Another wolf! Your magic sword cleaves him mid-snarl, and he drops in a fur-pile at your feet. There's a slime-ball conjurer just out of reach who'll keep summoning these slobbering missiles until your sword arm drops off. Unless you can figure out a way to get at him.

When you put Mangar out to pasture, all you really wanted was a bottomless mug and an ace up your sleeve. So what are you doing out here in the gnarly wilderness, knee-deep in wolf meat, itching to put an arrow through the Adam's apple of some spell-caster?

It must be your Destiny.