"Alistair! We have reached the village of Lokka!"
"Men! Halt! We will rest in the village tonight before going into the forest! Have a good rest, fill your bellies and prepare your equipment!
Alistair relay the command to his men.
An adventurer approach Alistair.
"Alistair, as agreed, we will lead until the place where we met the monster. We will take our pay then and parted ways."
"Yes, and I hope this map of yours is true, or I will be back for you, even if I lost my head."
Calm tone of Alistair sound menacing to the ear of the adventurer.
"We wish no ill towards you Alistair, nor your blade towards us. You will find the tomb you so crave for. But we can't promise for the riches within. That is for you to find yourselves."
The villagers welcome Alistair and his men, the village tavern and inn for sure to be full tonight. In a way, the tale of the headless monster has benefited the locals. As the village are the last stop before the forest and the mount of Melin.
The next morning, the group make their way into the forest trail of the ancient forest. Their journey took them to the forest's edge, where the sunlight filters through the outermost layers of leave. The trees stand tall and welcoming, unbecoming of the mysteries hidden deeper inside. Their trunks adorned with vibrant mosses and delicate ferns. As the group ventured deeper, the forest canopy thickens, casting dappled shadows upon the path. The group traverse in steady pace, wary of any encounter they might face.
"Halt!"
One of the vanguards, almost screaming, commands the group to a halt.
"There is monster heading towards us"
The group prepares to battle.
A pack of silver wolves appear. The silver wolves' coats shimmering with silvery sheen. These wolves are large and robust, capable of taking down adventurer with their large paw and sharp fang. A pack of silver wolf is definitely a threat to new adventurer. However, for Alistair's group, there is nothing for them to worry about.
"Assume battle formation! Keep your wits above you. You lot are forbidden to die!"
Alistair shout as he commands his men. The men assume formation to face the pack.
The wolves lunge forward all together in attempt to bring the adventurers down. A single wolf is easily the size of two adult men. The pack comes to total of 12 wolves. Alistair unsheathes his sword and joins the battle. As he lunges forward, he skillfully evades the wolves attack as the wolf lunges with a sudden burst of speed. Alistair reflexes are honed to perfection, he gracefully sidesteps the wolf assault and meets the charge with a resounding clash of steel against fang. Alistair strikes, though he looks like big men, are a fluid combination of offense and defense. Each swing is calculated, each parry shows why he is the leader. The wolf fights with relentless determination. As the battle rages on, Alistair seizes an opening, with a swift strike, his blade finds its mark, slicing through the wolf's fur and decapitated its head. The wolf collapses, defeated. Alistair turns his head to check his men, it seems all of them are victorious too, though some of the men are inflicted with light wound.
"We are having wolves' meat tonight! Let us set camp!"
Unbeknownst to Alistair and his men, there is something watching them intently. Calculating, figuring their intention. An unidentifiable presence lingered, its unseen eyes fixated on the unsuspecting adventurers.