A dark shadow passed across the Redmont Fief. An omen of misfortune.
Halt looked up at the sky with worry; he did not have a good feeling about this. Clouds were one thing, but this swallowing darkness, like a never ending night was something else. What could it mean, he wondered.
Seconds before, Baron Arald had been hosting a crucially important meeting. A war was going on, but it did not seem so, the sky was a brilliant shade of blue, and the sun was out with high voltage. Nothing could possible go wrong on a day as fine as this, or so they thought. Being orderly before the king, Baron Arald had set out a bottle of the finest wine in the cellars; he himself did not drink, for these bottles weren't cheap. King Duncan took a long slow sip, favoring the taste. Suddenly, he stopped dead, took in one last shaky breath and collapsed as the clouds blew before the sun with uncanny speed.
A minute later an ear piercing high pitch sound was heard through the town. A stealthy shadow slunk away, delighted with the wail, as it was the exact reaction he had hoped. So far all was going well.