Lycanthrope

         From the darkened streets came a flood of piercing bullets. The golden streaks bounced about in the silver moonlight; penetrating not only the night itself, but beasts of men as well. Crimson tides swept through the paved roads like an everlasting vein of red clay, turning even the moon's reflection into a cosmic tear of blood. These hunters of men, killers of their kin, cackled throughout the night as they snuffed out every last mutt they could find. Even with firearms and the arcane at their disposal, not a single scavenger escaped the hunters misty, mad dances of steps and shots.

         Like wolves feasting upon a family of goats, these crazed heroes defiled the corpses of the fallen. A howl filled, blood soaked orgy of pain and pleasure echoed throughout the now viscous roads of Dragosa. Many of the residents remained within the confines of their home, while others desperately sought safety from these warriors of the night. For decides now past, the men behind these horrific hunts would strike once the moon revealed itself whole; as that would be their one and only chance to let their supposed humanity go, and instead embrace their monstrous desires, or...at least that's how it used to be. By chance alone, the hunts came to a sudden halt; yet the citizens still feared the night, forever dreading the image of a blank eye in the cosmos.

         Unbeknownst to them however, a lone soul from a forlorn land had rid the night of these wretched humans. Once thought lost to time, his tale shall be told, for he still remains an enigma to all. In the name of the Sky Watcher, hear this story of a god amongst men.


         Amidst the arid sands of the east's vast desert lay a desolate, aging shell of a home. For as long as the horizon, not a single peep of life rang anywhere in this hot wasteland, say for one measly call from a decaying crow who'd stuck itself to the equally rotted house. A place forsaken to most, yet a zone of comfort to a lonesome drifter.