The fog lays thick over the forest of Caerbog. No birdsong pierces the oppressive silence. You peer out from your hiding place behind a boulder at a clump of bushes across the clearing. The bushes rustle and shake, though no breezes can be felt. A small patch of black fur can be seen between two of the bushes.
You set an arrow on your longbow and pull back the string. "Weeks I have tracked you through this accursed forest," you mutter to yourself, taking aim. "Weeks of hunting, with no sight, nor sound, nor sniff of this foul beast. Now the moment is mine!"
You loose your arrow, and it flies straight and true. But instead of a cry of pain, there is a dull clank, as of a hammer on a smith's anvil. The arrow snaps in two with a sharp crack. There is a low growl, and the bushes shake more violently. "Impossible," you say. "I know I hit it!"
You leap from behind the boulder with your sword held high, just as the bushes part and a huge black wolf rushes through into the clearing. The wolf bounds forward and leaps at your head, snarling. At the last second, you dodge aside, swinging your sword at the beast's neck.
Your sword rebounds off the creature with a ringing clang, vibrating in your hand painfully. You may as well have swung it at a solid metal shield! The wolf quickly pivots and charges at you again. You dodge away once more, but the beast is faster this time, and its teeth tear into your arm. Your sword drops from your hand as you yell out in pain. You try to pull your arm away, but the wolf tenaciously holds on.
You fumble on the ground with your free hand, and find a large rock. You swing it at the wolf's head with all your strength. The great black head is snapped back, ripping free of your arm. Several of the beast's teeth go flying, and it howls in pain. You drop the rock and grab your wounded arm as it bleeds heavily.
The wolf's eyes flash as it growls at you, stalking closer. You back away, stumbling and falling. You crawl frantically towards the trees, but the beast is too close. It leaps atop you, snapping at your face. You barely get your arm under its neck, and struggle to keep the snarling jaws at bay. The wolf's foul breath is thick in your nostrils.
You kick the wolf in the belly. It yelps and rolls off you. You aim another kick, but the creature springs to its feet and leaps aside. Off balance, you fall on your back. Your head hits the ground hard, dizzying you. With a low growl, the wolf lunges and sinks its teeth into your throat.
You scream in pain as the powerful jaws crunch down on your neck. The beast violently twists its head, and blood spurts from your throat, splashing across the black fur. The wolf releases you and you flop down on the ground with a gurgling groan. You press your hand against your shredded neck, but the blood flow is too much to staunch. It runs down in a great flood, soaking into your shirt.
The wolf stands over you. It growls, but is otherwise still. You try to curse the foul thing, but you can't find the breath to speak. You know you need to find something to stop the bleeding, but you feel too weak to move. You look the wolf in the eye with a glare of pure hatred.
Suddenly, the wolf stops growling. It turns its head quizzically and lets out a small whine. Then without warning it leans over and vomits a black tar-like goo all over your chest. The goo slowly starts to ooze across you, bubbling as it expands. Horrified, you try to wipe it away, but it is as sticky as glue and your hand is engulfed and trapped.
The beast sits, watching you struggle with eyes that seem almost intelligent. You feel weaker than ever. The corners of your vision are becoming gray and blurry. You wince at the sharp pain as the goo creeps up your neck and fills your mortal wound. You feel a vague sense of panic as the goo covers your mouth and nose, but everything seems muted and far away. You hear a faint laughter, and a dark voice whispers "It has begun." The world turns pitch black and you know no more.
**********
You awake in a cold sweat, short of breath. You sit up abruptly. Hours seem to have passed. Night has fallen, and the forest is darker and more forbidding than ever. Moonlight fills the clearing. Your head pounds and throbs, but otherwise you feel no pain. Your hand goes to your neck, but finds your wound gone. There are no scars, just normal, smooth skin. You examine your arm and find the same thing. Your shirt, however, still feels slightly damp and sticky. It is dark red and crusted along the edge with dried blood.
You look around you. Scattered on the ground are your bow, your sword and your pack. You realize how dry your mouth is. You pull the water skin from your pack and drink greedily.
You are just finished strapping your equipment back on when an owl hoots loudly behind you, and you spin around, startled. There is a tall, dark figure in a black cloak looming at the edge of the clearing. You hand goes to the hilt of your sword. "Who are you?"
"You know who I am," the figure says in a low, grating voice that makes your hair stand on end. "I am the whisper in the dark. I am the phantom thoughts in your mind, urging you on to complete your darkest deeds. I am your true nature, sinister and twisted. I am the Lord of the Shadows." The clearing, already full of a nighttime chill, seems to get even colder.
You pull out your sword and its polished blade shines bright in the moonlight. "I am Brondal Tolseph, ranger of Andulon, protector of the weak and innocent, slayer of evil. I follow no master, save nobility and justice."
The figure gives a humorless chuckle. "You will lead the forces of darkness against the people you claim to protect. You will kill the king and all those in those in this vast kingdom who follow him." An evil smile spreads across his face. "You will be this land's ruination. It has already begun. There is no stopping it now."
With a bellow of rage, you charge at the figure, swinging your sword. He deftly steps aside, pulling out a long, ugly dagger. He stabs you in the stomach, the thin blade somehow piercing your fine chainmail easily. You gasp in pain and disbelief. This armor was made for you by an ancient elven smith, and has turned aside the axeblades of giants!
You bring your sword slashing down on the figure's wrist, chopping his hand clean off. His dagger clatters to the ground and he shrieks. You backhand the hilt of your sword into his face, and he stumbles to the ground with fear in his eyes. You point your sword at him, ready to strike.
Suddenly you hear a deep growl behind you. You turn around to see the wolf standing across the clearing, your blood still painted across its snarling muzzle. You raise your sword and return the beast's snarl. "Come then, hellspawn! Test your luck a second time if you dare!"
With a hot searing flash of agony, the blade of the dagger erupts out of your chest. From behind, the figure hisses mockingly in your ear. "No heart of nobility and justice can withstand the shadow."
