In Lucem

[Sale Bête]

[x]

  

Meranthe is already rife with ominous portents. The heads of Hydras unfurled, their teeth gnashing. Warriors sharpen blades in opposition to hack at each in turn. All the world stirs into war.

What's one more omen, stirring in the wilderness? Swirling in the eddies in pockets of polite society? The kind that merchants swap in passing through bustling markets and places of commerce, or the sort workmen share at tables in alehouses after a pint-too-many. Plenty of time for word-of-mouth to finally spread.

Superstitions swell. Rumors flow. Though, as is often the case with rumors, it is difficult to tell full fact from fiction:

---

"...A strange rite in the woods. That's all I know..."

"...Swear it was the screams of the damned - I heard them from the road, but of course I didn't get closer. You think I'm stupid?..."

  

"...A real Book of Shadows. That's the one those Witches use to take your soul if you look into it.  And out in broad daylight! Torn to bits and eaten. Absolutely mad..."

"...Must just be some mutated beastkin. There's no way there's any left with the Barrier, other than Varrach..."
  

"She yanked the souls right out some black book and ate them there on the spot! My cousin's daughter's friend was there!"

  

"...I heard some of them were lining up to feed that thing. Who in their right mind would feed a Demon? Is this going to be another Coven? Mark my words..."

  

"...What a strange knife. I'd never seen a blade like that...Can you even call it a knife?..."

---

One thing does remain certain. The Demon still prowls. From the scorched ruins of Ualdir's Temple, to the forests upon the cliffs at the foot of Aetius, to the flower dappled plateau northwest of Caethir. Hither and yon it stalks and it bleeds.
  

And still in these darkening times - the fantastical claim that that which holds you back can be removed, sundered, and devoured.

  

That weapons and knowledge are there to be placed into worthy hands. 

  

Yet what might make one 'worthy'?