It was late afternoon, around five o'clock, when the sun began to vanish behind the mountains. The shadow of the forest grew deeper, sharper. It was the perfect time to hunt.
A group of a dozen small humanoid creatures was returning from a successful hunt. They had long crooked noses, large pointed ears, greenish skin, and faces as ugly as they were menacing.
The hunt had gone well today. No interruptions. No ambushes. They had caught plenty of prey.
But one thing had been bothering them since morning. The neighboring hobgoblin village had never let them have a peaceful day. Usually, they came to steal their game or launch sudden attacks.
Yet that morning, they had only heard strange noises—like thunder—coming from that village. Then nothing. No sign of life. Not a single scream. Not a trace.
What had happened over there?
Why this sudden silence? Even the other villages were quiet. A heavy, suffocating silence blanketed the entire forest.
Something was wrong.
