The Season of War

Prologue: The Root of All Evils

The smell of blood is pungent, a nest for foul breeders, human eaters and other dark creatures who they only worship their instincts, the blade cuts deep into one's neck, a swift cut in the neck and no sound, only silence afterward, the dark coat is camouflage but heavy boots made of dwarven-steel with a chainmail and gauntlets and a long sword, it was a peculiar sight of some queer individual walking at night, wandering from street to street, a knight in a dark coat maybe? Or a head hunter? Or maybe something esoteric in nature, someone whose nature is hidden from those who read the minds, his locks escape from time to time from his dark hood, revealing a dark brown color, his eyes shine at moon's light, a blue color, a lighter shade of blue who at intensity is strong, his walk is quick, he doesn't spend time going slow or investigating the abandoned houses in the Shrewsbure street, a long and narrow path filled with overgrown grass.

After some time, in these dark streets, he hears a sound, probably a rat or a cat or maybe a large dog? It doesn't matter, he continues his walk at a faster pace, he doesn't want any quarrel with any foul creature, by now he wants to escape from this nightmarish place, filled with creatures from a dark dark dark realm. You see his role in this world is simple, kill, and then kill until you are paid for your "informal service'' for the good of humanity because in this dark and miserable world we all need to pay our dues, it's getting dark, and the grass becomes taller with each foot his vision darkens, it's cursed, a curse engulfed this place, he needs to kill the evil-doer, he can't sense the foul root of this curse, it seems at the level of a master or of an.....archmage who's magic corrupted him or her, the hunter lays low in the grass, if something wants to catch him, so be it, they will go in the Tenebrae together if it's fate. No doubt our hunter sensed the creature, he was ready, prepared, his sword was out from the scabbard, the first cut was made, blood spilled from the beast's deformed neck, it was once a woman, a young woman no doubt, her eyes have a piercing gaze, frozen at the hunter's face, cold and pale, the creature's body is stitched but poorly done, a shame no doubt, she could've had a good life, but this life is cruel to people, some call it blind justice. Our hunter looks at the quickly decaying carcass of a once beautiful woman, he leaves it for the corpse flies.

As he continues down this dark street, the grass slowly begins to shrink, it was probably cut by someone....or something? The man has his hand tightly gripped on the sword, he isn't sure about it, it might be a human, but alas the hunter didn't found the source, only a small campfire, a tent, a small oak chest, and a dead horse, probably killed by one of those creatures, ah yes, you can see the blood, coagulating, the maggots filling the carcass and the flies just.. just flying around the carcass.... He inspects the small camp, it was abandoned not that long ago, as it seems, the person who left the camp, it was in a hurry, one boot is left here, 2 daggers are close to the camp, probably they fell, and also a leather jacket, probably couldn't dress up quickly, if it ran to the High Tower, or the Old Crone's Tower as it was once called,  they would probably dead already, but if they decided to hide in one of these houses, they have a slim chance of surviving, he sits down, thinking, how to find out what happened here and how to stop the curse, but then he hears a voice, coming from inside the tent, it's a voice of a man, rugged, old and weary:

-What do you want? He says, his face isn't shown, his voice is too familiar.                                              

-Show your face, and I'll say answer your question stranger, he has a small curved dagger in his hand, with a claw handle made from steel. Nothing is heard, only small steps, and then something is closed. Like a lightning strike, a small light is fired from the tent, it illuminates the whole street, our hunter jumps, startled he takes cover behind a destroyed fence. The voice is heard shouting: Ohohoh, sorrows drowned me, but you are a light that shines my face, old friend, it's an old man with a long bushy beard greyed all, wearing a large blue coat with a hood that hides his eyes, only his mouth can be seen. The hunter exclaims, with a smile on his face: Vahlayn, old man, you are clearly a sight for sore eyes...

