In the small, but rich kingdom of Altaria, in the capital city, in the great castle of Altaria’s King, the noble and aged Zotlos Hiylam, sat in his throne. On his right was his wife, on his left his first son and crown prince, Rengin Hiylam. Before him was several massive tables, where the proud knights of Altaria were feasting.
At one point, King Zotlos stood, and all went silent in only a few seconds. Smiling, King Zotlos raised his own golden goblet and spoke:
“Proud knights of Altaria, we celebrate your strength and courage this day! Our neighbors, the savage kingdom of Matlas, believed in there foolishness and pride that they could take our lands from us, that they could walk over us!”
Many of the knights grumbled in anger, but quickly fell silent again as King Zotlos continued.
“But you proved those fools wrong! You stood against their barbaric hordes, letting them taste your blades and their own blood! You defended your people, your lands, your honor! Feel pride, both for yourselves, and for your comrades who gave up their lives for their kingdom! Let us send those noble warriors off with a toast!”
The knights raised their own goblets and cheered, and they all drank, the feasting and cheerful mood once again echoing throughout the kingdom.
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Far away, deep in a great, dark forest, at the bottom of swampy lake, something stirred. The sounds of human happiness and joy reached it, and a hunger and blood lust began to burn within the demon of the swamp. The hunger dragged it from its deep slumber, waking it from its peaceful slumber.
A figure slowly stood, eyes that burned with eldritch green light opening as rage filled them, rage at the fools would who dare to feel such emotions. It felt disgust, disgust that the worms would find any enjoyment in their pitiful, small lives. It felt rage, rage that the worms would dare wake it from its peaceful slumber.
It began to move, lumbering from the swamp, and through the forest, determined to teach the fools who had caused it to stir the lesson they deserved, and to send them into the abyss where they belonged...
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Like a shadow, it crept through the forest, and crept through Altaria. No citizen, even the most curious of children, dred look out the window as the shadow passed by, accompanied by a chilling air of despair and terror. The livestock and other domesticated animals in the villages and cities all crawled into their master’s homes and hid with them, and the wild animals all fled as the shadow came within a mile of them.
On the seventh night of the month, it arrived in the capital. It made its way to the royal castle, the fierce dread wind that accompanied it blowing apart the doors into the throne room, where many of the knights had fallen asleep in their drunken stupor.
It roared, waking all in the castle and city in an instant as terror dug into their hearts. The knights, hangovers dispelled with fear for their lives, screamed as they reached for their blades and shields. Throughout the castle and city, guardsmen and militia rushed to the throne room, the sound of running men mixing with the screams of the knights, and the fierce wind, thunder, and rain that befell the capital.
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Shadowy hands reached out from it, grasping four of the terrified knights. On contact, the men’s skin boiled and bubbled, before finally bursting in an explosion of blood and viscera.
More hands reached out for more of the knights, who swung their swords, their axes, and their maces. However, their weaponry did nothing to it, seemly passing through its inky, shadowy flesh as if it were but water; and the men were grasped and met gruesome ends.
Crown Prince Rengin and several guardsmen entered the throne room as it killed the last of forty knights who had fallen asleep there. He gasped as he saw it, and sa its work, saw the carnage it had sewed. Blood, guts, flesh, and bone stained the entirety of the throne room, a inch of gore having formed a great red puddle upon the floor.
Roaring a battle cry, Prince Rengin raced towards it. His blade sank into its side, black blood spraying and striking the crown prince in the face. He screamed as the left side of his face and chest bubbled and burst, falling to the ground as his blood joined the puddle of the knights, clutching his grievous wound.
It stared down at him, stared at blade in its side, inky blood still running down, and it removed the blade. It was an old royal heirloom, the blade that every Crown Prince of Altaria had wielded for dozens of generations.
As King Zotlos entered and saw his son, he rushed to his side, staring up at it in defiance. “Who are you,” he demanded, “and what is it that you come for? Why have you dared to strike at my kingdom?”
It laughed, an inhuman, hissing sound, as if the wind itself was speaking. Perhaps it was, for it had no mouth in which to speak.
“who i am matters not, bold king of this worthless pile of human struggling and vanity… i have dared this, in revenge to your arrogance to enjoy your filthy lives… every seventh night of each month, i shall come here… and i shall kill, kill all who await in this throne room… and if there is none, if my hunger for death is not satisfied… then i shall destroy one of your villages… so call the finest warriors, bold king… either of this land, or whoever your treasures can call…”
With these haunting words, it left, its promise haunting all in the room, as dread struck King Zotlos’ heart.
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A month later, on the seventh night, as promised, it returned. It once again blew apart the great doors, its dread wind filling the capital with terror and despair once more, screams once again echoing the air as it roared.
It slaughtered those in the throne room, fifty militia, barely trained, unable to put up any fight. Fifty lives, fifty worthless lives. Its hunger was not sated from such meager death, and as it promised, one of Altaria’s mining villages was slaughtered, every man, woman, and child being slaughtered, their butchered corpses delivered to King Zotlos’ castle’s doorstep the following morning.
It was then that King Zotlos realized he would need to present it with a challenge in order to sate its hunger for death and conflict. So, he hired the best Monster Hunter company in Altaria, armed with wiardy and enchantments, to face it the next month.
They failed, barely managing to wound it, but they put a fight, they entertained it, and by the end of the conflict, its hunger was sated.
Years passed, every Monster Hunter company and group trying and failing to do anything more than sate its hunger for death. Altaria’s best knights and soldiers tried and also failed, sometimes even to sate its hunger. By the tenth year, a dozen more villages had been slaughtered by it.
Finally, he sent his three sons, including the horribly scarred Crown Prince Rengin, out to the surrounding Kingdoms to find the best Monster Hunters they could find, hoping strangers could succeed, where they had failed.