Blackroot Forest - Edge of the Southern Glade
A heavy fog clung to the trees, not of nature, but by design.
Smoke bombs hissed in the underbrush, spreading clouds of gray that rolled like ghosts between trunks. Leaves dripped from the early mist, muffling movement. Light barely touched the forest floor.
Then came the first whistle.
Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk.
Dozens of bolts tore from hidden crossbows in a split second, multi-shot salvos from unseen hands. Screams rang out as the front line of the Pentaline soldiers stumbled, shields rising too late, formation already crumbling.
A heartbeat later, the second trap sprung.
Nets burst from above, massive ones, weighted at the ends with sharp metal points, dropping like spiderwebs from the trees. They wrapped around soldiers, pinning limbs, dragging some from their saddles.
Then the wolves charged.
