The air is damp and the ground is dotted with small puddles—in divots formed by footprints during a recent battle. Bodies strewn over the field reveal the savagery of the attack. Heavy breathing comes from behind an overturned cart. You approach it with caution, keeping your distance. Seated on the ground, its back on the cart, is a massive dark figure, its eyes alight with amber fire. Your nostrils catch the metallic scent of blood, then you see that the creature's right arm hangs limp and its left hand is clasped to its right side. Its breathing intensifies, becoming louder and faster: a low snarl building.
