It doesn't take long to reach the out buildings of the village and you are on an avenue that will take you straight to the center of Thornbury and the Laughing Plowboy Inn. As you approach the square on front, the sun is low and obscured by the forest that rings the village.
Screams are suddenly heard from the north, the direction of the road that leads out of the hamlet. A man staggers into view around a bend in the road. His clothing is badly torn, and he is sweat-soaked and covered in dried blood from numerous scratches.
As curious villagers gather round, he babbles to anyone who listens that he was a drover for the cloth merchants Pulus and Rund. He breathlessly explains that the three merchant wagons were ten miles north of town when dozens of dog-headed humanoids, each taller than him, surged out of the woods in attack. He saved himself by jumping off his wagon and running as fast as he could into the woods. He ran as long as he could, finally collapsing into some bushes. After spending a few hours in the forest to rest, he stumbled around until he came across the road, and followed it down into the hamlet.
Among the onlookers is a scarred, middle-aged man dressed in full chainmail, accompanied by two young men in chain shirts. The older man turns to one of his companions, ordering him to organize a mounted patrol to head out at first light to try and find any other survivors.