The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the winding mountain path as Torsten and his companions made their way towards Oakhaven. The journey had been arduous, with the terrain growing increasingly treacherous as they ascended. Celeste, in particular, seemed to be struggling with the rough conditions.
"By the gods," she grumbled, narrowly avoiding a loose stone, "do you mountain folk not believe in proper roads? This path is barely fit for goats, let alone people."
Torsten opened his mouth to respond, but Ben cut him off with a raised hand. The shield fighter's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the path ahead.
"Something's not right," Ben muttered, dismounting from his horse. "The road's been blocked."
Indeed, a tangle of fallen trees and debris obstructed their way forward. Ben approached cautiously, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"Stay alert," he called back to the others. "I'm going to clear some of this rabble."
As Ben began to work on the obstruction, Mark dismounted as well, his brow furrowed in concentration. The druid knelt, placing his palm against the trunk of a nearby tree.
"Wait," Mark said suddenly, his voice tight with tension. "This wasn't a natural occurrence. The trees... they're whispering of human interference."
Ben's head snapped up, his eyes scanning the surrounding forest. "Bandits?"
Mark nodded grimly. "It's possible. The forest speaks of unfamiliar presences, of metal and malice."
Celeste scoffed, though her hand instinctively tightened on her wand. "Surely you don't think this was set up specifically for us? How could a mere group of bandits know we were coming?"
Celeste rolled her eyes. "If they had such resources and information, why haven't they simply attacked the village already? It seems far-fetched."
"Perhaps not for us specifically," Ben mused, his voice low and serious. "But they could be lying in wait for any travelers."
As the group debated, Torsten felt the color drain from his face. The trader's mind raced with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last.
"We... we should proceed with caution," Torsten managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ben's eyes narrowed as he scanned the area around the fallen trees. His gaze caught on something just beyond the debris—a set of tracks leading off into the thicket.
"Look here," he said, gesturing to the others. "These tracks... they're fresh. And they lead away from the road."
Torsten's breath caught in his throat. "Do you think they might lead us to the bandits?"
Ben nodded, a grim smile on his face. "It's possible. We could follow them, maybe catch these troublemakers off guard."
Mark, however, shook his head firmly. "No, we can't afford to get sidetracked. Our priority is reaching Oakhaven."
"But—" Ben started to protest, but Mark cut him off.
"I understand your instinct, Ben, but we don't know what we'd be walking into. For all we know, it could be a trap." The druid's voice softened. "Let's focus on clearing the road and continuing our journey. The village needs us."
Ben hesitated for a moment, clearly torn between his desire to pursue the tracks and the logic of Mark's words. Finally, he nodded reluctantly.
"You're right," he conceded. "Let's get this mess cleared and move on. But we should remain vigilant."
With a few powerful swings of his sword, Ben cleared the last of the debris from their path. The group remounted their horses, proceeding with heightened caution. Torsten's eyes darted nervously from tree to tree, half-expecting bandits to leap out at any moment.
As they passed the last of the destroyed trees, Mark suddenly stiffened in his saddle. His gaze locked onto a nearby oak, where a small, dark shape took flight with a flutter of wings.
Celeste, noticing Mark's sudden attention, raised an eyebrow. "What is it? Another sign of danger?"
Mark hesitated, his brow furrowed in concentration. After a moment, he shook his head. "No, it's... it's probably nothing. Just a bird."
But even as the words left his mouth, a nagging doubt gnawed at the back of Mark's mind. The bird he'd spotted was a species known for its gregarious nature, rarely seen alone. Why would such a creature be out here by itself, especially in an area that felt so unsettled?
Mark kept his concerns to himself, not wanting to alarm the others without cause. But as they rode on, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss in these woods.
Koros sat on a fallen log at the edge of the bandit camp, his eyes scanning the forest for any sign of movement. The afternoon sun filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows across the clearing. His fingers drummed impatiently against the hilt of his sword as he waited for news of his trap.
A soft flutter of wings caught his attention, and a moment later, a small, brightly-colored finch alighted on his shoulder. Koros felt a surge of satisfaction; finches were typically social birds, and seeing one alone was a clear sign of his influence.
Closing his eyes, Koros reached out with his Beast Master abilities, connecting with the bird's mind. Images and sensations flooded his consciousness – the rush of wind beneath wings, the dizzying view of the forest from above, and finally, the sight of a small group of travelers making their way along the mountain path.
As the connection faded, Koros cursed under his breath. The targets had ignored his carefully laid traps, choosing instead to clear the obstacles and continue on their way. His jaw clenched in frustration; he had underestimated their determination.
Rising to his feet, Koros's mind raced with new plans. It was time to take a more direct approach. He turned towards the center of the camp, his voice ringing out with authority.
"Gather 'round, you mangy lot!" he bellowed, watching as the ragtag group of bandits scrambled to attention. "Our little welcome party didn't quite go as planned. Seems our guests are more resourceful than we gave 'em credit for."
The bandits exchanged uneasy glances, clearly sensing their leader's displeasure. Koros allowed the tension to build for a moment before continuing.
"But don't you worry," he said, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "We've got more tricks up our sleeves. It's time we show these interlopers just how unwelcome they really are."
Koros paced before his assembled bandits, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. The men watched him intently, hanging on his every word as he laid out his plan.
"Listen up, you lot," he growled, his voice carrying across the clearing. "We're going to split into three groups. One to the north, one to the south, and one to flank from behind. We'll encircle them like wolves closing in on their prey."
A ripple of excitement ran through the crowd. Koros allowed himself a small smirk, knowing how easily these simple men were swayed by the promise of violence.
"But remember," he continued, his tone sharpening, "we're not here to kill. Maim if you must, but I want them alive. There's more profit in breathing captives than corpses."
A few grumbles of disappointment rose from the group, but they were quickly silenced by Koros's piercing glare.
"Any complaints?" he challenged. When no one spoke up, he nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Now get to your positions. We strike when the sun touches the western peaks."
As the bandits dispersed, their earlier unease replaced by bloodthirsty anticipation, Koros retreated to the edge of the camp. He retrieved his bow, testing the string with practiced fingers.
Inwardly, he grumbled at the necessity of using these brutes. They were little more than fodder, useful only as a distraction or to take the fall if things went awry. Still, they had their uses.
Koros glanced towards the trees where his mount was situated. The beast stomped restlessly, sensing the tension in the air. With a thought, Koros sent a mental command to the animal: Be ready. If things go south, you're my way out.
The horse's ears flicked in acknowledgment, and Koros felt a flicker of satisfaction. At least one creature in this forsaken forest was competent.
As he nocked an arrow and settled into position, Koros allowed himself a grim smile. Let the bandits charge in with their clumsy swords and axes. He would hang back, picking off targets from afar. And if the situation turned dire... well, he had no qualms about leaving these fools to face the consequences alone.
The sun inched closer to the western peaks, painting the sky in hues of orange and red. Koros took a deep breath, steadying his aim. Soon, very soon, the forest would echo with the sounds of battle.