The man locked doors and shutters tight,

Crawling to corner of his home

To tremble there in fear and hear

As raging roars and angry steps

Did thunder through the town outside

For three full days he lay there low

Until a quiet fell again

Instead, a knocking on his door

Broke through the empty air

On trembling legs

With axe in hand

The man came forth

Full of resolve to face his guests

And hide from destiny no more

But as he opened the door

There was a warrior outside

In dirty armour, with a rumpled beard

He stood among the ruins of the town

And asked the unlucky one

If he can offer a few mugs of mead

Which the surprised man did without words

His guest did drink and tell him how

The forest stole the stones from him

And built the house of wonder of

But now the spirits got to pay

For all foul things that they did

And won't return to take the man

But how can I repay you, mighty one?

To which the warrior answered him

That mead would be a fine reward

And he requires nothing more

And so he left the awestruck man

Not even telling of his name

The only thing that he made known

Was an image of mountain

Painted silver on his shield

“But who was he? What did he look like? Was he from Velmytop? How comes that he possessed that much stone in the forest?” Ymdaton assailed the musician with questions as soon as he finished the song.

“Man of the Mountain, you mean? To tell the truth, I know not much more than you. My great grandfather,” he patted the statue that served him as a chair, “Was tasked with the creation of this song by the master of the inn. Since then our family preserves it. The destruction of the city did happen, it’s a recorded event. Everything else is known only from his words.”

“So this happened many generations ago,” Crewslayer was silent for some time, “What did your guardian do in all of this, why did it not repel the attack?” said he finally.

“That is unknown either,” shook his head the signer.

“You left me with more questions then I had before.”

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“Sorry, but you asked for it.”

“That is fine,” Ymdaton's voice was suddenly full of energy again, “There’s a great turmoil coming. Take care of yourself, musician. Those who wronged will pay. Now I have one last business in the town, excuse me.”

He left the musician who bid him farewell in a most emotional way. Ymdaton approached the central square of Velmytop. He placed himself carefully around the corner of the last house. So that he could observe the plaza freely, while staying less visible himself. There was a similar house with three walls as the one in Khladnetz. It was adorned lavishly, somewhere carving on the facade was even gilded with gold.

But most interesting thing about the building was inside. On a thick layer of hay lied a creature. It was much less odd than Ymdaton expected, and much more so at the same time.

The thing was obviously feline. It was generally built as a house cat, but slightly longer limbs and body suggested a lynx or a wildcat also. It was immense, covering most of the inner space with its body. The beast had a short thick dirty white fur, with its paws, muzzle, ears, and tail colored brownish-black. Its fangs were so long that they reached almost to the chin of the creature, while its jaws were shut. It slumbered coiled, covering its nose with the tail.

Ymdaton slowly turned around and walked down the street. He was entering the side alley, thinking of how different the protector of Velmytop compared to his expectations. He halted suddenly, because his next step brought him into the massive shadow stretching in front of him. Crewslayer raised his head to see just what did cast it.

It was the beast that he saw sleeping at the square just a moment before. This close it looked even more impressive, as huge as elephants of the south, if not larger.

The thing pierced him with a gaze of its celestial blue eyes. Red glares from the winter sun played upon them. Ymdaton saw an intelligence in that look, much more than a simple beast could show. It was as if the protector gazed into the very soul of the man. Instinctively Crewslayer already knew that resistance would be futile.

Still, he unsheathed his axe.