narrowed at the fact that the werewolves were also kidnappers. That had not been in the information her contact had given her. This whole thing just kept getting better and better. Katrina scowled. Why were they wasting time on chitchat when there were children in danger?

Finally, they were cut loose form the talking. Katrina headed into the forest as she let out a soft clear single note whistle. Rolf, her great hawk, soared from the trees to sink his talons into the leather shoulder pad designed for that purpose. He was clearly a warrior’s bird. He had on a breastplate that matched Katrina’s. What could she say? She was a fighter and a monster hunter first and foremost. She was also a woman, and was vain enough, and self-aware enough, to like looking good and put together. So,if it meant Rolf matched, the bird would have matching accessories.

It wasn’t long before the group actually encountered the natural wolves that the werewolves had somehow dragged into their pack. Katrina scowled at the distraction, but she still fought as if her life and the lives of others depending on it. She had drawn the rapier from her hip and was using both the silver dagger and the sword to hack and slash her way through the pack. It wasn’t an easy fight at all, but it wasn’t difficult. It was mainly just tedious. From the corner of her eyes she could see others fighting their own wolves. Just how many of them were there?

Then from the corner of her eye she saw one of her companions in trouble. She planted the rapier in the ground, reached into the pouch on her thigh, and threw the throwing dagger in one fluid motion. The knife embedded itself in the side of the wolf. Another whistle from her and a pointed finger had Rolf diving at the wolf’s eyes with his talons. Katrina yanked the rapier out of the ground and practically stalked towards the three wolves circling the small warrior messing around with an instrument. The fighter could only hope that he was a music-based mage of some sort. She kicked a wolf with a grunt as she stabbed the creature with her knife.

She planted herself between the person who barely came to her knees with her sword held in front of her face and wisps of hair escaping her braid, “Get that fixed!” Her voice was harsher then she intended as she order, “Now!”

@JJ Doe

Built-in the shadow of Mount Waterdeep, the city of splendor invoke a feeling of wonder and danger. Beneath the massive metropolis lies untold riches and the deadliest monsters. Only those brave enough or foolish dare to venture into its depts. One such adventure is Everheart, a Leonin from the land of Krata. He seeks no treasure nor the glory of battle only the knowledge of the ancients. Alone, he descends into the Undermoutain seeking the libraries of Halaster.

From old manuscripts, Everheart learned of the mad mage and his dealings with the otherworldly. He had hope that Halaster would have information that could help his current situation. After reaching the fifth level, he found only a few mentions about demons or how to combat them. Reluctantly, he started on his journey back to the surface. Through the wake of dead monsters. He slowly made his way through the winding complex of the Undermoutain. From his time dungeons, he did learn of a place name Barovia. It was the home to an ancient being and provided another hope for information.

Such foolishness. Do you truly believe that you can defeat demon? Everheart you should know better.

“Shut up.” The voice of the demon had only grown stronger ever since Everheart entered the Undermoutain. He believed it was due to the lack of sunlight but he wasn’t sure. He did know that it was only getting harder to fight the demon’s influence.

What makes you think you can fight me now when you’ve lost to me before? Remember Everheart? Remember when your friends nearly died by your hands? Remember their faces as they stared in disbelief?

Everheart clenched his fist and did his best to ignore the demon’s taunts. It took him several days but eventually, he reached the surface. Without wasting any time, he gathered his supplies and headed for Barovia.

---

The journey towards Barovia was fairly uneventful for Everheart. It was much of the same routine he had been following for the past several years. Avoiding large settlements, fighting bandits, and camping in the forest. There was still the problem of the demon that possessed him. Form time to time he would wake up in places he didn’t recognize but for some strange reason, the demon had kept quiet for most of the journey to Barovia.

He didn’t question the state of the demon and continue treading through the forest. Eventually, he made it to a settlement near a misty forest that served as a gate to Barovia. He didn’t plan on stopping for long but while in the town he heard of an adventuring group that was hunting werewolves. It piqued his interested so he decided to join. It also helped that the group was traveling in the same direction he was heading.

After hearing the mission briefing from the captain, Everheart disappeared from view and left the town. He waited for the group outside the settlement while examining the strange fog that covered the landscape. The old manuscripts said little about the fog accept that it was dangerous. He wasn’t sure how dangerous so he kept the knowledge to himself as to not start a panic.

The journey into the misty forest was rather quiet. Everheart kept away from the group and traveled a little ways behind them. He wasn’t sure how they would react to his appearance seeing that he was the only Beastfolk in the group.

As they traveled deeper into the forest, the fog began to grow thicker. His senses began to dull. Before long, he couldn’t tell where they had traveled or identified any sound or smell that would be normal for a forest. Then in an instant, the eerie silence was cut by a loud echoing howl. He moved to grab his weapon but his entire body became stiff. No matter how much he tried his arms and leg would not move.

Now now let us watch for a moment. Let us savor the fear.

Everheart watched as the werewolves closed in on his allies. His hands trembled in anger and disbelief at his helplessness. All he could do was watched the battle play out in front of him. Then out of nowhere, a loud ear-piercing screech erupted from an unknown source. Everheart winced in pain as the loud noise echoed throughout his head. Past the pain, the sound manages to block the voice of the demon and allowed him to regain control of his body. Without a second thought, he let out a crippling roar imbued with magic. As a medium for his power, any beast that heard the roar would be compelled to attack him. He hoped that it would provide a moment of relief for the group to draw their weapons.

