As the rain falls on the afternoon march, wooden walls rise up through the haze. A village long lost to the Deepwood lies in your path. You do not recall seeing it on any map. With the brush incredibly thick to either side, it looks like the only path is through. Cautiously, you step into the shadow of the village, leading the army behind you.

As the column reaches the village center, you spot movement off to your left, and then again to your right. Shadows coalesce into dozens of Mandragors, heads low and stalking. Reptilian eyes fix on you and hungering tongues flit out to taste the air. The village has become a nest. As if by some signal, the creatures screech and, as one, charge the line. The terrain is not favorable for bringing your army to bear on these creatures, but knowing you must protect the wagons and the witches, you shout your own order to repel the assault.

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