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The North Ride, 1372 DR. 20th day of The Fading.

It was late afternoon, perhaps three hours till sundown, and the dust from the road was beginning to tickle Aiden's throat. He cleared his throat and spat to the side of the road. A whiff of unbathed humanoid of some kind brushed his nose, and Scruff whined and then began to growl low in his throat.

Aiden looked down at Scruff, who was facing the left side of the road. Heading the warning, he slowly took his bow off his shoulders with one hand, trying to stay inconspicuously, while he loosened his longsword with the other. He kept his head facing forward while he looked into the forest, hopefully trying not to alert whatever it was that had spooked Scruff.

After a few seconds of peering surreptitiously into the underbrush, he saw it: several stocky humanoids dressed in mismatched leather armor and bits of chain. It looked like a few of them had bows and swords, though most had either maces or morningstars. They were clearly bandits; orcs or hobgoblins. His heart began to pound. There were enough of them in the woods to easily wipe out the dozen caravan guards.

Four of the ambushers were armed with bows. If they were remotely skilled, the archers would be the biggest threat. He reached down to his quiver and tugged four arrows up so the fletching wouldn't catch when he pulled them out. He put his fingers around one of the arrows and steeled himself.

He drew the arrow and raised his bow, yelling as loud as he could: "Ambush!"

Scruff immediately shot into the underbrush. A yell erupted from the forest to their left, and a flight of arrows peppered the caravan. Some of the caravan guards had immediately dived to one side when Aiden yelled the alarm, but several of those that hadn't found themselves sprouting arrows. Nearly a third of the guards went down in the initial volley with arrows in them. The bandits that weren't armed with bows charged the caravan. Screams filled the air.

Aiden drew and released in one smooth motion, aiming at one of the archers. The arrow went clear through his target's throat. It yelled and dropped the bow to clutch its throat. Blood squirted from between its fingers.

Most of the caravan guards, including some of those who had fallen to the ground in the initial volley pulled up crossbows and began firing. A few of the guards closest to the left side drew their curved swords as the hobgoblins began to charge from the underbrush. He saw a glimpse of Scruff leaping onto one of the archers and latching onto an arm.

As Aiden drew his second arrow, he saw one of the guards at the middle wagon go down as a spiked mace slammed down on his skullcap, the powerful blow badly denting one side of it. The guard dropped to the ground, blood pouring from his ears and nose.

Aiden's next target was drawing an arrow as well. The hobgoblin had turned to aim in his direction, but far too slowly. Aiden's arrow caught it squarely in the chest, the impact rocking the hobgoblin back on its feet. It stumbled, and fell over backwards.

The brute who had smashed the first guard's helm had turned toward him and began charging toward him, mace held overhead, a mere twenty feet away. Aiden knew he couldn't get an arrow off at this range, and dropped the bow off to the side as he drew his father's longsword. He was just fast enough to draw the sword with his right hand to sweep the spiked mace to one side as he leaned to the other. The hobgoblin was fast, already bringing the mace in sideways. Aiden had to jump back further to avoid the blow. He parried a third swing as he drew his shortsword with his left, turning the motion into a quick stab which sank several inches into the hobgoblins belly, going through the leather armor. He jerked the sword back.

The hobgoblin kept swinging at him, holding the spiked mace in two hands. Aiden barely managed to step back in time to avoid having his skull crushed. He used his shortsword to block a back swing as he brought his longsword down and across, cleaving down through the hobgoblins neck, and opening a line across the hobgoblins chest, despite the leather armor it was wearing.

The hobgoblin still managed to bring the mace around again, sweeping in toward Aiden's right side. This time there was no way he could dodge the blow, and he tried to parry the blow near the hilt of his longsword. He partially slowed it, but the mace still slammed into his side, thankfully too low to break any ribs. The blow threw him sideways, knocking the air out of him. An arrow whistled past his head, narrowly missing him. Blood from the hobgoblins sliced neck sprayed over him, droplets of blood spattering his face. Apparently even a mortal wound like that wasn't going to stop this monster. Shouts of rage and the wails of the dead and dying filled the air around him. He felt his skin begin to tingle as he was struck by the realization that he was going to die here.

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Aiden panicked, nearly missing a parry. Pain stabbed through his face. It felt like someone had grabbed his lower jaw and was pulling his teeth out out by the roots. A scream tore its way out of his throat.

Another arrow whistled past him as he lunged, managing to stab the hobgoblin in the chest with his longsword as he parried a swing with his shortsword. The blow rocked the hobgoblin back, and it tripped, finally going down. He dived sideways, trying to get behind one of the wagons and avoid the archer that was firing at him.

One of his swords clanged as he dropped it and brought his hand to his face. The skin of his face felt stretched and tingled with pins and needles, yet was oddly numb to the touch. Agony radiated from the bones in his face. He held his hand up, expecting it to be covered in blood.

His hand looked grossly deformed. His fingers had widened slightly, the skin along his palm and the inner pads of his fingers had thickened drastically, turning a bright pink rather than the tan he was used to. Fine white hair was growing in the creases of his palm and fingers. He flipped his hand over. The back of his hand was covered in it. His fingernails were thickening, literally growing into claws as he watched.

The second sword hit the dust as he brought his other hand up as well. It was the same. By the gods, he thought, mom was right. I'm going to turn into an animal.

That was when he saw the ring that his mother's elven friend had given him. The moon emblem was a brilliant white, clearly magic of some kind. Then he felt the rest of his body started to change.

The belt around his waist was digging into his skin, and his chain shirt felt several sizes too small. The seams in his shirt and trousers give way, momentarily followed by the belt buckle snapping. Several metallic pings came from his back as the links in the chain shirt snapped. He fell over sideways struggling as fast as he could to tear off his boots as he felt the bones in his feet begin to shift. The merchant's assistant, a girl whose name he didn't know, was cowering on the other side of the wagon as well. She looked over at him as he rolled over sideways. When she saw his face, she screamed.