Settlements... It had been quite a while since he had left behind the caravans of Narfell, but still it would have been nothing but honesty to say that the half-orc felt unfamiliar with, if not even bewildered by the concept of completely stationary life. The world had so much to offer, so why restrict oneself to one place for the majority of a lifetime ? Always ploughing through the same set of fields, hunting in the same forests or maybe not at all, seeing the same skies. The thought was quite a little horrifying for him. And then of course there were other problems that were caused directly by the aggregation of a high number of people in a more densely packed space. Admittedly some major cities had found the ingenuity and will to take effective measures against it, but the average town was bound to suffer from its inhabitants... biological end products. Living non-stationary did not bring with it such issues in the first place.

No part of Vanjathar was craving for these hotspots of civilization and it sometimes felt as if no part of so called 'civilization' had a particular desire for him either. The moment people saw the pair of tiny tusks sticking out of his mouth and his gray skin the curtain already fell in most of their minds, so who was he to harbor the desire for a daily dose of disrespect ? However, while he could do without beer and tavern brawls, he could not do without the occasional piece of scrap metal or a real blacksmith laying his hands on a sword having become blunt. Unfortunate circumstances simply were not entirely avoidable, he couldn't carry an entire workshop with him.

The rendezvous with his contact was rejuvenatingly different. The elderly man had opted for a small crossing in the forest, a few miles away from the border to Barovia, in order for a final briefing. It proved to be abundantly abstract though, basically only stating that this was going to be a 'prolonged stay' and that he should be 'careful'. While there was a certain awareness that Barovia was mysterious and dangerous alike, there was no such thing as an escape plan. Vanjathar was told about the Vistani and that they probably had the means to get him out most swiftly and efficiently, but that it would also be unlikely to be affordable. In other words: Vanjathar would be on his own, just as he preferred to be. The most challenging solution of all.

The remainder of the journey was a small hop compared to what he had already been through, but now he needed to either find a place and enough resources for himself or some kind of employment in order to keep his stomach filled. Doing the former was difficult if one had so little information at hand, but going for the second option could also yield some more insight about Barovia. Hunting down a pack of wolves and werewolves with an adventuring party sounded doable. Not much talking, but venturing into the forest instead.

The peacefulness of the walk ended for him with the sound of air flowing around his hammer. One could argue that this might not be the most appropriate weapon for enemies such as wolves which could be fast and nimble, but Vanjathar was not in the mood for a hit-more-than-once approach. They hadn't been ordered to bring back any kind of trophies as a proof of their work, had they ? So it didn't matter in which condition bones and teeth would come out of this fight. Also Vanjathar hoped that displaying ferocity was a language those feral animals would understand and maybe run away from it. Their primary target were werewolves, not ordinary wolves.

If only he'd been able to produce enough wind in order to get rid of the mist. Hardly being able to see what was coming felt bad by instinct and his instincts already seemed to be proven right. More than once he could see a beast make a run for him first, then turn around and escape into the fog only to come back a bunch of seconds later. That was... if it was actually the same wolf. The environmental circumstances didn't help with identifying details even at close range either.

To be honest, Ada wasn't completely sure what had drawn her to this group of fighters in particular. Perhaps it was the woman who seemed dressed up in an armory (although Ada was somewhat curious about how she managed to still move so quickly, despite what surely must be a mass of metal around her!), or the beastman that seemed to have joined them during the brief stint in the town. Perhaps it was the array of races and warriors, complete with one who, although he seemed young, Ada suspected a wisdom beyond the apparent years. Perhaps it was the one with the facial markings, who always seemed ready with a quip and a smile. Or perhaps it was the mix of all of them, a strange crew that wouldn't object to one more. In fact, looking around at a few of her new companions, Ada couldn't help the sensation that, relatively, she was almost normal.

Of course, while she had originally joined the group due purely for the purpose of obtaining samples to research werewolves (they weren't exactly the most domesticated beings, werewolves), but them also kidnapping children was... troublesome. Perhaps to convert? She couldn't imagine they were simply food, else why take them alive? There must be some greater purpose to it... no, don't get distracted, Ada. First, rescue the children. That was a higher priority. Ada shifted in place, reaching up to idly curl and uncurl a strand of stark white hair, adjusting her cloak to ensure it wasn't really the most visible. She was well aware that constantly wearing a cloak as such could give the impression she had something to hide, but she wasn't quite sure whether merely showing off her cursed features would really be better or not. Those at the school never really cared, not compared to her grades, but she was less sure of what the common peoples reactions would be. At least she seemed far from the most bizarre person in their entourage.

Thankfully, it seemed like they were headed out soon... good. Sooner they could get to the children, and end the werewolves, the better. Hopefully it wouldn't be too dangerous... She had a few spells readied in her head for use in case of combat (which was... well, more than likely, when it came to fighting werewolves, but she was still nervous nonetheless. Especially since, compared to the others, she probably looked like the easiest target, apart from maybe the small one. Whether it was a child or not, he didn't look the most readied for combat... not that she was one to talk.

