Stranger Ranger Danger!

Now, as prepared as they are, all thoughts of escape are gone and the roaring campfire blazes unhidden. Liga Bur had warned them all to expect the vespertine wolf pack to attack soon after sunset, so it's a surprise to all of them when they're interrupted several hours before nightfall.

Casually setting off Rifkin's shrieking alarm stones and making no attempt at stealth, a hooded, broad-shouldered man strides into the clearing below them. He stops a good thirty feet downhill and well before Fortu's wicked looking barriers. A huge, iron grey wolf stands panting, close at his side.

Liga Bur's eyes narrow; So, not just a random wolf pack but rather a well trained team. But why has this Ranger been tracking them?

The stranger's eyes are hidden in shadow beneath a tattered cloak but he stands barefooted and his leather armour is torn and barely held together with multiple, clumsy stitching attempts. Despite his obvious confidence and vigour, his greying beard betrays his advancing years. He also has two serious looking short-swords sheathed across his back, but what catches your attention most, is the mummified hand hanging from a leather cord around his neck.

While his friends stare down at the interloper, Liga Bur scans the treeline for the other wolves he knows are surely hiding there. He spots a couple slinking up behind the fallen trees and spies a few more lurking in the shadows.

Suddenly, the mysterious man throws back his hood and growls up the slope at the halfling. His voice is like dry gravel.

"I know what you're thinking little scout; Did you spot six more wolves in the undergrowth or was it only five? Well, as the most dangerous pack predators in these here woods, you've got to ask yourself one question... Do you feel lucky?"

As always, the flaxen haired Arowe is the quickest to respond and has already nocked an arrow before the armoured Fortu shouts their shared response over his spiked barricades.

"What do you want?"

A smile flits across the older mans face as he uses his tongue to shift the long, black splinter of lightning wood clenched between his teeth,

"The pack hungers. Give me your three horses and I promise I'll shall spare your lives."

It's a blatant lie...