His father is sat up, back against the well-wall. A long sword is forgotten to his side, slicked in dark blood. His father's arm is draped over the shoulder of his mother. A shield lays between them upon their laps. Splotches of blood seep out of recent grave wounds and metal studded bolts are embedded into his father's body and more bolts are cast aside away from his mother as if pulled out.

Clint first hears a click and immediately after feels a sharp pain that isn't his lungs embedding itself into his back. Throwing him into the laps of his deceased parents.

Confused, tortured, young Clint can hear the the groaning of twine and mechanism cursing behind him.

Clint hears another click, this time Clint spins around tucked in behind a shield in hand and a bolt strikes and ricochets in a random direction.

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"Wh-cough-who?" Clint barely breathes out through the heavy oppressive miasma. Behind him stands a cloaked and hooded man with a crossbow.

"That bastard got us pretty good, me too." The hooded figure cradles a spot near his kidney. Dripping blood can be seen through the man's parted cloak. A sword at his hip.

"We got him in the end though and that pretty harlot of the moon." He says through clenched teeth.

"Wh-why… Why!

"It is the will of my Mistress of The Night. All light and those touched by the Moon will be extinguished! So, she may finally rest in darkness." The figure spits and coughs up blood.

"There… then! We may never feel suffering! No pain. No grief. That's what the false gods have given us! The curse of life! What a joke! We are just their playthings!" The man continues to rave and rant at the perceived injustices of deities.