Some water spilled out of his bucket as Reyland finished his climb to the church’s stairs. His arms had gone numb ages ago, sometime around his seventh trip down to the river for water… he had lost count of his trips after thirty.

Arthur was waiting for him at the top of the stairs, holding the door open for him.

“That should be the last one then, good sir. If you could set it down over there, please,” the older man said, gesturing at the last cot in the church.

It was the next morning after Reyland and Griff had arrived in town, and Reyland had spent most of his time assisting Arthur in various tasks around the church. Mostly, bringing water up from the river, both for drinking and to wipe down the various townspeople with wet rags.

After setting the bucket down, Reyland collapsed back into a nearby chair with an exaggerated sigh. Working early mornings like this wasn’t something new to him, but it had been a while since his initiation into the Order when he had been forced to do things like this every day. The repetitive tasks really made him miss the arcanist's contraptions back at the castle that took care of these things...

“Reyland, was it?” Matilda asked, as Reyland noticed her standing in the hallway to the back rooms. It was the first time she had directly spoken to him.

"Hmm? Yeah?" He mumbled back.

"Now that you're done with helping Arthur, there was something I wanted to talk to you and Mr. Griffith about."

She led him to the back hallway again, where the two small bedrooms were. Curiously, Griff was already standing next to the door they hadn't been in yet... the one that Reyland had seen someone in the night before.

Both of the men watched quietly as Matilda opened the door, revealing a well lit, small bedroom, nearly identical to the one they had sat when they arrived. The window faced the morning sun, and had no other sources of light.

"Get back, it's blighted!" Griff shouted, already raising his greatsword into a guard.

The wolf was on its feet in a flash, gnashing its teeth and shaking the water from its fur. It was almost entirely black, but the hair along the ridge of its back was longer than normal, and hung off to the side like a horses mane.

Then the beast locked eyes with Reyland, and he felt a flicker of fear at the deep, unnatural orange glow he saw behind them.

The beast loosed a bone chilling scream, and from every treetop birds took to the sky in a frenzy. Reyland slapped his hands over his ears at the painfully loud, gutteral and not-at-all-wolf-sounding howl. He imagined a sound like that could be heard for miles around, easily...

The beast lunged for Reyland, far faster than its massive size should have allowed. Griff managed a swing against its flank as it passed, his greatsword gouging out a massive gash, but it didn't even slow down. It was on Reyland instantly, and he dove to the side right before its jaws would have taken him by the throat.

It landed and turned on a dime, snarling as it lunged towards Reyland again.

He was more prepared this time, his training kicking in after the shock of its initial assault. He lunged forwards as well, thrusting with his shortsword towards its snout, before diving down to the side out of the way of its teeth once again.

It gurgled lowly as its own, deep red-orange blood filled its mouth, the open wound on its nose bleeding more slowly than it should have.

Before it could make another lunge, Griff had come around behind it. His greatsword came down hard towards its spine, but the beast managed to twist itself out of the way just enough to avoid being crippled by it. It still took another heavy hit to its side, though, and the bloody wounds would quickly catch up to it.

It spun about, maw open wide to grab a hold of Griff, but the man was faster than he looked. He had already backed off, sword raised in a defensive stance...

Buying time for Reyland to charge in from behind, taking advantage of the beast's shift in attention. He shortsword pierced true, a single thrust into the back of the neck, and the beast dropped to the ground dead as its spinal cord was severed.

The battle was only a few seconds long, but Reyland was breathing heavily.

"Just what the... holy... Griff, what was that thing? It wasn't a direwolf, I know that much!" He managed out between laboured breaths.

Griff sunk his blade into its neck again, ensuring that it was truly dead this time.

"This is your first time seeing the Blight at work, isn't it?" Griff replied calmly.

Reyland looked at him oddly.

"That's what the Blighted are like, then? I mean, we were taught that the infected animals got bigger, but isn't that a little bit much?! On that first lunge I could barely see it move! If you hadn't been in its way I would have just been dead without even putting up a fight. And you mean to tell me the blight can turn a direwolf into that?" He rambled frantically, gesturing wildly at the dead beast with his sword.

