Extinction (Certain Death)

[Sale Bête]

 

Atrellyan forces march across the continent, preparing to ravage and subsume.

 

A bright, full moon rises over Meranthe, its surface tinged red as it crests into its zenith. A chorus of howls echoes across the forests in the dark. Their song lifts to the sky in unison.

 

"Four hunters, willing in word and blood.
I bind them to my hide. I bind them to the Hunt. I name our quarry."

 

Black Magic is at work. A powerful rite, fueled by oaths and the Essence ripped and torn through violent acts.

 

"You were the one my Sire could not best. Now that I cannot best him, you will take his place."
I name our quarry:"

 

"Ilysander, the White Wolf."

 

For the Rite:

Essence x80
A Member of the Noble Wolf x1
Willing Hunters, Sworn in Word and Blood in Ancient Tongues x4
Brand of the White Wolf x1