The Red moon Arises

The evening was becoming odd, Gorik and Henry had to quit their match and rush inside.

The evening began like any other, with the canteen bustling with activity. Gorik and Eldrin sat near the hearth, the warmth of the fire a stark contrast to the growing chill outside. Eldrin nursed his drink, trying to focus on the present, but the impending danger weighed heavily on his mind.

As the night deepened, the usual clamor of the canteen grew subdued. Conversations turned to hushed whispers, and more patrons cast anxious glances toward the windows. Eldrin could sense the tension building in the air, thick and oppressive, as though the forest itself were holding its breath.

Gorik's eyes were fixed on the door, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a hardened focus. He hadn't said much since they'd arrived, and that alone was enough to set Eldrin on edge. When Gorik was silent, it meant something serious was about to happen.

Finally, the door to the canteen creaked open, and a figure stumbled in—a young man, wild-eyed and panting as if he'd just run a great distance. His clothes were torn, and his hands trembled as he pushed the door shut behind him. The room fell silent, all eyes on the newcomer.

"The moon... it's turning!" the man gasped, his voice tinged with panic. "It's starting!"

At those words, the entire canteen seemed to react as one. Chairs scraped against the wooden floor as patrons scrambled to their feet, some rushing to the windows while others moved toward the door, intent on securing it against whatever lay outside. The atmosphere shifted from one of cautious camaraderie to sheer urgency.

Gorik stood, his face a mask of calm amid the chaos. He looked at Eldrin, nodding once. "It's time. We need to lock down."

Eldrin followed Gorik's lead, helping to bar the windows and reinforce the door as the canteen's patrons worked together. Thick wooden planks were slid into place, and iron bolts were fastened with a resounding clang. The staff moved quickly, shutting off lanterns and covering the hearth, plunging the room into near darkness.

Outside, the forest had gone eerily quiet. The usual sounds of nocturnal creatures were absent, replaced by an unnatural stillness that made Eldrin's skin crawl. He cast a glance out of one of the small, barred windows, and his breath caught in his throat.

The moon, once pale and distant, had begun to shift in color. A deep, ominous red was bleeding across its surface, staining the night sky like spilled blood. The sight was both beautiful and terrifying, an ominous reminder of the danger lurking just beyond the safety of the canteen's walls.

"It's starting," Gorik said, his voice low and grave. "The Night of the Red Moon."

Eldrin's heart pounded in his chest. He had heard Gorik's stories, but seeing the moon transform before his eyes was something else entirely. There was a primal fear in him now, something that went beyond reason or experience. It was as if every instinct in his body was screaming at him to run, to hide, to escape the approaching nightmare.

The other patrons settled into uneasy silence, clustering together in small groups. Some whispered prayers to gods Eldrin had never heard of, while others simply stared at the floor, lost in their own thoughts. The mood in the room was tense, the air thick with fear and anticipation.

For a while, nothing happened. The only sounds were the occasional creak of the wooden beams and the muffled breaths of those inside. Eldrin could feel the sweat on his palms, his nerves wound tight as he waited for the first sign of danger.

And then it came—a distant howl, low and mournful, echoing through the trees. It was a sound unlike anything Eldrin had heard before, a chilling cry that seemed to pierce the very soul. It was followed by another, and then another, until the air outside was filled with a cacophony of inhuman wails.

The beasts of Draventh had awakened.

Gorik tensed, his hand resting on the hilt of his axe. "Stay alert," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the door. "This is only the beginning."

Eldrin nodded, gripping his sword hilt tightly. The howls grew louder, closer, as if the creatures were converging on the canteen. The walls, once a comforting barrier, now felt fragile, as though they could be breached at any moment.

The sounds outside grew more intense, the howls mingling with snarls and the unmistakable sound of claws scraping against wood. The creatures were testing the defenses, probing for weaknesses. Every impact sent a shiver through the floor, rattling the tables and chairs.

Suddenly, there was a loud thud against the door, followed by the screech of nails clawing at the wood. The door shook under the assault, but the thick planks held firm. The room erupted into nervous murmurs, some patrons backing away from the door, while others moved closer, weapons drawn.

"They're getting bolder," Gorik muttered, his eyes narrowing. "But they won't break through. Not yet."

Eldrin swallowed, his mouth dry. He had faced danger before, but nothing like this. The sheer number of creatures outside, the relentless pressure—it was overwhelming. But he had no choice but to stand firm, to trust that the canteen's defenses would hold.

Minutes felt like hours as the assault continued. The creatures outside grew more frenzied, their attacks more desperate. The walls shook with the force of their rage, but still, the canteen stood strong. Eldrin began to think that maybe, just maybe, they would make it through the night unscathed.

But then, a new sound cut through the din—a high-pitched whistle, sharp and sudden, followed by the splintering of wood. Eldrin turned just in time to see one of the windows shatter inward, shards of glass flying across the room.

A dark shape shot through the opening, landing in the middle of the floor with a fluid, feline grace. The room fell deathly silent as everyone stared at the intruder—a Wild Elf, its eyes glowing with an unnatural light, its body covered in the twisted, bark-like skin that marked the denizens of Draventh.

The Wild Elf straightened, its lips curling into a snarl as it surveyed the room. It moved with a predatory elegance, each step deliberate, calculated. The patrons backed away, fear etched into their faces, but Gorik stepped forward, his axe at the ready.

"Everyone, stay back!" Gorik commanded, his voice cutting through the panic. He met the Wild Elf's gaze, unflinching. "This one's mine."

Eldrin felt his heart hammering in his chest as he watched the standoff. The Wild Elf bared its teeth, a low growl rumbling from its throat. Gorik tightened his grip on his axe, his muscles tensing, ready to spring into action.

But before Gorik could make his move, the Wild Elf lunged, its speed almost too fast to track. Eldrin barely had time to draw his sword before the creature was upon them, its claws slashing through the air with lethal precision.

Gorik met the attack head-on, his axe swinging in a wide arc to intercept the Wild Elf. The two clashed in a blur of motion, steel against claws, strength against agility. The room erupted into chaos as patrons scrambled to avoid the fight, the once-cozy canteen now a battlefield.

Eldrin moved to assist, but Gorik's voice stopped him cold. "No! This one's mine, kid! Stay back!"

Reluctantly, Eldrin obeyed, his eyes locked on the fierce battle unfolding before him. Gorik fought with the same brutal efficiency he had displayed against the Sylvan Stalkers, but the Wild Elf was unlike anything they had faced before. It was fast, cunning, its movements unpredictable and fluid.

The Wild Elf ducked under one of Gorik's swings, its claws raking across his side. Gorik grunted in pain but didn't slow, bringing his axe down with bone-crushing force. The Wild Elf dodged, but not fast enough—Gorik's axe grazed its arm, drawing dark, sap-like blood.

The creature hissed, its eyes narrowing with a mix of pain and fury. It leaped back, putting distance between itself and Gorik, and for a moment, the two combatants stood still, gauging each other.

Then, with a sudden, feral roar, the Wild Elf lunged again, this time aiming directly for Gorik's throat.

The battle was far from over, and Eldrin knew that the real terror of the Red Moon had only just begun.