---

As the party progressed into the fog, Ada cast her gaze around nervously, never seeing too much, but always swearing she could see... something lurking in the mist, watching, but was never able to get any conclusive evidence, or a shape, more just... a sensation. A figure in the fog that seemed to waver as she stared, always ending up as a tree branch, or strange rock, or something of the like. To be honest, she was rather worried about how this would go, whether they could find the werewolves, whether they could even fight them off, or whether they'd get lost on the way there, maybe attacked by a pack of wolves... a prophecy which soon seemed to come true with a howl, sending a shiver down the former noble's spine, and caused her to glance around in paranoia, and pale even further than she already was, with the rapidly nearing howls.

Careful to stay near the center of the others (though keeping a distance from the seemingly tamed hunting cat), Ada took a deep breath, holding out her hand to summon forth a flickering ember into the air, glancing around to try and ward off any approaching wolves, carefully shuffling around, and yelping as a wolf leapt at her, the flame flaring up in her hand and searing towards the air towards the wolf, impacting it in midair, causing it to release its own yelp at the impact, only to yip at the high pitched noise, Ada herself wincing as well, glancing at the small one hopping back to his feet. Hm, probably best to not let themselves get too separated... gathering herself up, Ada took a few quick steps to close the gap between herself and Olo, taking advantage of the wolves brief disorientation at the noise (and noting one thudding down at a throwing knife, sparing a brief glance at the heavily armed woman, and giving her an appreciative nod). She noticed Olo seemingly trying to fix the strange instrument? Device? What was that thing? She shook her head, white hair shaking itself loose as she did so. Unimportant. She threw her cloak back, mostly to give herself the benefit of peripheral vision, but also freeing her snowy hair to fall down to her back.

With a quavering voice, Ada shook her head, launching an ember into the side of a disoriented wolf "Don't quite know what you're doing, but that seemed to throw these... beasts off for a moment." While perhaps bringing herself closer to Olo may only bring more wolves in, in an attempt to overwhelm the two (especially considering the wolves didn't seem particularly interested in the whirl of steel that was Katrina), it was certainly better than allowing themselves to be separated... and then a roar shot through the air, causing Ada's eyes to widen. Was it a larger wolf? Perhaps a dire wolf? Or a werewolf? It sounded... aggressive. Oh, the beastman. That was... a bit of a relief. Hopefully. Seeing a few wolves turn towards him in aggression, she winced, hoping he could handle himself, but it was a welcome relief. A few mumbled words of power under her breath, Ada placed her hands together, which began sparking blue with arcane energy, carefully watching for any wolves that could make it past the panther's guard, aiming more to shock them for a moment, perhaps allowing someone to get in a more lethal blow. She didn't exactly look forward to placing herself within reach of the wolves claws and teeth, but there were too many to try and burn, and she couldn't let herself get too focused on trying to take them out one at a time, and leave someone else open, or herself open, for that matter.

Ronan Argyle

The air around Ronan Argyle was heavy, and a thick fog made it impossible to see his surroundings beyond a couple of feet in each direction he looked. The more he tried to focus, however, the more he began to question whether or not there actually were any surroundings for him to look at. The Half-Elf’s head suddenly began to feel heavy, as though his neck could barely support it any longer, and any movement in his limbs were sluggish as though they were underwater. Soon, he began to realize that he truly had no idea where he was, how he had gotten there, and if he could escape. His feet remain planted to the ground, of which there was no true evidence of beside the fog building up around his feet; everywhere else was just black. Nothingness surrounded him. Fear began to set in. Panic. Worry.

Then, off in the distance, a dark figure loomed forward at a speed his own body would have no hope of matching under the circumstances of his surroundings, or lack thereof. At first, the shape he saw was nothing more than a tall figure that loosely resembled that of the human form; at least, that was the closest thing Ronan’s mind could attribute to the shape he saw. But as it moved closer, that suspicion quickly became a reality as the shape took on more of a Human form as it forced its way through the fog with ease. Ronan’s eyes struggled to look away and even as he did, he realized there was nothing else to look at. Fog swirled around his feet, but did little to distract him from the figure that was fast approaching.

Before long, the black shape was only a few feet away from Ronan. At this point, the only thing abandoning the facade of it being a normal Human was its size. The figure stood a good three-and-a-half feet taller than Ronan himself, and when he looked up, the feelings of worry he felt moments prior had evolved into pure shock. Looking down at him was the face of Ran Tallore, bearing the same welcoming smile that had roped a young Ronan - known then by the name Traynor Valenti - into a life of crime. Even now, Tallore’s frame seemed to be akin to that of a giant, the same way he looked when Ronan was only 12-years of age.

“Valenti … Traynor Valenti …” the man’s face, fixed atop an otherwise shadowy frame, spoke in a tone so calm it bordered on unnerving. “You never seem prepared for our meetings. Why is that, I wonder?”

Ronan struggled to reply. Try as he might, his body was no longer cooperating with his brain, and although he had hundreds of questions floating through his mind that he felt the need to ask Ran, the most he could manage was to stare the man directly in his eyes; something he was afraid to do as a youth, before he was hardened by the world outside the city of Calimport.

