This Warrior’s journey begins by bonding to a spirit companion. The spirit beast fights beside the Beastmaster with speed and strength and sees him through his darkest trials.
The Beastmaster and his pet play off one another in perfect harmony, fighting in tandem and bolstering one another as their unity inspires greatness in nearby allies.
The Beastmaster trusts his spirit companion to watch his back and give him strength. Deprived of this ally, he is weak in comparison to his fellow Warriors.
The old forest once had trees that stretched nearly to the sky. Its canopy had housed many Elven villagers, peaceful forest-dwellers living as caretakers of the land. Now, the wood was unrecognizable: wild with oversized flora that choked the ancient trees and filled the air with noxious perfumes that poisoned Elf and beast alike.
There came a sound like the ripping of flesh as a sword hacked through a vine. Dhel had been following the vine as it snaked through a granitewood, into a cottage, and finally buried its feeding head in the chest of a dead Elven youth. Fury overtook him, and he hacked at the vine, screaming through gritted teeth. This attracted attention outside the hut, as the distant chittering of boglings rose to a blood-hungry din, punctuated by the bleating of a shambler.
The vine withdrew from the corpse and lashed at Dhel violently, knocking him through the wall of the hut. He landed within of a warband of boglings, who shoved spears in his face and squabbled about what order to cook his bits in.
“Naveer!” Dhel barked, knocking at the spears with his sword as no one answered. Sighing, he added, “Oh greatest of cats, I have need of you!”
A hunting cat sprang down from the trees overhead and straight into the group of boglings, batting them about with razor claws. Dhel leapt into battle beside Naveer, emboldened by her presence. Elf and cat fought side by side, and soon nothing was left of the boglings but scattered entrails.
Dhel had all but forgotten about the shambler until one of its enormous arms cut through the air. Only by drawing on Naveer’s reflexes did he lunge away in time. He did not, however, successfully dodge the creature’s enormous tongue, which struck him with a slap that nearly scrambled his brains. As he blinked away darkness, the shambler struck Naveer with a headbutt and sent her flying to strike a tree with a heavy thud. Dhel reached out to his companion, lending the cat his endurance as she had lent him speed.
Renewed, the cat sprang back up beside her master, gnashing her teeth. Naveer layered her roar over the Elf’s battle cry, and they charged the shambler.
It tried to bowl them over, but Dhel parried its leg away as the cat slashed its tongue to sticky shreds. Dhel sunk his sword into the creature’s throat, Naveer mauled it viciously, and at last the shambler gave a great bellowing cry and collapsed into the muck. The hunting cat leapt atop its back in victory and began bathing herself.
“Bathing on a corpse. I’ll never understand cats,” said Dhel, though in truth they understood one another very well. He gestured toward the cottage. “One last thing to clean up, Naveer.”
They left nothing of the vine but pulp tatters, and before they set off, Dhel knelt down and closed the dead young Elf’s eyes. “Oh, Bral. I wish I’d gotten here sooner,” he whispered. “I promise, little brother, I will end this pollution.”
Swearing an oath before Tavril, Dhel rose and looked to Naveer, stretched languidly in the sun like a spoiled tabby. “Come, my friend. It’s time we hunt Greenscale himself.” She yowled in appreciation, and the pair took to the green dragon’s trail.