O Praeclarum Custodem Ovium Lupum
(Oh, a great protector of sheep…The Wolf!)
As the black light falls upon the profound being of the Shadow Land, a black shape reveals life among the dead. It moves across the brindled ground, mottled with the blood of those who were living. It moves brusquely towards the wood, away from the now desolate village. The moon manifests itself from behind the black clouds and sheds its silver sheen upon the desolate wastes giving the darkness a shape. The wolf bounds away through the dark and rotted trees with the indignation from the Life Before. Blood and saliva drip from its fangs adding menace to its contorted, devilish cowl.
As the light blooms across the dark wastes the wolf sleeps deep in its den, writhing at the dreams of the scourges of man that shall befall the earth. The night is born and shadow returns. The wolf opens its eyes and knowledge dawns on the beast. The Ramparts village is next. Back to where it all started. Back to blood, but this time the blood of man. The blood of vengeance.
Pugnaciously the wolf travels the woods of Death towards the condemned village of Ramparts. Driven by hate, and consumed by fear the wolf trudges on, blinded by the pain of the Life Before. Hiding in the shadows the wolf sees the gate guarded by a man. The wolf leaps and bites the throat out of the stationed guard. By the time the man reached the ground, the beast had left. There was naught a track on the ground with which to trace the Belligerent Demon as the race human called the infamous beast.
Dark Thirty was fast approaching in the Ramparts village. Night had only been cast for six hours and already one man had been slain, only having been at his post for three hours. King Daemon was in a very earnest mood from all that has befallen the human race in the past couple of nights. First there was the breech of the Allatian stronghold that yielded fifty men dead, then there was the assault on the Pagan Empire that left many men dead and even more seriously injured. Then, just last night an entire village was besieged in Bludhaven. No one survived.
What was so distressing about the whole ordeal was knowing that you're responsible. King Daemon looked blankly at the palms of his hands. He knew why the beast was so rueful and how it had attained its derogatory outlook on man. He knew his duty at hand at the moment and that was to console the town, to mollify them dutifully. Overall, he had to let them know what was going on. He had to breathe everything even if it led to his downfall, at this moment he could hear the gallows pole calling to him. The beast must be stopped…but how?
Blood dripped onto the floor. The wolf looked at the men slumped on the table with their throats ripped out. He was getting closer and without the guards it should be a lot easier to find the man responsible. The beast crept on, stalking the silent night, seeking vengeance one person at a time for what had happened in the Life Before. He moved through the Ramparts village with the deep-seated ill will of one who has had everything taken from him unjustly.
The wolf had raided all of the northern part of the village, slowly making its way towards the center where He would be found. The beast reached the gate and found a tree growing ominously on the hillside and climbed up its trunk. Turning, the wolf ran and jumped, barely clearing the gate. He was in, now to find the man responsible for this massacre, the king.
He heard it before he knew what was going on. Sitting at his throne, King Daemon had heard a crash, a cut-off scream, and a slight gurgling sound. Before he could stand he saw it enter the room. It was walking slowly towards him with a passion for blood, for a reason not unknown. It stopped at the bottom stair and glared at him contemptuously. The wolf and Daemon stared at each other, and the memories flowed back. The memories of what had happened. The memories of why all of this was. The memories of the Life Before.