Deep within the heart of the elder woods, on paths forbidden to all but the most intrepid or the foolhardy, there is a malevolence that claws at the earth and lets forth a howl of eternal and tortured anguish. Hushed words, sung only in fireside whispers, spin the tale of the demon that dwells there, that moves among the twisted trees like a mist, borne on the chill night air.
It is the faceless presence that clings to the shadows, feeding on the blood of the forest, nourishing and fattening itself on the darkest magic. It is the fiendish embodiment of evil, the dark lord of the sickening, a miserable fawn known only as Skinwalker.
Pale moonlight trickles through scant filters among gnarled tree branches, casting an eerie net of shadows on the forest floor. With only that moon to witness, the creature takes on an even more terrifying visage as it glides soundlessly among the bushes. Two weeping gouges in the darkness of its face reflect none of the weak moon light. An upturned rictus of dazzling white teeth leers hungrily from the shadows. Its immeasurable hunger for the taste of meat throbs from its depths.
From the unnatural darkness of the wood awakens a fearsome, sin-drenched beast. The skin of this creature, to look upon it, is to look upon a canvas of unspeakable horrors. Leather made from the stolen identities of the people it has murdered. Fur woven from the scales of the creatures it has melded to its form. Feathers that had nested in the carcasses its hunger had cast aside. The awkward dance of its limbs, the grace of its individual strides, and the perfect rhythm of its twisted, disfigured steps are atrocious feats of motion.
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Skinwalker's presence is announced by a chilling symphony, the haunting lament of the wind as it fills your ears, a sinister sound of leaves beneath weary feet. You are possessed with a sense that you are witnessing not just an abomination, but an abomination against nature itself, a revilement so potent that even the ancient trees which bear witness to its presence shudder with trepidation.
The air shivers as it wraps around you.
You can feel a sob of palpable evil in the cold air numbs your skin.
The leaves on the trees appear to shake in fear, or maybe desperation, to be left prone to the merciless force.
To see the Skinwalker is to peer into the darkest shroud and, although you cannot yet see it, the abyss gazes back upon your soul.
Somewhere in our cities and buildings, we feel safe; but I implore you to watch carefully the woods, as I have seen the evident bodies hung upon the boughs. The Skinwalker casts a long shadow, and the further you retreat from small towns and city lights, the longer that shadow will stretch out to greet you.