The citizens of Peregrine Bay rejoiced when the news spread that the serial killer known as the Night Skinner had been slain. On each night of the full moon, the coastal city had lived in terror every month. A seemingly unstoppable killer had stalked the darkened streets, butchering his victims in a most vile manner. As the death toll grew, the once merry city was fighting a losing battle against sinking into grim despair. Shrouded in terror and the unknown, the monster eluded the guards and heroes of the harbor city for months.
Finally, with the blessing of the One Above and the combined efforts of the four Churches of Law, a band of champions were able to end the reign of the Night Skinner. Led by the renowned monster-hunter, Count Valloc Randeau, and with a young hero empowered by the Keeper of Fates, the team tracked down the elusive midnight hunter. Under the light of the full moon, they cornered the beast in an ancient shrine dedicated to Vhyne the Vinter.
Stories of the battle that ensued that night depict an epic confrontation of utter savagery. The Night Skinner was a greater lycanthrope, one on the cusp of ascending to the supremacy of monsterdom. The means of its ascension was one of the great prophetic marks. The huge werewolf bore the Mark of the Moon, also known as the Eighteen Omen, the Fearmonger, and the Sign of Terror. The prophetic glyph gave the murderer complete mastery over fear and it used dread’s crushing might to cripple the wills of its enemies.
The valiant Count Randeau marshaled his comrades-in-arms, allowing them to stand before the vile creature. In the end, it was the One Above’s champion, an unknown hero from another world, who struck the final gallant blow and ended the Night Skinner’s reign of terror.
The victory was not without cost. Sadly one of the champions, a noble dwarven paladin of Phealti, the Keeper of the Golden Order, was slain during the battle. The tower of Vhyne had come crashing down on the stalwart warrior. Buried under a massive mound of blessed stone blocks, the savior was struck dead in body but not in the hearts of a grateful city. Unwilling to disturb the dwarf’s heroic resting place, plans were being discussed to turn the site into a memorial.
Many Peregrine Bay citizens visited the holy-ground of the tumbled tower of the Vinter. Some to pay their respects to the fallen hero and some to marvel at the destruction. Oddly, all who arrived to witness the scene did so at a considerable distance. None would come any closer than the outer paths that circled the ruin. Even though the monster was dead, a lingering aura of terror still permeated the battleground. Youths would dare each other to pluck a stone from the pile of rubble, but none had yet found the strength of will to do so. The sense of foreboding became unbearable once the bright sun sank below the horizon. Even the city guard gave the site a wide berth once the sky grew dark.
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This explains why there were no witnesses to see a figure step casually from the night-cloaked streets and stand beside the shattered mound. The man was smartly dressed in a long tail-coat, shaded in a red so dark it might as well have been black. Two large rings glinted on the fingers of his right hand, while his left hand was covered in a fingerless glove, gripping a crystal-topped cane. He had shoulders far more expansive than his waist would suggest and, between the split in the rear of his coat, hung a twitching rat-like tail. The stranger had a long whiskered murine snout that was coated in dragon-like scales. His slitted eyes glowed like embers in a fire.
“Well, champion. That did not go as expected,” his rich voice addressed the impromptu tomb. “I was sure that Death’s chosen was too weak to tip the scales. The disciple of the Moon was on the cusp of ascending to legendary. A few more lunar rituals and Sougath would have become a beast of the ages. Now he will be forgotten, a wasted potential defeated by a fickle change of circumstances.”
The man sighed and sauntered in a circle around the wreckage of Vhyne’s collapsed sanctum.
“While it is far more likely Death’s wildcard will now run afoul of the Emperor's tyrant, there is still a chance he could put a kink in my machinations. The marks do tend to seek each other out and along with Fool and the Wheel, Death is one of the hardest ones to predict.” The figure tucked his cane under his arm and stripped off his half-glove. On the back of his left hand lay a mark of glittering black ink. The star-filled ebon lines formed a ram’s skull with the Roman numerals “XV” in the middle of it.
“Why don’t you do us both a favor, dwarf, and remove him from the board for me.”
The scaled man used his cane to scratch a complex circular rune onto the flagstones as he voiced a caustic-sounding incantation. With a final flourish, he threw his arms wide and hissed loudly, “Arise revenant of burning fury! Seek he who brought about your death and humiliation. Torch him from existence.”
The dapper figure stepped back as the pile shuddered. Sweeping his hands upward like a conductor signaling a crescendo, he watched a blackened arm burst out of the stones. The limb began to smoke and smolder. The arm pushed down against the blocks hauling the creature that once was Azbekt out of its makeshift grave.