Three hundred years ago, the Earth split and the sky trembled. And then the monsters came.
The island of Lowynn is cursed. The Veil between worlds has torn, and now, monsters come with vengeance. They can only be placated by the blood of sorcerers...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The Skaara tiptoed across Dom's groggy body, careful not to wake him.
He chased a distant swell of laughter through the darkness, sword outstretched. The Skaara moved swiftly across the craggy rocks, following the magic which called to him. Perhaps he should have woken his companions, but there was no time to dwell on such things now. The moon was new, and the night dark as any night had ever been, but the Skaara had senses that ordinary men did not. It was those senses that lead him to answer the call.
Before the Skaara realized where he was going, he was in the thick of the forest. The faint golden light of their camp flickered behind him, and then vanished in a sudden mist. Still, he stalked towards his prey. His heart told him that, whatever magic he hunted was weak, and would not give him trouble. He would not suffer a monster to live-- not now, and not ever again. He had a duty to do.
He tiptoed around an enormous willow, listening to the buzzing growing overwhelmingly loud, and before him lay a shining black horse. "Epona?"
The startled words left the Skaara's lips before he could smother them with sense. He had seen such tricks before, from mischievous shapeshifters who thought him foolish and inexperienced. The Skaara continued to advance upon the shifter. As he tiptoed forward, the horse vanished, warping and twisting into shapes he remembered from his youth-- the soft brown fur of his childhood dog, the fearsome jaws of the first monster he had slayed, and wept over.
Paying the creatures no mind, the Skaara lunged. But before his sword collided with the beast, Dom was in front of him instead. It's not real! His mind screamed at him, but it was too late, and the Skaara's instincts had already deflected his blade. He stumbled, driving his sword into a mound of clover nearby. "Enough!" the Skaara cried. "Stop this toying. What do you want?"
Whatever this shifter was, whatever forms it took, it was too weak to do him any true harm. But the creatures of the wood were old and strange. They were not quite dangerous, but they knew much.
"You're awfully unkind," the shifter said, peering at the Skaara through eyes that now belonged to a rabbit. "I only wanted to talk."
"I think I'd rather kill you," the Skaara said. "That is my sacred duty, as I'm sure you know."
The creature tittered. "You have not done your sacred duty of late, have you? There are many you could have killed. I am not afraid." The Skaara averted his eyes, but he caught flash of Ciara's ebony hair as the creature spoke.
"No more tricks," he said. "Your true form, and then we speak."
The creature sighed, but it obeyed. Finally, there was a raven before him, hardly larger than the palm of his hand, and so black it blended with the night. But its eyes were golden as the sun, and they burned bright in the forest.
"A púca," the Skaara sighed. "And why would I want to speak with you?"
"I am nearly a century old, boy. I have learned much in these woods. But I grow bored. Knowledge is dull without one to share it with."