“Silence, I see. As usual,” the face of Ran Tallore said in response to Ronan’s inner struggle. Surely he could see the fear in the Half-Elf’s eyes, but refused to acknowledge it, as he often did when Ronan was just a boy. “But, I suppose silence is an advantageous trait for a man such as you … a thief.”

Ronan watched Ran’s lips move as he spoke.

“A scoundrel,” the voice continued, now sounding as though it was emanating from sources all around the empty space the two were in. Ronan continued to watch, stubbornly maintaining eye contact with the man standing so tall before him.

“A traitor.”

With that, Ronan winced. He knew the voice to be speaking the truth. He was a traitor. He had not only abandoned his duties to Ran Tallore, but abandoned his family.

“And for what?” the voice chimed in, as if speaking the words Ronan thought in his own mind. “For fame? What good has that done you in the northern lands? You’ve nothing to call your own, aside from a name recognizable to peasants, and a few grand tales to tell drunken whores. That’s not even your own bow, is it?”

Ronan glanced back at the bow that he had not even known was slung over his shoulder. Its normally golden inlays were now red, and the longer he stared in confusion, the more those inlays looked like they were moving. Flowing. Soon, he realized that where gold had once adorned the bow’s limbs has turned into thick, viscous blood. Ronan’s own blood ran cold at the realization, and in the blink of an eye, the weapon had disappeared, dissipating into the fog that surrounded him.

He turned back to where the figure of Ran Tallore once stood. The face was now at eye-level with Ronan’s own, and the smile had grown sinister. The man’s mouth did not move, but Ronan could hear his voice all the same. It surrounded him, just as the fog did.

“You’re a traitor, Traynor Valenti. A traitor you are, and a traitor you’ll always be.”

---

---

Ronan awoke with a jolt. It was daytime, a clue he picked up from the faint rays of sun passing through the curtains of his room. He had not been drinking the night before, but nonetheless felt hungover. His head began to pulse with a pain, and some of his limbs ached. Already, the mental imagery that had awoken him so abruptly was a fading memory. For a moment, he thought he could hear a rather cynical voice, but it too faded with the memory of his dream.

He may not have been hungover, but he knew the best way to cure one was with more alcohol. If that didn’t work well enough to cure whatever was currently ailing him, he didn’t know what would.
It was in the tavern that Ronan found himself more often that not, as of late. The locals, barkeep included, were growing tired of paying him to hear stories he had told before, but there was little else for drunks to do. So, they stood around, drink in hand, as Ronan regaled them with a tale they had all heard once, twice, or thrice before of the Half-Elf taking on two angry ogre shamans with nothing more than a bow and some poison-tipped arrows. The first time he told the story, it was just one ogre. The second time, it was two. Now, those ogres have moved up the chain of command once more in Ronan’s story, and he himself was no longer even sure which iteration was the correct one.

He grew tired of it, just as his audience had. Such is the reason why he was planning his departure soon, for the misty forest where he had heard the beckoning for talented adventurers to deal with what he understood to be a werewolf menace. Ronan himself had never knowingly come across a werewolf, but he was at least a somewhat skilled adventurer at this point in his life, and if he did not accept the job, he feared his life’s purpose would fade away that much more.

As far as he was concerned, he had to do this. The worst that could happen was that he be killed at the hands of some night-beast, but death was something he had been preparing himself for for decades now.

Just as he was beginning the arguably more exciting portion of his ogre-tale, Ronan spied what looked to be a young boy approach, glass of milk in hand. As Ronan spoke, he could tell he was quickly garnering the boy’s attention. Before long, the ogre shamans were not as dumb as the story was building them up to be. As the boy’s interest and participation grew, so too did Ronan’s white lies. The shamans in the story were now hulking beasts, much bigger than the average ogre, and armed to the teeth with spells and steel alike. Ronan smiled a sly grin when he finished, hearing an applause from the small crowd that felt a touch more genuine than they’d been in recent past.

As the crowd dwindled, Ronan came to get to know the boy more. So much so, that he came to learn this was no more a boy than the Half-Elf himself was. Not only was this a grown adult, but one that had seen the world, even parts of it that Ronan himself had not. Although Olo the Halfling seemed to be a little less used to danger, and a lot more of an innocent soul, he and Ronan shared one common trait: a passion for adventure.

Ronan admired the Halfling, so much so that the two spent the majority of the evening, well into the night, discussing the very topic over a round or twelve of ale - bought and paid for by Ronan, who would slip his new friend a drink when the stubborn barkeep wasn’t looking. The two hit it off, and with a bit of liquid compassion, Ronan invited the down-on-his-luck Halfling to accompany him on his travels to the misty forest. He hadn’t quite thought about the possibility that the journey could very well mean a premature end to Olo’s life, but for some reason or another, Ronan was confident that this would be the Halfling’s chance to prove his own worth to himself. He hoped so, anyway.

At the very least, the Halfling’s musical talents would serve to enhance his own tales of bravery. Mayhaps the travelling musician would even mock up a song or two about him. That, in and of itself, was enough to make the partnership seem worthwhile.

