The sun rises in the East.

  The new light stirs wildlife to daily routine. Cresting the horizon, creatures of various shapes and sizes pull themselves ashore. No more than a ten minute walk is the town of Ferncliff.

  A thousand or so folks live within the town, and another thousand or so below. Above live a hundred more, though they care not for their neighbors. The inhabitants of the Undergrowth are well aware of the oncoming raid, and have preparations in place. A war-horn sounds from a Seaside scout, high atop her driftwood perch. Monsters ignore her as they gradually pickup speed towards Ferncliff. She knocks arrow after arrow, each finding a mark.

  Townsfolk usher loved ones indoors, yet a few remain.

  They are the voluntary defense against the mindless threat.

  Beasts trip over one another as preset explosions rock the coast. It will take ten minutes or so for this raid to arrive. Another explosion, then another, erupts in a tall tuft of black and red, traps set in advance. Monsters squealed as death came quick, without grievance from kin. Each creature had a large bulbous yellow-orange tumor that hung off a tar-like body. The external growths were embedded in skin or connected by a tendril that swung to sprinting steps. Some of the beasts housed two such tumors, and these individuals were noticeably larger than their kin. After acclimating to the surface, they ran faster than the average man. Every creature destined to reach Ferncliff or die trying.

  Four volunteers stood watch today on the outskirts of town.

  Though before the war-horn, the four entertained adoring fans.

  The largest of them had striking bull-like features. Brown eyebrows as thick and animated as caterpillars, while frazzled facial hair cusped his bovine snout. The bull lay in the sand as children built a sand-castle atop him. By the horns call he rose, and the kids cried out as their miniature castles collapsed. Sand poured off muscles, yet caught in improvised metal bound to his neck, forearms and legs. A boy rushed to grab a hammer twice his height, dragging it towards the bull. A younger girl in tow, pulling a heavy metal shield by rope, leaving a trail through the sand. The minotaur armed himself, sharing a smile and a “Thank You” to each. The younglings held onto the haft of the hammer as the bull inspected it. Gently he shook it til they let go, a tradition between the trio. He and the two youths roared in anticipation of the fight to come.

  Nearby a youngling dealt a deck of cards.

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  Across them, a feminine feline was feigning curiosity.

  A dark furred hand hovered atop the cards, wrapped in a dark fingerless glove allowing sharpened fingernails to poke through. The cat-lady’s slitted eyes never left her amateur opponent. Brunette hair was bound into a short ponytail while blue earrings hung from pointed human-like ears. Tanned fur transitioned to beige on her front, beneath a white cutoff top. A black skirt wrapped around her waist with flexible skin-tight shorts. A belt housed several trinkets, an empty pack for playing cards, and a few knives, though her claws were just as sharp. She pointed at one of the four cards before her as the horn called. It rose into the air, spinning before the feline and child. On its face read “Wheel of Fortune,” before dissolving into flame. With a wink of an eye and a flick of her wrist, the remaining cards sorted themselves back into the deck. Then fluttered with a magical flourish before filing into her fanny pack. The youngling pouted, but clapped in a parodied amusement. She bowed in return, rising to the occasion.

  Monsters leapt across sand dunes, many crashing through what little flora remained.

  Ocean spray filled the air, though a more pungent, unmistakable odor of rancid fish permeated the coast.

  Market-stalls closed and windows slammed as the mindless beasts continued their single-minded approach.

  The party’s cleric was chanting a spell in preparation, a magical barrier began to form a perimeter. The woman had stark white hair, though she was far from elderly. Her white robe sank into a dark purple, dotted with patterns of stars and markings of the Zodiac. Eyes closed, she recalled her oaths, and small stars began to percolate the space around her. Brilliant lines danced across her chocolate colored skin, slowly peeling away as she cast her spell. Beside her was the youngest child, imitating her role model, one eye peeking. A veil of night formed a wall before them, spanning the entire street. Translucent shadow that one could walk through, should the spell permit them. The woman smiled and opened her eyes, revealing pure white pupils. She templed her hands in a display of grace, and her young pupil did the same.

  A distracting clashing of wood and stone interrupted their serenity.

  The party’s self-declared leader held a mock swordplay with a future apprentice.

  The pale skinned man had stubble that littered his jaw, a black bucket cap, and a lackadaisical gait about him. His red guard’s uniform was unbuttoned, with both sleeves draped past his waist. He sported a torn green shirt that read “Mountain Dew” hand-sown in bright yellow thread. His stance featured an obsidian stone sword with a crude edge with which he exchanged mock strikes with a boy no older than ten. As the youngling lunged to score a hit, the man parried with instinctual reflex. Sensing the spar was destined to end, he landed a finishing blow, much to the boy’s dismay. Before any protest, the swordsman crowned him with the black bucket cap. Lifting the brim to grin at his mentor, each duelist ceremoniously sheathed their swords. The swordsman approached the veil of stars, his hands tying unkempt blonde hair into a top-knot updo.

  The orphan’s godmother ushered the children to safety.

  Beasts soon rounded the corner in a mad dash, naturally funneling towards the innards of town.

  Together; the swordsman, saint, cat burglar, and bull stepped through the veil.