Snow fell down in sheets on the wild territories within the southern end of The Withering Gate. It was a barren mountain range and this pass, in particular, had a narrow path with high cliffs on either side. On the ridge, covered in snow, barely recognizable were ballistae. Light ballistae, basically arbalests on tripods, and they were both loaded. Two figures lay in the snow with their rimmed helmets keeping snow out of their eyes.

“Keep your breath steady, draw the heat from inside, and focus on the pass.” One of the two says with a voice like gravel.

“I know father.” The other replies calmly.

The two hear the crunching of snow under heavy footfalls before a beast rounds the corner charging down the mountain pass. It’s a wolf-like creature, standing on two legs at eight feet tall, and it quickly looks over its shoulder behind it. The werewolf is already hurt; cuts across his arms and legs, a slash down his chest, and arrows in his back.

A surge of arcane echoes through the pass. The ethereal energy causes both ballistae to turn towards the werewolf and fire. The bolts go through the top right side of its chest and the bottom left side of its abdomen. The bolts hit the ground behind the wolf, pinning it.

The two hunters rise from the snow, the father wielding a musket with an axe on the end of it, and the son wielding a blunderbuss. They calmly walk towards the werewolf. It reaches its arms out to try and claw its attackers. The beast doesn’t even come close. The older hunter raises his musket above his head and swings the silvered axe head down into the beast's head.

With the sharp and final howl of the wolf, the son watches as crows start to land at the edge of the cliffs above. The crunching of snow comes again, this time several footfalls are heard. Four hunters round the bend in the pass and see the aftermath of the fight. Two of them have bows and silvered arrows, one has a silvered halberd and bulky armor, the fourth has two silvered short swords.

“That’s our beast!” The armored hunter yells.

“I believe that my blow killed it and therefore I claim the right to the corpse.” The older hunter growls the words.

“You want to take us?” The armored hunter gestures with wide arms to his party.

“Ballista bolts.” One of the bowmen mutters. “This is that runaway siege engineer, Burkwood.”

“I’m not running now! You want to try something?” Burkwood calls out as he levels his musket to aim at them.

The hunters' eyes flick to the ridge, spotting the two ballistae, and they carefully step back.

“Your kill. Your claim.” The armored hunter huffs as the rest of them turn and leave.

“I’ll get the ballistae. Field dress the wolf, Erevan.” Burkwood hands a silvered knife to his son.

“Alright, sir.” The teenager, Erevan, takes the knife.

Erevan carefully and surgically cut the wolf's chest open. He’ll remove most of the organs very carefully, dig a hole, and bury it. He’ll then begin pulling out major bones, removing them, so the body will be lighter.

Erevan’s father drags the sled down the ridge with both ballistae on them. He pulls them next to the young Erevan. The two of them pull the wolf onto the sled and then each take one of the reins of the sled to drag it.

“Say the incantation.” Troeles Burkwood reminds Erevan with a gentle tone.

“Yes father.” Erevan says before muttering an incantation that increases the weight of what he can carry.

The two easily drag the two siege weapons and the werewolf corpse across the snowy waste. They head in a curved fashion so as to not head straight home. But Erevan knows father can’t get them lost. He would just be able to focus on home and know its direction.

The two head through a wooded area and down to a space hidden between two hills. Two buildings lie down there. A three room cabin; two bedrooms and one room that serves as the living room, kitchen, and dining room. The other building is a large wooden warehouse with big barn doors.

Erevan runs ahead and opens the barn doors. Troeles drags the ballistae and the body inside. The room is full of alchemical equipment, has a makeshift forge, has engineering workbenches, and a reloading bench for the alchemical cartridges both of their guns use. Off to one corner by the alchemical supplies are crates full of rats.

Troeles and Erevan grab the werewolf and haul it’s body up onto a table.

“You should go inside and warm up.” Troeles says.

“I don’t mind staying.” Erevan says.

“Last time you fought me over the life of a rat.” Troeles looks down at Erevan with tired eyes.

“That was over a year ago.” Erevan says.

“Eleven months.” Troeles corrects him.

“Okay, I’m sorry about that time. But I want to learn.” Erevan shrugs.

