Roughly midnight, soft rain made the dirt streets become mud. Grimdark day to the small village, but there was a place that allways seemed to fine: the local tavern. The twisting flames on the candles illuminated the wood house.

The waiter got to the table to see two hooded figures. Their ragged clothes and strange attitude were an indication that they were foreigners. "Great night! My name is Feldo, can I have your order?" His voice was nearly muffled by the cheers and laughs of men.

One of them turned to him. It was a man around his 50s, or maybe 60s. It was hard to see anything other than his light brown beard. "Two cups of beer" His voice was deep and weary.

Nodding, the waiter headed to get what they asked for. There was no problem in serving them, as long as they payed. One of the two was about take off the hood, but the old man held his arm.

"You should not. Not yet at least" He didn't understand, but slowly let go of the piece of his clothes. "Every good story starts in a tavern.." The younger looked at him. "And so do the rumors"

Thud. "Here it is!" The waiter put the cups on the wooden table and quickly left. The old man looked at it and raised the goblet with his trembling hands to take a sip. The young's eyes stared at the beverage before turning to his mentor.

"Why am I here?" The old man frowned before putting the drink back on the table. "Look at this.." He opened his hand, but there was nothing there. "I'm trembling... and I've been like this for quite a while"

It was hard to hear him with all the drunkards shouting around the place. "I need to drink a little to drown the problems" Furrowed brows, his diciple was no stranger to his addiction, but there was nothing he could do.

Bang. A man on the other side of the bar had fallen from his chair. It was a fight. The ones around started to cheer and laugh while placing money on one of two hats to bet on who was going to win.

"Don't mind them, it allways happens... or do you want to bet too?" The old man said before taking another sip, but the boy dismissed it, shaking his head. His mentor was trying to hide it, but he was clearly showing a bitter expression.

"I'm losing my powers" It came without a warning and the young one thought that he was not understanding it right. "...What do you mean?" The old man finished his beverage, letting some drops fall down his face and throwed the cup on the floor.

It was a way of asking for more, but his diciple hadn't even touched his own goblet. "It's difficult to make the simplest of spells... My hands tremble, every day more so" The youngest was still a boy "How old are you now, Aramin?" The old man said as he leaned his body on the chair. "Fourteen cicles.."

Since a small child, he had been travelling with his mentor. They were allways wearing poor clothing and being discreet, but his master allways had money enough for everything they needed... and much more, he suspected.

"I don't think I have much time" He refused to believe the true meaning of those words. His master was never the best man, never a father or the greatest teacher, but he still considered him the only family he had.

"I've been trying to hide it... but you are a clever boy, I know you've noticed" It was the truth, cold and hard, being throwed at him. He had indeed noticed it, but still there seemed to be nothing deadly.

"The blood I cough, the stumblings, the pains in the stomach" He paused a while as the waiter brought even more beer with a business smile. "Healing magic was able to keep me going for more than a year, but now... I can barely walk without falling down"

The boy bit his lips and looked down. There was nothing he could say. "I'm not dead yet. There are things I wish to do before it happens" He raised the goblet and quickly emptied it with a few gulps.

It was possible to see his contorted expression, product of the alcohol. "Are you going to drink it?" The boy denied. He didn't want to end up like his mentor. "I'll be going back to the caravan"

No reaction from the old man, he stood up and strolled his way out of the dim bar. His master sighed and looked at the filled cup. He hesitated as he probably shouldn't drink anymore. But he did. A cup after the other, he was already resistent to the effects of the alcohol.

The rain had lost its strength. The boy was tired and he looked at his sleeping horses, unprotected from the water drops. They looked fine, strong animals no doubt. He remembered Jered, their first horse. He was strong enough to pull the carriage alone for days. Well, he is dead now.

He touched the closest one and it neighed in surprise. "Calm down, calm down, It's me, girl" He gently passed his hands over the horse's head as the other woke up with the noise. "Hey, I didn't mean to scare you" He laughed quietly.

"You know... master has been tired recently" He considered the steeds as friends and was normal to talk to them "He even said that he wouldn't last long" He sadly looked down, but noticed that the horses were staring somewhere.

Uhm? what is it? They were staring at the stables. His master never liked to leave the animals there, he would rather leave them to the rain. The boy turned his head from on side to the other, letting his eyes wonder through the silent streets.

Silence. The rain was already coming to an end. He cautiously gave the first steps foward, but saw something. He crouched to look at footprints. It wasn't uncommon for owners to take a look at their stablishment in the middle of the night, even at that time.

However, there was blood. It had been diluted by the rain, but was abviously blood. He couldn't help but frown. The boy was not afraid yet, but everytime he did something he had his mentor beside him.

Unfortunetly, the old man was probably too drunk. He stood up and tried to avoid sliding while walking over the mud. The footprints were like a trail, leading inside the barn. He pushed the creaking door to look at the uneasy animals inside.

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He continued to follow the trail and noticed the smell of blood. That was the reason for the agitation of the horses. There was a place with ration packets and hay, near the wood wall on the other side of the building.

Oh gods! It was a man, drenched in blood. What the... is that... is that viscera? He stepped back and contorted his expression while closing his eyes and holding his mouth, attempting not to vomit.

The man barely had his features recognizable. Short hair, fairly muscled body, around his 20s maybe. It was hard to discern the age with all that gore. He didn't have anyone to ask for help.

Neither he had a reason to help that man. I should go.. Ah god danm it! He cursed on his thoughts as he approached the man. The blood.. the entrails.. it's not his(?) The man seemed to be alive and breathing slowly as the boy examined him.

He couldn't leave him there. The smell was frightening to the horses. Ah.. Here I go. I can do this!

