The moonlight filtered through the thick canopy of The Garden, casting silvery beams onto the ground where moss and glowing fungi thrived. The forest breathed with life, its natural beauty only slightly marred by the faint hum of danger that lurked within. Somewhere, a wolf named Thornfang prowled—though he was no longer just a wolf. His once-sleek fur was matted with mud and streaked with blackened patches, and his sharp yellow eyes burned with an unnatural intensity.
Thornfang’s jaw twitched as foam gathered at the corners of his mouth. His muscles were taut, his movements jittery, like a puppet jerked along by invisible strings. The Virus, a shadowy curse whispered about in the Garden’s folklore, had taken hold of him. And Thornfang, the fiercest hunter of the woods, had become its unwilling servant.
Thornfang had always hunted alone, a master predator who avoided the noisy intrusions of humanoids. But tonight, something was different. His heightened senses picked up voices—humanoid voices, laughing and echoing through the quiet forest. Thornfang froze, his ears twitching.
“Adventurers,” he thought—or rather, the fragmented piece of his mind that still belonged to Thornfang did. But the Virus hissed and clawed, dragging his thoughts into chaos. They have something… it whispered. The key. Take it.
The adventurers were crossing the Gleaming Glade, an open area where glowing, crystalline flowers thrived. Among their belongings, Thornfang’s keen eyes spotted the Viridian Amulet, a relic said to ward off The Garden’s darker magics. It gleamed faintly at the sorcerer’s neck, taunting him. The Virus demanded it.
Thornfang moved like a shadow, slinking behind the glowing flowers, his eyes fixed on the group. The rogue in the party suddenly stopped, squinting into the darkness. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.
Thornfang froze, blending into the trees. But his twitching limbs betrayed him; a rustling of leaves gave him away.
The fighter laughed. “It’s just the wind. Don’t wet your boots.” Thornfang growled low, his cover blown, but he resisted the urge to lunge. Not yet.
Thornfang leapt onto a nearby boulder, his massive frame silhouetted against the moonlight. He snarled, foam flying from his mouth as his voice rattled in an unnatural growl. “Leave the Garden… or face my wrath!”
The cleric raised an eyebrow. “Did that wolf just talk?”
The sorcerer tightened his grip on his staff. “That’s not normal.”
Thornfang’s display succeeded in spooking the party, but their defensive stances showed they weren’t leaving without a fight. Snarling, Thornfang charged, aiming for the amulet. The sorcerer raised a hand, muttering an incantation, and a shimmering barrier erupted between them. Thornfang crashed into it, yelping as sparks flew. He stumbled back, dazed but more enraged than ever.
His claws tore into the earth as he roared, “The amulet is MINE!”
Thornfang circled the adventurers, his movements jerky, his growls a mix of feral rage and twisted speech. The moonlight illuminated the foam at his mouth and the madness in his eyes. “You don’t understand,” he snarled. “That amulet… it’s the only cure!”
Whether this was true or another lie whispered by the Virus, the adventurers couldn’t know. Thornfang crouched low, his claws scraping the earth as he prepared to pounce.
Would they fight to defend the amulet, attempt to cure the beast, or try to reason with the fractured mind of the once-proud wolf?