Dragon Realm Cypress

A curtain of thick mist rested within the thicket. A wet drizzle of rain blanketed a wagon as its wheels attempted to pass through the muddy ground that threatened to swallow half the cart. The convoy found itself in a dead halt within the wide, brown puddle.

“Cursed mud,” sighed one of the caravan guards. “Naonis, you tease us with your elements. Why did you send us such weather last night?” There were six of them, all charged with protecting the caravan containing the chests of golden trit. Two ARO members were assigned to the party, but had not been seen for hours. Despite the unit still being new, it became crucial to assign at least one ARO to patrols and security details. Being able to deal with thieves and assassins at their own level had become a game changer for military tactics.

The guards organized themselves so that three would protect the vanguard and flanks of the convoy while the other three would push the stuck wagon through the puddle.

“Heave ho, lads. Let’s get this thing moving, now!”

“Push! Push! Push!”

The soldiers grunted and wheezed in strain of the labor, but the vehicle wouldn't budge. The three slumped down to take a break.

“Alright, boys, let's try one more ti-Aaargh”

The cry of a guard ripped through the thicket as a throwing knife lodged itself in his thigh. He crumpled over in pain as the rest of the guards took up arms. However, a flock of knives spun through the deep fog to find their marks, creating non-lethal, but still painful, wounds. The guards doubled over in agony, crawling for any cover they could find, but the enemy seemed to be everywhere.

“To the left!”

“Over here on the right!”

“There! There, did you see them?”

The guards’ tactics fell into a scrambled disarray, throwing out commands to each other in a babbling mess of suggestions. None had weight or logic when they all contradicted each other.

Light blurs crisscrossed in between trees until the mystery assailants fell upon the convoy. Clad in pearly white cloaks and fox masks, it became clear to the men that these were not just a gaggle of bandits, but a guild of assassins. Each criminal climbed into the wagons and relieved them of their chests before disappearing back into the fog. until only one stayed behind. He crouched down to look deep into the fearful eyes of the sergeant in command. Speaking with a low rasp to disguise his actual voice, he said, “Tell them the Ghost Foxes did this.” With that he vanished as well, leaving the guards in complete bewilderment.