Blackmore Forest. A place that not even the bravest soul dare tread. The residents of the town of Blackmore consider the forest at the very edge of the town to be no more than a graveyard. Only those the residents would rather forget ever existed are buried there.
Murderers, rapists and the most evil of all, those who prey on children. Nobody tends to the graves save for one person. The Caretaker. A stranger to the people of Blackmore, the man bears the title with pride.
For many years, there have been dark clouds over the forest. Gathering, circling, almost as if they are waiting for something or someone. Unearthly wails echo at night. Some believe the shadows are alive, and they are the ones who wail.
Others believe it is the dead who wail. One thing all who speak of the wailing agree on; the wailing began when the clouds first started appearing over the forest. All who hear the groans and screams are struck with a paralysing fear that someday, whoever or whatever is behind the nightly torment will eventually invade the town — all, except for the Caretaker.
While there is nothing unusual about seeing him enter the forest alone, it is most curious to see him carry anything other than a shovel. On this cold wintry night in November, he brings a bag over his shoulder. However, in the days that follow none who saw him will ever remember seeing him. For the Caretaker is no mere man.
He is much, much more than that. For he is every bit the same as those who inhabit the graves and yet he is nothing like them. Because the Caretaker is not here this night to tend to the dead. He is here to raise the dead.
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The Perfect Match
FantasyA motherless child, A father shrouded in shadow, The light that leads the way, Is the cage that will blind and deceive. ______ For centuries, Arcane waited patiently for the heir to the Prince of Hell. A child that would be born from hate...
