Dinengel ducked aside as the large beast bounded towards him. He struck the ground hard, and staggered back to his feet only to see the warg turning around for a second attack. The Ranger flourished his knife quickly in the warg’s face, causing the animal to hesitate, but only for a moment. Digging it’s hind legs further into the dirt, the warg pushed off with its pointed claws and teeth extended towards the fatigued man.
Dinengel swung his dagger, putting all of the weight and force of his body behind the strike. The warg staggered now, a few drops of dark blood fell to the ground from the open wound on the beast’s right side. With lowered morale, the warg circled back with light steps, bringing its fangs to bear at the fatigued Ranger.
Dinengel was breathing heavily now, with a rasping sputter of wheezes. His arms hung lifelessly at his sides. He could barely stand, let alone fight.
The warg barked menacingly, taking a step forward. Dinengel held his footing, in a poor attempt to maintain control of the fight. The warg advanced again, now merely two yards from the Ranger. Dinengel remained still, recovering his breath. The warg lunged forward, as Dinengel flailed his arm at the animal, releasing his grip and sending the dagger into the great wolf’s forehead.
Dinengel fell to his knees now, completely exhausted and losing his rush of adrenaline. He panted heavily, the pain in his throat throbbing.
Only just recovering from the engagement, Dinengel felt a steel point at his back.
“A valiant effort I must say, but now you must-“
The Hillman scout who had only just emerged from the forest was now staring out into the darkness with a lifeless expression. His spear thudded onto the ground, which was now a liquidy mix of blood, sweat and mud. Embedded into his back was a sturdy steel longsword, which was now retracted by its unknown wielder.
The man who killed the scout wore a mud-stained cloak, with a hood pulled down over his head. His face was masked, and his eyes were a pale shade of grey. He extended a hand to Dinengel, who gladly received it. The man removed his hood, and pulled down the cloth covering over his face, revealing himself to be Turchiron, Dinengel’s kin and close personal friend.
Turchiron brought Dinengel to his camp about a mile away. Neither exchanged words, but to them now words were needed, yet. Dinengel regained his strength after a short rest, and mended his wounded shoulder with some of the medical supplies Turchiron had brought with him. Some time had passed, and Dinengel’s host finally spoke up, “I was leading a few of our kin in pursuit of some tomb-raiders from the old ruins of Fornost. They weren’t much trouble, but some of the few survivors fled east. I split off from the rest of the company to track them down two days ago. An hour ago, I couldn’t help but overhear that warg back there, thought it had been chasing a deer until I finally arrived.”
Again there was silence. A few minutes passed, the crackling of the fire was finally interrupted by a low rasping voice, “I was travelling east towards Esteldin. I found a camp of Hillmen, perhaps a few dozen. They bore the emblem of the Iron Crown with them. Led by a woman, clad in bright golden scales. They found me, sent wargs to dispose of me.”
There was silence, Dinengel grabbed a scrap of paper, and began writing. He handed the paper to Turchiron, “Take this to Halthorn, He’ll know what to do. I’m going after them.”
