“I’m sick of these blasted wolves!” The door slams open as if to accent the exasperated words. A very frustrated and tired looking Ranger stands in the doorway, the fading daylight making him a simple silhouette. His bow is slung sloppily over his shoulder and his armor is riddled with claw marks from enemies that came a little too close.

The owner of the house turns from his desk, crumpling a piece of parchment that now has a very sloppy quill scratch across it from the other man’s sudden entrance. “Didn’t you once send some poor Gifted souls against a few various wolf packs? Maybe this is revenge,” the man says airily, waving a hand dismissively. Even in the dark it was clear that he is older than most of the citizens of the Empire of Istaria.

The Ranger stiffens, then sighs. “I’m tired of your jokes, father. We need help - Mithril’s Anvil can only hold off these wolves for so long. We might not be Dralk or Harro, but we still are important!” He rants on, stomping around the small house. After a bit of pacing, he drops down into a chair and begins to pull off his armor.

The old man remains mostly silent. For a while, only the scratch of quill on parchment and the clicks and clanks of unfastened armor. “Haven’t you sent a formal request for extra guards for the settlement? After all, it’s not empty here,” the old man finally says.

“I told you, father, I have; twice! I’ve always got the same reply. ‘We are sorry, but our resources are stretched thin with the recent advancements of the Withered Aegis. The Imperial Army cannot justify sending part of our forces to defend a small settlement against wolves. Perhaps the local Gifted could be of use to you in the meantime.’ Blah blah blah!” An innocent wristband flies across the room. The Ranger sighs and buries his face in his hands.

Again, his father is simply silent. Howls begin to pierce the air as the sun sets beneath the rim of the world and the moon shows the beginnings of its silvery glow. It’s going to be another long night. Giving up on talking to his father, the Ranger decides to just lay down instead.

By the time he rouses, it’s pitch black. He must’ve fallen asleep without dinner… again. But what woke him? He sits up straight, listening to the now-familiar howls in the distance. He’s since learned to sleep through those.

A knock sounds at the door. The Ranger jumps up out of bed and pulls the front door open swiftly, holding a dagger tightly in his left hand just to be safe. An officer of the Imperial Army stands in the doorway straight and tall, eyeing the dagger cautiously.

“Sir, we request your assistance. I believe you were the one who sent in the reports of wolves terrorizing this settlement?” The man asks, turning out to be an elf as the Ranger’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. What was an elf doing all the way out here?

Tired and rather grumpy for having his sleep interrupted, the Ranger snaps a reply. “Yes, what is it? Spare me the details - is this a personal apology for not wanting to send anyone to help us?”

The elf, blinking, shakes his head. “No, sir. We should have taken you more seriously. The attacks have spread - Mithril’s Anvil is no longer the only one with an issue. Harro has recently been attacked in the night by hordes of wolves vaguely from this region. White- and red-furred wolves have been clawing on the doors of the residents. The treants have been restless in the forest. Some even claim they were walking alongside the foreign wolves in the night.”

The Ranger is momentarily at a loss for words. “What does this have to do with me?” He stammers out after a while.

“You’ve been dealing with this issue for a while. Your knowledge might be helpful to stave off these wolves, if not the treants,” he explains, then adds after a short pause, less formally: “I wouldn’t come banging on your door in the middle of the night if there wasn’t a serious issue. These wolves aren’t just wolves from other regions; some are half-dead and rotting. We believe something bad might be happening deep in the forests. We need every hand we can get.”

The Ranger stares once more, then straightens up and salutes the officer. “Let me get my bow.”

Details:
When: Saturday, the 1st of October at 7:00pm CEST/1:00pm EST/10:00am PST
(Timezone not listed? Use this converter.)
Where: Mithril’s Anvil and Harro, at first.
Goal: Find the source and stop the attacks.

Notes: There’s some new mechanics here at play, so this raid may not play out as long as the previous ones. However, it will be largely self-guided; hints will be given as to the source of these attacks, but it’s up to you to uncover the whereabouts.

Do not be discouraged by the initial lack of Blight. There won’t be any shortage of rewards. Gaileach still works on cracking the mystery of the portal cores in Aughundell, as well! She has not been forgotten.