"Not a direwolf. A  timber wolf," Griff said.

Reyland froze. No, that couldn't be right.

"Did you just say a timber wolf? As in, not the direwolves, the massive, man eating monsters that we hunt down every few months when they start terrorizing a town, but a regular blooy dog?" He asked incredulously.

Griff nodded, wiping the blood off his blade before sheathing it and slinging it back over his shoulder.

Reyland landed on his ass in the dirt, having flopped to the ground in a huff.

"Do I even want to know what would happen if an actual direwolf got blighted?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

"You can already guess the answer to that," Griff said. He had begun inspecting the beast closer, checking its teeth, fur, eyes and the wounds their blades had opened on it.

The Blight was a plague, of some sort, or maybe a curse. No one really knew what it was or where it came from, but there were a few things that were common knowledge now, nearly a decade after it had appeared.

It infected plants mostly, spreading from one tree to the next through vines and sickly looking growths that burst into spores. The infected plants turned a slimy, unnerving black colour during the day, like mushrooms that had long since gone bad and started rotting. But at night they came to life, the leaves, fruits, vines and spores all glowing brilliant colours in the night. Pinks and blues and purples and oranges... it was said to be beautiful, according to the few people who had seen it and lived to tell the tale.

The Blight had originated as just that, a single patch of forest that was infected, located right in the center of the Northern Bridge. It had spread quickly, until it became a wall separating the Arkasian continent and the Norlands... which wouldn't have been a problem, if it weren't for the animals.

See, the Blight could also infect creatures. From normal woodland or farm animals to actual beasts, monsters like direwolves or giant spiders or ... everything the Blight touched, it corrupted. Those creatures grew larger, stronger, more vicious than their un-blighted counterparts.

What was worse was that any creatures that were blighted seemed to work together. Like some kind of hive mind, they could organize themselves, move in packs that would never occur naturally, and were even smart enough to understand and adapt to human tactics and resistances.

After a while, people had just given up on re-establishing contact with the Norlands, and started retreating farther into Arkasia for safety. The Blighted were becoming more aggressive and growing in number, and with the royals and nobles still arguing and bickering over who to pin blame on, most people were on their own.

And if a simple, common wolf could become this terrifying after being blighted, how much more terrifying would a magical creature be? The beasts that already hunted humanity weren't immune to the Blight either, after all.

"Look carefully here," Griff interrupted his thinking, calling him over to the beasts' head.

What Griff was pointing to was the beasts blood, and eyes. They were both a sickly shade of orange, although the blood was tinted heavily with red. Neither was a natural colour for any animal, though.

"Are all the Blighted like this?" Reyland asked, hesitantly poking the blood with a finger as if it might still try to bite him.

"Yes," Griff replied. "The Blighted are all different, but you can always tell one from a normal beast by the colours. Oranges, blues, purples, pinks... anything that looks unnatural is a dead giveaway. You'll see it in the eyes, the blood, and on the stronger ones, even the fur or skin. If you do see one with bright colours on its body, though, best to just look for a way out. If the Blight has progressed that far in them, they'll be too much to deal with, even in a small group."

"Yeesh... hearing that coming from you, of all people, really makes a guy worry, Griff."

"I'm just a man," he said back with a sigh. "There are limits to what the human body can do. Don't oversell your abilities... know how to pick your fights."

"Aye, sure thing," Reyland said back. He didn't need to be told twice.

"We got lucky with this one, too... looks like its back leg was broken when it went over the falls. It would have been a lot faster if it had been in top shape."

Reyland tilted his head back up at the sky and groaned at hearing that.

"Please, Griff, just stop... my confidence is disappearing almost as fast as my hopes and dreams. Is it too late to change profession?"

Griff almost smiled at that one. Almost.

"Yes, you already swore your oath. Now quit complaining and help me skin this beast. We have samples to collect."

Reyland eyed the massive form of the dead wolf, before resigning himself with a sigh. This was probably going to take a while.