Phealafarian Frontiers: 03: Wolves of Silverdale
The party traveled to Silverdale without much trouble, arriving to find a small, rustic village nestled at the edge of a dense forest. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, the scent of burning wood mingling with the crisp evening air. The villagers were going about their daily tasks but with a noticeable tension in their movements. Their eyes frequently darted toward the treeline, a silent acknowledgment of the ever-present danger lurking beyond.
At the heart of the village, they met Rylke Danners, the hunter who had sent for aid. He was a weathered man, his sharp eyes assessing the group with thinly veiled skepticism. “You lot don’t look like you’ve done much wolf hunting before,” he muttered, arms crossed. However, with little choice, he relented, explaining the worsening situation—the wolves were no longer just picking off livestock. If left unchecked, it would only be a matter of time before they turned their hunger toward the villagers themselves.
Given the gravity of the situation, the party decided to act immediately, opting for an ambush that very night.
As dusk crept over Silverdale, the party positioned themselves strategically. Tobias, Thomas, Eldrin, Tosk, and Guardian took up concealed spots around the livestock pens, ready to strike the moment the wolves arrived. Erisa, meanwhile, opted for a different approach, perching herself at an elevated vantage point where she could fire warning shots to scatter or frighten the wolves rather than outright kill them.
The village grew unnervingly silent as they waited, the tension thick in the cold night air.
Dark shapes slinked through the underbrush at the village’s edge, moving with eerie silence. The wolves prowled cautiously, drawn in by the scent of livestock yet wary of the unnatural stillness that had settled over the village. They advanced in slow, deliberate movements, their yellow eyes gleaming in the dim moonlight.
The moment a wolf crossed into the chicken coop, Tobias gave the signal. The ambush was sprung.
Thomas and Tosk launched themselves into the fray, engaging the wolves in direct combat while Eldrin and Guardian flanked the pack, striking from the sides. The wolves snarled and snapped, fighting back with fierce desperation.
In the midst of the chaos, one particularly aggressive wolf lunged at Tosk, aiming for his throat. With a powerful twist of his hulking frame, Tosk caught the wolf mid-air, his massive arms wrapping around it in a vice-like grip. With a bellow that echoed through the village, he bent his knees, hoisted the struggling creature over his shoulder, and executed a perfect overhead grappling slam, sending the wolf plummeting headfirst into the village well. A sharp yelp and a splash followed as the unfortunate creature vanished into the darkness below, leaving only ripples as evidence of its fate.
Meanwhile, from her vantage point, Erisa let loose an arrow that struck the ground just ahead of one of the wolves. The creature recoiled, hackles raised, before turning and bolting into the darkened woods. Another wolf, seeing its companion flee, followed suit.
The remaining wolves, now outmatched, hesitated. Between the party’s combined assault and the unexpected scare tactics from Erisa, their resolve broke. With panicked growls, the surviving wolves turned tail and fled into the night, vanishing into the depths of the forest.
The village held its breath for a long moment before the silence settled in once more. Silverdale was safe—at least for now.
The following morning, the villagers emerged from their homes with a mix of relief and gratitude. Though still wary, there was a palpable shift in the air—hope, where before there had been only fear. Rylke Danners, his initial skepticism tempered by their success, extended an offer for the group to stay at his house for the night in thanks for their help.
Before dawn, however, a distant, haunting howl drifted through the early morning mist, stirring Eldrin and Tosk from their sleep. It was a single wolf, its voice carrying over the treetops like a lingering promise.
They searched the outskirts of the village for any sign of movement but found nothing.
With no immediate threat present, the group gathered their belongings, prepared for the return journey to New Albion. They left Silverdale behind with the weight of their first true victory on their shoulders—aware that their journey was only just beginning.