---

---

Ronan listened carefully to the words being spoken by Captain Lanniver. Dealing with the werewolves was of priority, and judging by the size of the weapons - and those carrying them - slaughter would not be an issue. Discovering the origin of the mist, however, seemed like it may pose a bit more of a challenge. Perhaps that would be where he could prove his own worth to his compatriots.

As the party departed from their employer and made their way into the Misty Forest, Ronan grew increasingly aware that their mission was bringing them into dangerous territory. The aforementioned mist brought upon flashbacks to the dream Ronan had been so quickly to forget. He grew tense as more and more images of Ran Tallore’s face atop a hulking shadow figure filled his mind’s eye. The mist, although rather calm, began to feel as though it were enveloping Ronan alone just as the fog did in his dream. The tracks left behind by the forest’s creatures should have been a loud, in-your-face clue to the rogue that trouble was afoot, but flashbacks of his dream, or perhaps just fear itself, clouded his senses.

Before he knew it, the party was set upon by a pack of wolves. Ronan snapped back into gear and looked around. His friend, Olo, was set upon by a number of them and the woman who had seemed wary of Ronan in the first place was guarding the grounded Halfling as he fiddled with his instrument. Alongside them was another of the women in the group, fending off a singed wolf that had just met the heat of a fireball summoned, and hurled, from her palm. With any luck, the three of them could fend off any incoming danger.
Behind him, a roar unlike anything Ronan had heard from a wolf erupted, and some of the beasts turned their attention as well. The Leonin, Everheart, was a ways back from the crowd, almost as if he too had been caught off-guard by his own inner demons and was only now coming to.

Ronan realized, then, that he had to stop observing and act. With a speed honed by years of adventure, he snapped his bow into place before his head, notched a sharpened arrow, and let one loose that embedded itself in the skull of one of the wolves that had begun approaching Everheart. It lost control of its bodily functions and flopped to the ground, lifeless. Ronan turned away from it to better observe the field and possibly find a vantage point, away from the thick of battle where he could make more precise shots. His carelessness before, however, had proved to make that impossible.

Two wolves, who either didn’t hear or didn’t care for the Leonin’s powerful roar had teamed up on Ronan. Their sharp teeth bared as they snarled at him, barking aggressively as if giving him one last chance to turn and run. But run he would not. He could not. Not at this point. These people would not know Ronan as a traitor.

Dropping the bow, Ronan unsheathed two of his twin daggers, staring the beasts in the eye as the two foes traced circles around him. The knives were just as sharp as the wolves’ teeth, and he could only hope he was the more dexterous of the three if he were to make it out of this surprise encounter alive.
They lunged, and he slashed. Both hits connected. The wolves were bleeding, but so was Ronan’s arm. They lunged again, and again Ronan slashed. He ducked this time, avoiding the powerful jaws of the wolves from latching on to his limbs and raised his dagger in hopes of slicing the creature from beneath. He felt some kind of connection between blade and fur, but doubted it would have been enough to fell the hungry animal.

As he stood, he was proven correct. Though one of the two was visibly weaker, he was still facing off against two drooling, crazed wolves. He felt blood staining the cloth part of the armour covering his forearm. Somehow, Ronan grinned.

“This is a good bit of fun, but nothing Ronan Argyle cannot handle!” he shouted, rather flamboyantly, between light panting as if the animals before him could understand any of the words coming from his mouth, or the taunting tone behind them. As he spoke, Ronan dodged once again, abandoning his focus on his weapons to ensure the wolves’ lunges were met with nothing but mist. If he could avoid them long enough, he could possibly escape. Two-on-one combat with a beast like this was not his forté, and he knew he needed a new game plan to handle his opponents.

All he needed was a little time.

What was most fascinating to Saachi was something she'd never before considered. They can control wolves themselves? she pondered, going over the meeting in her head. For all its intial interest in the endevour, her partner was staying rather silent about this all. But, that wasn't too odd, right? It likely wanted to discover more, just as she. Overall, the intriguing creatures were decidedly evil, what good sort of creature would take children? Or kidnap anyone for that matter. Unless they think they're saving the children, Saachi allowed, as always, another branch of thought that would go nowhere and yet everywhere.

Why did they take children? To indoctrinate into new Werewolves? That only could be the case if Werewolves weren't a species born but made. Still, why young ones and not old ones? Children were much more easily swayed.

This was good news, then! There was a chance the former taken children were alive. Most likely.

So she smiled behind her veil when Captain Lanniver delivered that more children were taken. Why, horrid, of course, but if the lot of them managed to track the origin of the Werewolves, the children were as good as saved! Unless they aren't alive, or sided with their kidnappers.

Hmm. Perhaps not so a good thing. She frowned.

She smiled delightedly, and returned the Captain's wish of luck with a long, swelling wave of a gesture.

She realized then after he was faced the other way.

---

Fog, as promised. Misty Forest lived up to its namesake. Oh, and it was beautiful. She tried, unsuccessfully, to get the mist to swirl in the same pattern she furiously spun her finger.

