Grinor stumbled back from the light pool as it shimmered a pale, sickly light. His eyes were put off, but his smell, heightened from the Lycanthrope's blood that was his strength and curse, was more than capable of warning him. Something rotten was coming. As the Half-wolf backed down, another darker form stepped into view, as though into reality, one step at a time. The pale light bent around the new shadow, then vanished as its fourth foot touched ground.
With the light pollution fading, Grinor's eyes adjusted again to the shape before him. He drew high his axe and tightened his grip. Whatever this was, it was truly ugly. He made out a sloping spine, mangy fur, then darkness, but the creature was now snarling wickedly. Then the snarling starting breaking into, chuckling?
Grinor's eyes were used to all kinds of darkness, but what he saw next shocked him, as the shadow reared, then shrank before him, shrivelling, but still chuckling, until what stood in his face was no longer a lupine monster, but ... a mere goblin? It's stench, however, hadn't changed.
"Greetings, native," it called out from it's perch, on the rocks just 10 meters above and before Grinor, "I wonder if you could direct me. I am quite peckish..."
"Wha ... What manner of beast is you?" Grinor couldn't help the surprised tone. His old shoulder injury was acting up again, and he struggled against the overpowering stench.
"Ah ... yes, I guess your kind is unfamiliar with my own. We are more than a little foreign."
"We? Blast ya, tha tells me nothing."
"I suppose it does," even through the gloom, the stranger goblin was clearly smiling, "but rest assured that this little encounter is proving very informative. Tell me, native, have you no tales at all?" Even as he said this, the goblin seemed to leave the ground. No, it was no illusion, the monster was slowly lifting into the air and hanging there.
Grinor was backing up again. This was beyond his experience, and, just now gathering the monster's meaning, no, he had no tales of this creature or its abilities. He was about to make another retort when it spoke again
"Or how about this? Any old songs of lore?" The beast was gone, but Grinor hadn't so much as half turned when he found it again, now right in his face. Grinor almost lost his axe grip right there and then, he jumped so high.
The goblin came down to the ground, cackling loudly now and suddenly, it was no goblin, but a large and toothy warg. It spoke again, through the warg's mouth, though that shouldn't be possible, "Have we no idea yet native, what we have gotten ourselves into?"
Grinor stumbled. "Ya, You're a lycanthrope," he was guessing, more panicked than cogent, "yer dead! The old hunts killed ye'all. Only the half-lycanthropes like me ancestors survived the hunts! That's what ye are!" Triumph sounded in Grinor's voice, as though he had finally won his own back on the monster.
The warg, a giant wolf with teeth like knives, looked only annoyed, as his set up line was missed. "Old hunts, you say. And so there are out there hunters who might ... you don't say. But you ignore my question 'half-lycanthrope.' Any other thoughts on what we've gotten ourselves into?"
Grinor stood taller now, unsure if his victory in words would now count for anything. Words seldom did. Axes counted for more, and Grinor now stood firmer with his.
Stunchoar, the monsters, decided to answer for him. "The answer is ... Suppertime!" And with that, he lept onto the half wolf, clawing and tearing. Grinor struggled, but was soon pinned and screaming. Stunchoar at him then, as he prefers his meals, alive and struggling.
By morning Stunchoar was already moving again, studying the roads.
"So, there just may be hunters that can resist us. Though my breakfast was hardly exemplary for their skills. I had better set out and learn of their powers for myself." And Stunchoar set out into the woods to find the greatest hunters he could, silently vowing to devour them all, whether competant or not.
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