Serge tossed another log on the campfire as he awaited the tribal elders to return from their council with Chief Benoit. Damn Nether magic made everything so confusing. He had been summoned back to Paris, after French agents had heard reports of the Nether claiming the Trotseer brigands had defeated the Garcon de Paris!
It was all more Nether lies. Not a single member of the Garcon of Paris had been hurt nor had any of them even seen one of the Trotseer Brigands. Somehow the brigands had managed to sneak by his patrols unnoticed although that wasn't possible without damned Nether magic!
The tribal elders had already explained how the Nether mystics could shed their skin, like snakes, becoming unseen spirits to bypass French patrols and then take on new skins from the dead in other locations. There was no way for a warrior to fight an enemy he cannot see or even hit with his club. It was now up to the tribal elders to devise a defense against this vile magic.
Serge had had enough though. He had been searching for 30 winters for this elusive Trotseer to no avail. It was time to plant grapes and drink wine and let a new generation of younger warriors defend Paris from damned Nether magic.