She absorbed the group about her, some social, some quite the opposite. While she herself didn't try and start any type of interaction, she was more than happy to reciprocate

It was when her thoughts sounded all too loud that she realized all had stilled. She could almost hear the primal howl with her entire being. Had it been so easy that they found the pack they sought? Or had the pack found them exactly where they wanted their group of hunters to be?

What emerged from the the mist was a wolf, with all the welcoming visage of a head on a pike. Good news. Not a Werewolf. Bad news. She'd just learned said Werewolves could control wolves.

Overall? She had room for some better news.

She slipped her silver-bladed dagger out from her belt, taking a few steps to put herself somewhere in the middle of their group, drawing her borrowed power. Nothing fancy, just a little painful. What a beautiful creature, really, wild and vicious, and absolutely, undeniably terrifying. She was quite certain a meal for it she did not want to be. When the short man fell, she immediately relieved their party had a beautiful and vicious creature of their own. A new sound erupted, it was the Leonin roaring mightily, bringing repireve Saachi used efficiently, honing the surge of power which coursed through her, ready to strike to the mind of the wolf that decided to get all too close to her circle of safety.

Questioning things was, in all honesty... not quite Charlotte's strongest suit. She was more the type of person to just... listen and do as asked of her. Sure, this made her a bit easy to manipulate... but she was at least smart enough to tell the difference between orders she shouldn't follow and those that she could follow without getting into trouble.

It was this lack of questioning that had brought the former noble to where she was now, listening to some guy - Lanniver or something. Charlotte hadn't quite caught his name - explain what it was they were supposed to do exactly. Her goddess had sent her here, told her this was what she was supposed to do, and so she did as was asked of her. For if there was anyone the cleric trusted, it was her goddess, for she gave her her powers.

Fortunately, she was at least good at listening. There was something about werewolves... and an attack... something about abducting kids... Bad stuff, to say the least. Their job was to get the kids back, kill some werewolves. Get rewarded. Charlotte had no experience in fighting werewolves. Or rescuing children. But she had faith in her - and her allies' - ability to handle themselves.

Speaking of her allies, they were quite a varied bunch. Charlotte was certain she'd get to know them at some point, but now wasn't quite the time to start making smalltalk. There was brief talk about the reward, first, but the cleric... wasn't too worried about that part. Money wasn't her motivator for coming here, she was instead here because her goddess told her to be here, and so the reward was not much more than a bonus to her.

Shortly after, the conversation came to an end, and the group began heading towards the forest. The guard captain seemed to be in a bit of a hurry himself, leaving no time for questions - though Charlotte didn't even have one to begin with.

---

Charlotte stayed quiet during most of the journey towards her forest, spending her time instead observing her travelling companions. They were all very different compared to each other. Some were tall, others were short. Some were human, and others... clearly not. Her thoughts were currently occupied on the question of who to approach first when she was interrupted by a wolf howl.

The cleric hadn't realized that they were already at the edge of the forest. She had been so preoccupied by her thoughts that the journey had barely registered for her, and she briefly wondered if she'd missed any questions aimed at her. She could be a bit of an airhead at times, after all.

It wasn't long until they were in the forest proper, the creepy trees putting Charlotte a bit... on edge as they travelled through it. She was expecting something to happen, the forest seemed like a perfect place for an ambush, especially with this thick fog obscuring things...

It was then that the wolves made their presence known, growling at them and seeming ready for a fight. Unfortunately for them... her allies seemed ready for a fight too! There was a strange, loud noise, followed by a loud roar. Her companions were quick to charge into the fight, it seems. Fortunately, Charlotte was too.

Grabbing her mace, she waited for one of the wolves to charge at her - or otherwise get into range - before stepping to the side and bashing it on the head with one of the silvered spikes of her mace, hoping to - at the very least - give it a major headache.

“Get that fixed! Now!”

Katrina’s order snapped Olo out of his state of awe over her graceful yet deadly combat skills. It was, for a lack of a better word, immaculate in its execution. Not one movement was wasteful; everything was calculated and served a purpose. How long it must have taken to hone those skills to perfection. “Y-yes, ma'am!”

Olo was hastily examining the hurdy gurdy when he saw a robed figure from the corner of his eye. "Don't quite know what you're doing, but that seemed to throw these... beasts off for a moment," he heard Ada say above him. The announcement alleviated some of the halfling’s collywobbles. Good to know that he helped a little, even if it wasn’t in the way he wanted to help. Olo chuckled weakly, eyes still on his instrument, “Honestly, sometimes I don’t even know… Poor things, if only they had hands.”

Olo jumped at the sound of a mighty roar; the kind that reverberated to the very core of oneself and made hairs stand. For a moment he feared that one wolf, or perhaps another creature still hidden in the dense mist, had done it, but that particular fear was put to rest once he saw that it was Everheart. Surprising how the most silent one in the group had the loudest of voices. His voice demanded attention and several creatures, Olo included, were unable to resist looking at him. Unlike the wolves, however, Olo had no intention of harming the giant beastfolk.

Almost as if the Leonin battle cry were a war-horn, the battle with the wolves started to intensify from that point on. Blades and claws clashed with fangs, kicks and punches cut through the air, fire burned fur, and red started to become a prominent color. Even as the others fought valiantly, Olo was still fumbling with an instrument. He tried forcing the instrument to play again, but as soon as it shrieked, he flinched and decided that he was just going to have to retune right then and there. If that didn’t work, then the damage was much more serious and Olo would be in trouble.

