Only in the harshest of times, do you take these meager jobs. But now here you are, preparing the dead man for burial before the moon rises. The forest is dark and miserable--regrettable that you are here. You recall your last days in town--the posting in the town square--which led you to the humble home of the carpenter. The pay didn't sell you; it was the pleading look in the old man's eyes. His only son had traveled into the Fenwood Forest to attend to the monastery therein. Few are accepted, and the honor is great. But that was over a month ago, and nothing has been heard since. In the mean time, rumors circulate of a beast run rampant, killing all those who venture into the depths of the forest. A twig snaps, throwing you back into the reality at hand. What lurks in the shadows? Is this only a deer, or Is it the beast?