[RP] Averancia: Hero's Call

The climb into the hills was a steady, grueling march, the dampness of the fen giving way to firmer ground beneath their boots. The air grew thinner and cooler, the scent of decaying swamp replaced by the crisp aroma of pine and earth. For two hours, the group pressed forward, the guides leading them along the best paths, their voices occasionally breaking the rhythmic crunch of footsteps on stone and dirt.

Then, without warning, the world went still.

No birds called from the trees. No insects droned in the underbrush. Even the rustling of leaves seemed to have ceased, as if the very land was holding its breath. The silence was deafening, heavier than the weight of their packs, pressing in around them with an eerie, expectant quality.

Rafn slowed his pace, his muscles tensing instinctively as his wild-born senses flared to life. A prickle ran down his spine, his skin crawling with the unmistakable sensation of unseen eyes upon him. He wasn’t alone in this feeling—any of the others with sharp instincts or strong wills (Will save DC 11) might feel it too, that creeping awareness that something out there, somewhere, was watching. But from where? The dense thickets along the path? The rocky outcroppings above them? The distant treeline behind? The uncertainty only made the feeling worse.

One of the guides, a wiry man with a keen eye for danger, shifted uneasily, his gaze flicking between the heroes as though searching for reassurance. Another gripped the strap of his pack tighter, his jaw clenched. They sensed it too—whatever it was. And their fear was written plainly on their faces.

Rafn’s roar split the stillness of the hillside like a thunderclap, raw and primal, an untamed challenge that echoed through the valley below and the peaks above. The sound carried on the wind, vibrating through the earth, reaching deep into the brush, the trees, and the hidden burrows of the wild.

A moment later, the silence shattered.

A cacophony of shrieks and startled cries erupted from the treetops as flocks of white birds—herons, doves, and smaller songbirds—burst skyward in a flurry of beating wings, filling the air like a living storm. From the undergrowth, the rustling and scurrying of countless creatures rose like a tide. Shrews and field mice darted from the brambles, while possums, large field rats, and ground squirrels scrambled over rocks and through the tall grass. It was as though the land itself had answered his call, summoning its creatures to the Beastmaster’s side.

They poured forth in a writhing, chittering mass, their beady eyes glinting with an intelligence just beyond mortal understanding. Yet as they swarmed to his defense, something strange became apparent—none of them, not a single creature, crossed into the northern or northeastern approaches. The boundary was invisible, yet absolute, an instinctive barrier beyond which they would not tread.

Instead, they formed a loose but deliberate defensive line in those directions, their small bodies clustering as if to shield Rafn and his companions from whatever might lurk beyond. Their ears twitched, their noses sniffed the air, and their tiny claws tensed against the earth, ready—not for attack, but for warning.

Something was out there. Something that the beasts of the land dared not approach.

The message was clear: Danger lies to the north.

One of the guides, a wiry man with a sun-weathered face and keen eyes, reined in his horse and gestured toward the north with a gloved hand. His voice carried a note of unease, low and steady, as though reluctant to stir the quiet that had settled over the hills.

"Up that way? That’s where the old mines are. Been abandoned for years, maybe decades." He paused, shifting in his saddle as he cast a wary glance toward the distant ridgeline, his fingers tightening on the reins. "Folk used to dig deep into those hills for silver and iron, but something drove ‘em out long before my time. Could be cave-ins, could be worse."

His gaze lingered on the shadowed slopes, where the trees thickened and the land took on an almost unnatural stillness. "If I had to wager, I’d say beastmen’ve taken to nesting there now. Old mines make for easy shelter—dark, defensible, plenty of tunnels to hide in. If they’ve been up there long, they’ll know every twist and turn better than we ever could." He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "And if they’ve got numbers, they won’t stay hidden forever. They’ll be pushing out soon, looking for food, for captives—unless someone drives ‘em back first."

He turned back to the group, his expression grim. "If that’s where they’re holed up, best be ready. Nothing good comes crawling out of abandoned places."