He twisted the tuning pegs, cranked the handle, and pressed the keys until he could hear a sound. When it wasn’t the right tone, he repeated the process again. The halfling’s hands trembled during the entire process. Both from fear of their lives being in danger and anxiousness of not being able to do anything, but there was also something else. Something akin to excitement: exhilaration. Not the most appropriate of emotions for someone as useless as Olo to be feeling in the middle of battle, alas it was there. The bundle of emotions reminded him of how he felt when he had to perform in front of an audience at the bardic collage. He remembered how nervous he was right before the concert, so much so that he threw up and caused a slight delay. When the concert did finally start, though, the nervousness was overthrown by intoxicating zeal to see the whole thing through. He messed up countless of times, but during the concert, especially the moments when Olo was in sync with the other performers, he was on top of the world.

How much different was this battle to a concert anyways? Critics would rip out a musician’s throat just as brutally as any wolf; one mistake and one’s life ---musical career--- was over. The adventures were his fellow performers, all playing a different instrument from one another. Oh, and how skillfully they play them. Who was he to think that he could match their performance? All Olo could possibly do was amplify it. Nothing else would do them justice.

Silence descended upon the halfling, unsullied by the noise of battle a few feet away. The same kind of silence that the audience would experience seconds before a performance started. A hint of arcane energy crackled in the air around Olo. Oblivious to it, he took in a deep breath, and let his fingers decide what to play on the hurdy gurdy.

A long drone permeated the forest, creating a white noise that was neither painful nor pleasant to hear. When it almost felt like it was going to go on forever, different notes chimed in. The jumbled sound started to create a pattern, coming together to finally produce something that could be recognized as a melody.

The music was a popular one in the Sword Cost, commonly heard in places that had the luxury of musical entertainment. Because it was so well known, however, even those who had a modicum of musical knowledge could instantly tell that it was incomplete: it was obviously a composition intended for more than one instrument. If Olo had his own troupe, his performance would have improved at least three-fold, but he didn’t, and that was okay. It didn’t matter that the music was far from perfect or how amateurish he played. Hells, the listener could straight up hate what they were hearing, and it still wouldn’t matter. As long as they heard music, Olo’s spells had an affect on them.

The melody coaxed ---dragged out if needed--- the part of the listener that refused to lie down and die here. Fear of death, a promise not yet fulfilled, hope for something that lay ahead; the reason could be anything. The melody latched on to that part and amplified it. In turn, the listener felt a surge of strength. Every attack seemed heavier even though the amount of effort put into said attacks were the same as before.

In the grand scheme of things, it was an insignificant change: it was not as if a person who never held anything heavier than a utensil could suddenly destroy a boulder with their bare hands. It was much more subtle: a person who only ever lifted a pen could lift an encyclopedia over their head; someone strong enough to crack a rock with their hands could now crush it completely without breaking a sweat. They were all things that they could have done when push came to shove. The music only galvanized the potential.

The pit orchestra were always there to enhance the main attraction, rarely to be one.

Ma’am! Bleh. She wasn’t not a ma’am. She made a poor approximation of a ma’am. Katrina gave her had a shake as she refocused. Now was not he time to wonder about her being a ma’am or whatever. There was a battle to fight and a victory to be claimed. She couldn’t afford to lose track of where she was or what she was doing. She had removed herself from the main battle to defend the musician. There were others that had done the same. Hopefully, there would be no lives lost in this battle, especially since it was not against the true enemy.

Then a roar filled the air and the wolves turned to face the Leonin. It was an excellent distraction, but Katrina had to question the wisdom calling all of the attention to oneself, especially in a battle with these many wolves. It didn’t matter. Katrina planted her rapier in the ground and placed her knife hilt between her teeth in order to draw her bow. It was an easy thing to restring in and soon she had arrows flying with deadly accuracy at the retreating wolves. Arrow after arrow flew. This was not a method that would last forever. She needed a better method and quickly.

Then the music from the small musician filled the air. Stunned Katrina turned to look at him. She knew a little bit about magic, not enough to do it, but enough to realize what type of song was being played. It wasn’t being played well, but right now it was the best song Katrina had ever heard. Strength, with this Katrina would be able to wield her broadsword as if it was her rapier without losing any of the force behind the blows. Her punches would be brutal. Her arrows would fly faster and sink deeper. This was brilliant! Katrina wanted to laugh and sing and dance.

Instead she just smiled a sort of manic grin at the terrified bard as she removed the knife from her teeth, “Well! That’s incredible. Thank you!” She gestured at the rapier, “Keep an eye out on this. I would hate to lose it.” She tossed him the knife, so it landed at his feet, “Just in case one of those beasts get too close. I will want it back.”

With that she unstrung her bow and placed it back in the quiver before drawing her broadsword taking the hilt in both hands she stalked towards the wolves. With a shout she began her attack. This was different from when she had been using her rapier. That had been almost a dance, gracefully, poised, each attack perfectly calculated. This was more of an assault, deadly, forceful, violent. Each attack was still perfectly planned, but it was less about striking where she wanted to strike and more about using the force, she created with each swing efficiently. Each weapon in Katrina’s arsenal required a different technique and style. While she couldn’t claim to be a master of them all she did know them, and she was beyond competent.