“Alright.” Troeles nods to him.

“Heat the silver up in the forge, once you have it set up and its melting, bring me the wolfsbane. I need to keep trying.” Troeles sighs.

“We’ll figure this out dad. We’ll cure whatever is killing you.” Erevan grabs his father’s hand.

“It may just be age, son.” Troeles says.

“Then will make a bigger ballista and force a god to give you an immortal life.” Erevan walks to a rack of metal bars.

He pulls the silver out and sets it in a stone bucket before hanging it above the forge. Erevan walks over to the bellows.

“No, do it with your mind.” Troeles says.

“It’s quicker this way.” Erevan complains.

“Quicker solutions are not always better.” Troeles clicks his tongue.

“Quicker solutions.” Erevan mutters to himself.

The hunter leans against Valerie's door. He sets down his ballista and his pack, leaning it against the home, before turning around. He raises his hand to knock on the door before the door flies open. Valeries arm shoots out, grabs Erevan by the collar of his shirt, and drags him into the building.

Her lips lock his as she kicks the door closed. The two embrace, her arms wrapping around the back of his neck, and his gauntlets hit the ground before his hands grasp at her back.

Valeries hands move down and begin to take off Erevan’s cloak. His hands flow across her sides, feeling the curve of her hips. Erevan’s pauldrons and cloak hit the ground. He starts to quickly take his shirt off.

Valeries hands flow down the hunter’s stomach.

A knock at the door interrupts them.

“Can you come back another time?” Valerie calls out.

“Sorry, it's urgent.” Nortom answers. “The Kingdom of the Black Sea is invading.”

“Fuck.” Valerie throws her hands up in defeat.

“And if Erevan is in there with you, or some other guy who carries a ballista with him. We will probably need his help.” Nortom adds.”

“Be right out.” Erevan grumbles as he collects his clothes and armor from the ground.

“We don’t really have any time.” Nortom opens the door.

The gunslinger’s eyes go wide as he sees Erevan grabbing his shirt off the ground. The hunter moves to pull his shirt on. Nortom takes in the view as Erevan dresses himself. Valerie steps in front of Nortom and leans down to talk at his level.

“I know this isn’t your fault. But I need you to learn to read a room.” Valerie whispers.

“Did you two?” Nortom looks between them.

“Where’s the invasion happening?” Erevan asks.

“All along the coast.” Nortom mutters before composing himself. “They need us to cover the mouth of the Andes River. If they have access to it then they can take the river straight to the heart of Myandra. We can’t give them that land.”

“Then let’s go.” Valerie pushes past Nortom and leaves her house.

“I’ll catch up.” Erevan nods to Nortom as he continues to strap pieces of armor on. “Better go make sure you two are still good.”

“Thanks.” Nortom nods before turning to leave.

Erevan straps the rest of his armor on, step outside, throw his helmet on, and grab his stuff. He heads to the waystone where Valerie and Nortom are waiting. The three take the waystone to a town closer to the mouth of the river. From there they meet the rest of the team.

Waiting for them is Honno Mushi from Erevan’s first mission, Ida from Erevan’s last mission, as well as a man named Frank. Frank was a humanoid snapping turtle. He wore no clothes, but his shell did cover most of his body and he had a sword on his back. Erevan felt truly distrubed by the imposing figure.

Erevan pays for a cart and horses to take them all out to the beach where the river flows out to sea. The group sits on the beach. Frank buries himself in the sand. Ida talks to shadows. Honno and Nortom make small talk. Valerie stands out ankle deep in the waves. Erevan sets his ballista up on a ridge further back from the beach.

“When do you think they’re coming?” Frank asks with just his head poking out of the sand.

“They said to hold the position. They didn’t have any intelligence on if it was going to be targeted.” Nortom replies.

“Maybe they won’t show up at all.” Honno waves one of her hands.

“Or we were too late.” Erevan states.

“No, they’re here.” Valerie states.

The team looks out across the ocean. One wave, a few hundred feet out, is higher than all the others, and slowly comes towards the beach. Underneath the waves three units of Skum and a squad of Sea Elves swam towards the beach. Erevan’s first taste of war was heading his way.