--- P.O.V. of Bertrand ---

He had to stop drinking, he just couldn't do it any more. He handed a pouch full of copper coins to the waiter and waved his hand in annoyance as he only thought of going to his bed.

The rain had already stopped and he felt the world spin. The beverage should wash away the sadness, the insecurities, but it did not. It was just another waste of money, but he simply couldn't go without it, not anymore.

A tear nearly fell down his face when he remembered Ronar and Elise. They were so young, just so young. He clunched his fists as he thought of what happened to them, but softened when the duty they left to him came to his mind.

Aramin was his responsability now and he had tried so hard to be a good teacher, maybe even a father. Danm... I'm going to die... and look at what I have done. Nearly none of my researches completed! The kid will be left all alone...

Strangers would see it as an old man talking alone in the streets in the middle of the night. He completely stopped. Maybe the alcohol was finally doing some absurd effect. It was an allucination for sure.

He saw Aramin carrying a body. Oh god... Has he killed someone!? The old man was about to blame his poor parentage when he noticed the boy calling for him. Or he seemed to be calling for him, but he senses were altered by the drink.

--- P.O.V. of Aramin/ Main Character ---

"Hey! Calm down! The blood is not his" He failed to calm his master "Calm down!? The blood needs to be from somebody!". He continued to tell the story, but his mentor was at his limit as the effect of the alcohol was nulled by the adrenaline and stress.

"And you just decide to get him to our home!? What if he killed someone!? What if he is being hunted down by someone and they come to us!?" Those were harsh questions, but Aramin knew he was right.

"I-I didn't think about it..." His master lowered his tone and looked right at his eyes. "Yes, you clearly did not" The old man sighed as he rubbed his forehead to think. "You brought him... now the responsability is ours"

"What are you going to do?" The man pointed at a book on the small shelf "Take the one with the brown cover... We need to know what happened and I'm not going to wait for him to wake up and possibly harm or lie to us"

His diciple noded and took the book to read 'Mind and soul: two of the same'. It was one of the two researches his master managed to complete and it gave him a good hint of what he was going to do.

Bertrand wondered through the pages, searching for the spell. "Since it has come to it.. I might as well teach you this" He showed the sigil. "Don't worry, you don't need to know the runes... But can you understand them?"

".. Open a.. a chamber.. to memories(?).." The old man looked satisfied. "Quite close. Open the chamber of memories" He pointed at another book on the shelf "Take the on that teaches about runes"

Aramin remembered it well, he spent two years to read it and fully comprehend it. "Many believe that magic is on the perfection of the sigil, the details, the symbols" He paused as he opened the other book on one of the first chapters "There is no copy of this book... Do you remember lesson two?" 

It had been a long time since he had last taken a look, but he remembered it well "It is in the meaning.. No need for symbols. You can make a sigil if you can give meaning to the runes and conect them to the earth"

The old man smiled "Very good.. Let's use the spell" The old man was showing a bitter expression once again and it was worrying the boy. "..As you may know.. I'll need your help"

Aramin noded as the old man stood up with difficulty. He wasn't going to hold him. Bertrand was prideful and wouldn't accept his help. "I want you to take the red salt and elrean pepper.. also take merdien bones powder"

Those were the ingredients needed to make the spell without major annoyances. The door creaked when his master entered the room the man was in. We need to change that door

He was quick. He didn't want to let his master waiting. The old man was sitting on a chair while putting his hand over the man's forehead to know if he had a fever. "Now make the sigil" Aramin frowned and was about to get the book "Without the book" His master was trying to teach him in a cold way.

"Use the parchment to draw it with the the ingredients I told you to get" He was clearly confused. How am I supposed to know how to do it? As if guessing what was going through his mind, his master gave him a hint "You already know the runes... And you know the meaning they need to have"

...

Far from perfect, but still good enough. The sigil was ugly, but the runes were there and he was sure that the right meanings were given. His master didn't say anything, just scratched his beard.

The old man began to cast the spell after letting the parchment over the man's chest. He couldn't let the kid do that yet, the spell could be deadly if the runes were not good enough. A gentle glow grew as the old man felt his power go away.

He was tired, but held himself. He was seeing what he needed too. Aramin stood beside him, looking at him as his eyes turned white. Shit!! What did I do wrong!? This shouldn't be happening.. should it!? What the hell!

Panicking, he tried to get water. Maybe throwing it would wake up his mentor. And it did, the floor was wet, but the old man woke up. "Why did you do that!?" The boy raised his hands in surprise. He thought he had helped.

"It is ok.. I don't even care anymore" Bertrand sighed as he stood up. "We have bigger problems..." The boy completely stopped to hear him, afraid of what it was "He" His mentor pointed at the man in the bed "is a lycanthrope"

--- P.O.V.of Grasil ---

Hazy mind. He groaned as his hand pressed his head, trying to make the pain come to an end. He blinked while he turned his body to the other side. He couldn't remember where he was, neither the last time he had slept on a bed so comfortable.

His nose twitched. The smell was faint, but very awful. It was just like the dead cows in his farm. He used his strength to sit down, but was forced to hold his abdomen. His whole body was sore.

What the hell happened? He had no clothing except for some white pants. The room was cozy with a small closed window that let the sunlight come in to illuminate and spread warmth.

 He stood up to look at the tiny room with little to no furniture. Where the hell is this place? He was about get out of the room, but a thin pain, like a needle going thrugh his head, took over his mind and he nearly fell down.

"Ah!" Images flooded his mind. A girl, dreched in blood. A man with his arms ripped apart. An entired family dead on the floor of a peasant house. What is this?? Someone make it stop! please! Ah!