[ WP ] You hear a baby crying out in the woods .

The mists permeated the forest, cutting down visibility to mere feet. 
 
 They could only see the soldier to their immediate left and right and no more, it was that thick. The crunch of boots on damp leaf litter, the snap of a broken twig underneath a heel. The Long Gunners with their repeating rifles aimed down into the impenetrable fog, swiveling the barrels at every sound. Behind them a platoon of sword knights marched, their silvery armor blending in with the mists. Their shields and battle blades were readied to meet whatever came out of the fog, their helms raised to see better in the grey morass. When the child's cry came up, all heads perked, turning in the direction of the squalling. 
 
 `` MacGinty, Travers, check it out.'' The Long Gunner lieutenant ordered. The two soldiers nodded and rose to move- 
 
 `` Check that, Lieutenant Norcleath.'' Came a slightly accented voice from behind. The Cygnaran junior officer turned to face the man who spoke. 
 
 `` Lord Martyn.'' Norcleath said curtly. `` You are here in support of mine and Sir Fredric's patrol. When your opinions are desired, we shall request them.'' 
 
 The Llaelese mercenary shrugged, his black tricorne shedding drips of water away from his face. 
 
 `` Fair enough, Lieutenant. But let me ask you something. How many families are in these woods? I ca n't think of more than just charcoal burners here. So what are the chances of a lone babe in this forest? No. It's a trap, and if you send those two men to investigate, they'll be dead men before you hear the screams. So just ignore it, or else send the whole platoon in.'' 
 
 The Cygnaran officer scowled and slashed his hand at the noise of the crying child. 
 
 `` You heard me, get to it!'' The long gunners, nervousness at the mercenary's comment, ducked their heads and headed out into the bank of fog, vanishing from the sight of the rest in a matter of moments. 
 
 Owen di la Martyn said nothing, merely pulling a pocketwatch from his vest, wordlessly counting the seconds' hand. 
 
 *''... fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seve-'' * The two soldiers screamed filled the air, tearing through trees to reach everyone's ears. Gunshots. The sound of beasts snarling and feeding; the wet sound of intestines spilling out. The weak pleads of the two long gunners as they were torn apart, eaten alive. Martyn's flint grey eyes met the brown of the Cygnaran officer's. 
 
 *Told you. * 
 
 A lone howl ripped through the fog, looming and massive, full of carnage of bloodlust. It was soon followed by many more howling voices, that of scores of men. Martyn drew his magelock pistol from his belt, his rapier in his left hand, a grim smile on his lips. Those yet unseen foes were servants of the Devourer Wurm. Wolves of Orboros. He was confidant he make it out of these woods alive. 
 
 He was n't too sure about his allies. 
 