-Indeed young swordmaster, and I sense you are perplexed, why am I here? I'll answer your question, fast, a curse my friend, this old town has been cursed for centuries, a necromancer's den it is this place, I have a task to finish, find out its source, It is my burden for many years, I have just set my camp here, but I can tell you one thing, someone was here, not too long ago, and I think it has the same quest as us, and do not, ask how do I know about your search for the source of all these evils, we are on the same path, but my path can conclude in death.

-You always say this, and you survive, all the time old man, you like to make it more poetical, I think you are the main inspiration for Zephyr's always inspired and dissatisfied mood.

-I might be, but society can make us become what we don't want to, but again, like I always said: "Death is certain, we just delay it". So you can rest, I'm going out into the main square, farewell...He bows and starts walking, confident, with his willow staff full of runes, he seems to vanish.

Hours pass and it's morning, the hunter wakes up, prepared for his quest, he is only wearing his pants, his physique is slim, but with a lot of muscle mass on him, he quickly dresses, leaving the tent and going out, it's the first time he sees morning in this place, it's normal, which is not expected, again, we are talking about an ancient curse. He walks slower, more cautious, creatures can lurk even in sunlight, his sword shines in the sunlight, the dwarven runes seem to be making a small flame, revealing the old dwarvish name for ''dragon'', or Krag-mkhan.It's noon by now, and he arrives at the High Tower, it's impressive, an old tower dating as far back as  when the ancient ones, the old elves, ruled the continent, it's stonework is also impressive, an art by today's standards, on its roof, it's depicted a scene from the ''Odyssey of the Wild Men'', an epic written by an antikan author called Eudra, depicting the birth of the Wolf-Tooth and the battle of the green forest where the Antikans or the ancient ones, obliterate the Wild men and send them back to the Cold North.As the hunter enters the High Tower, the door quickly shuts, it's clear, the source of the curse is here, the hunter starts walking up, creeping at the door openings, just a bit to see inside, nothing, only the wind is heard, along with the wind a roar is heard too, another abomination, the hunter takes the long sword and runs up, to the source, he arrives and sees it,  a naked woman, a dark-haired one, with a very malnourished form, singing as a naked man is disemboweled by the woman with her fingernails, the woman sings with a beautiful voice, harmonious, but don't be fooled she is a necromancer,  clearly making a ritual to the Death Callers, the hunter takes out a necklace full of wooden marbles-on these marbles are written spells, of some sorts, to protect the wearer from the dark influence-the hunter puts the necklace on. The woman looks at him and smiles, her smile....clearly she also ate some parts of the man, probably some organs, the woman leaves the by-now dead body of the man, she's pale, her small breasts are full of blood, her legs seem to be full of scars, self-inflected, she transforms into a foul beast, her back is full of fur, her ears are like of a bat and her hair is longer, her fingernails are like of a blade, and her legs are long, longer...it's clearly a Lygnma, twisted creatures who shift into the bodies of fair maidens and lads, he fell for her beauty and he paid the price, the lygnma lashes at the hunter, and it cuts his cheek, the hunter seems to be weakened by something, something something, but he attacks the lygnma, he stabs her stomach and then makes a pirouette and jumps slashing her back, the lygnma runs to the wall, jumps and flips, landing on his back. As our hunter is soon in panic, he has a moment of lucidity, breaking her legs, even if the legs are long, the bones are quite fragile, he does so by grabbing them and twisting them, the lygnma makes an otherworldly sound, the hunter throws her onto the table. The lygnma lies twitching, her arms jerked around, alas our hunter grabs his trusty sword, and cuts the lygnma's head, he sighs, taking a moment of peace, and then resumes his journey climbing the stairs. His mind is in conflict, "Should I continue this damned journey, is it all worth? Why?", they're tormenting him, but it doesn't matter, it didn't killed him, that's important, I mean it is? Yes of course it is, or so...he arrives atop the high tower. He looks down, the houses are burned and ruined, the streets are filled with overgrown grass, indeed it's a ruin, but the curse isn't lifted, it needs to be lifted,  we need to find the truth about what happened...