Vaile continued to wait patiently as the night turned back into day, although he did so while asleep and with his minimap set to alert him in the event that something or someone approached him. When next he woke, the still dim and shaded forest floor was barely touched by the errant rays of sunlight that managed to peek through the thick treetops. Yet, despite the Beastman, who went by the name of ‘Mazrag’ if Vaile’s recollection served him, saying that he would be returning posthaste, Vaile was still alone and left to his own devices in the deep and murky forest.

Vaile did not wish to leave his current position without a guide, especially since without any racial bonuses or levels in the Ranger class and its sub-classes it was nigh impossible to not get horrifically lost in the winding mass of gargantuan tree trunks and impenetrable undergrowth. Thus, he contented himself with making his currently inhabited area a bit homier. With a bit of minor Earth Magic here and a few pieces of furniture he had ‘borrowed’ from the enemies of Red Mountain there, Vaile constructed a makeshift earthen ‘shack’ for himself to occupy. Choosing a suitably comfy chair with suitably soft cushions that would make the unexpectable Spanish Inquisition approve of its torturous design, Vaile popped open his inventory and began an attempt to read as many of the books from the game world that he had gathered as possible.

…

“We should be nearing the spot where I left him to wait for us.” Mazrag announced in the guttural and animalistic native language of his kind.

“For your sake, Mazrag, you had best hope that this isn’t some charlatan who managed to pull your leg. If it turns out that this isn’t Great Vaile, then even if I do not rend you apart, my daughter certainly will.”

Mazrag looked over his shoulder at Dur’kor Wildheart and then stole a glance at the other potential executioner nearby, Blaer Wildheart, the daughter of the current warchief himself.

“Do have faith, father.” Blaer countered bluntly and with minimal concern for Mazrag’s fate in her mind, instead hoping that her idol would be there and that Mazrag was not, in fact, getting his leg pulled and unknowingly leading them into a trap. “We both can tell the scent that was on the boy is only getting stronger as we move closer. And, in the event that little Mazrag was deceived, we not only will have to deal with him but also the bastard who dared to impersonate our Gods’ God. But, to make absolutely certain that we are not unprepared for any potential fight…”

With those words, Blaer began to weave some very nasty buffs onto her father and herself, along with conjuring some rather sadistic active and passive magical defenses. After this, she placed temporary enchantments on her father’s weapons, of which included a spiked whip, a heavily serrated blade he had stolen from one of his foes’ corpses and a large, cursed battle-axe that he had gained in a similar manner to that of his blade.

With their ‘insurance’ in place, the three Beastmen moved forward until Mazrag stopped and rubbed his eyes.

“Do you see what I am seeing?” Mazrag asked his leaders.

“If by that you mean a rudimentary earthen hut with a shingle roof out in the middle of the forest, then yes, I believe we do see what you are seeing.” replied Blaer, who was also quite confused by the little house that shouldn’t have been there.

Dur’kor sniffed the air and grunted a single word.

“Magic…”

Both of his traveling companions turned to him and gave him a ‘did you just figure that out?’ look before moving closer to inspect the oddly placed domicile. However, before they could move much closer, the door to the shack was blown off its hinges by what looked to be a kick from a humanoid being from within. The entity that was living in the hut emerged and looked at the three Beastmen, its eyes settling on Mazrag.

“About time…” it muttered in a male, human voice that could, for some bizarre reason, be perfectly understood by the Beastmen, as if the entity was flawlessly speaking their own tongue instead of the main language of the Races. The entity gestured for them to follow it inside the doorless shack, but as soon as the entity went back inside, the door it had booted off the frame returned to the dirt it had come from and a new door took its place on the shack.

The Beastmen looked at each other, shrugged, and made their way inside the hut through the unlocked earthen door that was much more durable than they gave it credit for. Once inside, the overwhelming musk of a major stud assailed them like nothing had ever done before. After overcoming the initial shock of the odor, they managed to look at the entity and see it without the heavy clothing and mask it had worn just moments prior.

And it was at that point several things happened.

First, Dur’kor fell to his knees and began to beg his Gods for forgiveness for ever doubting that the being he was so reluctant to meet was in fact Vaile himself, the God of his kind’s Gods.

Second, Blaer began to go into heat and just barely stopped herself from trying to arouse Vaile with some “doe in heat” emissions, realizing in the nick of time that her idol probably wouldn’t appreciate her “leaving her scent” all over his nice and fancy rug.

Third, Mazrag thanked his lucky stars and the will of the Gods that he had not, in fact, been deceived. Ever since he had started arguing with Dur’kor a little while ago about whether Vaile was indeed Vaile, he had a sliver of doubt in his mind that maybe, just maybe, he was leading his leaders into a deathtrap.

And finally, Vaile looked up and motioned for all three ‘guests’ to take a seat.

Little did any of them know that while Vaile had not intended to do so, he had inadvertently put a massive target on the backs of both him and his guests. Turns out that, unbeknownst to him and the three beastmen, his house had been found by a second party of Werean hunters and they had just barely witnessed two of their biggest targets enter a small hut with no obvious means of escape beyond the main door and a few small windows.

Even Beastmen with their powerful noses could not smell something that was upwind from them, and there was now a trap being set. It was only when the alarm Vaile had set for such an event went off and alerted him to the low-leveled idiots trying to encircle his improvised and temporary house from roughly half a kilometer away did he decide to tell his guests that they had been followed and not by the paparazzi. As the three Beastmen prepared for battle, Vaile put on his garments and mask and walked up to the closed door as the Werean hunters drew closer.

It was clobbering time.