Matheson was guarding the south-east side of the village, baiting much stronger enemies into a spell-storm to kill them - but this would only go on for so long: the magical storm was shrinking.
“Hmm, I’ll be running soon enough.” he gave a concerned look at the quickly-shrinking cloud.
“Shit…” he exhaled as he saw something dangerous.
Amongst some deep groans of wood, there was a lot of movement in the forest - a force of five treants were wandering through it slowly, and that was when they saw Matheson; to the treant’s he was merely a fluid-filled snack during their nest-expansion conquest.
Easy pickings.
Matheson froze, hoping his movement wouldn’t attract them, but he was only grasping at straws - they immediately charged.
Five treant hectopede’s were bearing down on him, each of them as fast as skeletons.