Speaking of efficiency Rolf was just as competent. The bird swooped into the battle to attack at eyes and ears with his claws and beaks only to fly out of reach of claws and fangs just in time to avoid receiving injuries of his own. Both companions had been doing this for far to long to get in each other’s way. In fact, they worked in perfect harmony. Rolf would take a set of eyes and Katrina would follow up by taking a head. The human would have her back turned and Rolf would come to pull a tail. The spun around each other and across the battlefield in a deadly dance of steel and claws.

It couldn’t last forever. Katrina was human and didn’t had endless amounts of stamina. It was only a matter of time before a wolf figured out that their claws did practically nothing against her steel armor. Soon, a particularly clever one lunged with its teeth to sink in Katrina’s unprotected arm right at her elbow. She let out a shout of pain as she tried to shake the creature off. It didn’t work. She dropped the stabbed the sword in the head of another enemy and left it there as she reached into her cloak to pull out another knife with her free hand. That knife was sunk into the neck of the wolf that still had hold off her arm. The wolf let out its own shout of pain and let go. Katrina kept ahold of her knife and it left the wolf. She kicked it to get it further away from her. How many of these wolves were there? How many had they killed already? How many where there left to kill? And where were those kidnapping werewolves? Too many questions, not enough time to think about it, still a fight to be won.

In response to his roar, several wolves started surrounding him. He counted at least 5 but knew there were more in the mist. Better safe than sorry, he drenched his blade and claws with a sleeping poison. It should put the wolf to sleep but time varies on the breed and how much poison was applied.

Suddenly, a single wolf lunged at him baring its teeth. Everheart quickly sidestepped the attack and scratch the wolf on the side. It fell to the ground and snarled at him before fainting. Several more wolves took the opportunity to start attacking. He managed to knock one out with a quick jab with his claws but the others manage to sink their teeth into his arm and leg. Grabbing the wolf on his arm, he ripped it off his flesh and threw it at the one biting his leg, sending them both to the ground. Blood began to drip down his arm and leg, but the adrenaline in his veins blocked all the pain. Suddenly, his limbs became numb. The feeling slowly spread throughout his entire body where he fell into a deep slumber. The last thing he heard was the voice of the demon saying:

Time is up Everheart.

---

Everheart woke up in a long dark corridor. Heavy blue tapestry lined the wall, hanging on rods of gold embellished with carvings of lions, their ruby red eyes glinting in the candlelight. A lone blue candle sat on the floor casting a dim glow on the dark stone walls. Between each tapestry was a tall window looking out into an endless expanse of nothingness. In front of him was a hallway that stretches as far as the eye could see. Behind him was a wall as a dark as the void through the windows.

“Hello?” His voice echoed through the long hallway before disappearing into the darkness. With no other options, he picked up the small candle and started walking.

As he walked, the tapestry that lined the walls started to change. Before they were all empty now they were gradually being filled with strange writings and images. They displayed a hellish landscape with towering mountains that spitfire. Dragons, demons, and arch Fae dotted the sky. Below them were rivers of boiling blood and the corpses of the masses.

As he continued to walk, the tapestry began to change once more. The hellish landscape became one more familiar. Long chains of mountains topped with snow arrange across the entire horizon. Lush valleys filled with various kinds of animals and creatures. The strange writings also change to common though broken and barely understandable. All he could make out were words about freedom and suffering.

Further on, the tapestry displayed an event from his past that still haunted his nightmares. The night seven years ago, where he broke his oath. His crusade of 12 Paladins were hunting a demon that was terrorizing a local city. After weeks of gathering information and preparing, they finally moved out to battle. Little did they know, the demon had learned of their plans and made a trap of their own. The fight began as expected but once the clock stroke midnight all Hell broke loose. The demon grew exponentially in power and manage to possess one of the paladins. In desperation, Everheart pleaded with the demon to spare his comrade. In return, he would allow the demon to possess him.

Everheart turned away from tapestry and moved on. It was too painful to relive his past, even if it was only an image. Past the event of that night, the tapestry showed more of his adventures after his life in the crusades. His dealings with the clans of Waterdeep. His journey in search of the nine hells. His struggle with the priest of Tiamat. He met many friends but just as many enemies. Though he never dared to become close knowing the demon would only use it against him.

---

Back in the forest, the battle against the wolves rages on. Everheart now a vessel for the demon went on a rampage against the wolves. Wanting to test out his new body, the demon held in his to the sky and conjured a small blue flame. Then in an instant, a bright light followed by a vigorous exploding of fire erupted from his palm. Vibrant shades of blue twisting and melding together to that of an enormous fireball that burned everything to a crisp. Once the fire faded, all the wolves around Everheart were nothing more than piles of charred flesh. The arm that the demon used to cast the spell was also as damaged as the surrounding area. Burnt flesh, singed fur, and veins of glowing amber.

My my this will do. Such a beautiful vessel with so much power. Though this cursed magic will be rather troublesome.