Emberfall, Principality of Edrana
The town still burned.
Smoke bellowed in thick, dark plumes from the hollowed out husks of homes that, until recently, were alive with the daily lives of the residents that once resided there. Wood creaked under its own scorched weight. Rafters sagged, beams bent, and now and then, something gave way with a hollow groan– a sound like the earth exhaling pain. Fire still licked along broken awnings and shattered fences, too weak to spread, too stubborn to die.
The cobbled streets were littered with fragments: splinters, glass, iron nails, things unrecognizable now. Among the debris there was a single woman’s boot, still smoldering, and a damaged child’s doll, one arm missing, where the inner stuffing broke through.
Elric Ironheart, yesterday the town’s best blacksmith, today a mourning husband and father, stared down at the items, stoic, but slipping. He bent down, picked up the items and clutched them close to his chest as he slowly sauntered toward the town’s center.
There he joined a small group huddled around a crackling fire, the light casting long shadows on their grim faces. They would look at one another fleetingly, haunted by the recent scene they’d witnessed, each lost in their own thoughts.
Thorian, the notorious local rogue— more familiar with the town’s dungeon than its streets— broke the silence. He had been in his cell below the main road when the attack began and had watched, helpless, through iron bars.
Not being one for prolonged silence, he spoke first. “In all my years, I’ve met my share of criminals, killers, and monsters— but none of them were like ‘im. He ain’t normal. His eyes— were cold, filled with nothing but bloodlust. And that laugh… it wasn’t like any I’ve ever heard. It still echoes in my mind, crawling through my thoughts. No crime, no murderer I’ve known could even compare to the nightmares I’ll have because of ‘im.”
Kael, a traveling bard, sat with his knees drawn to his chest. He and his troupe were in the middle of a set when the attack happened. He responded, his voice raspy and guilt-ridden. “All those people… I’ll never forget the looks on their faces… as I watched him tear through them… They didn’t even scream— just vanished.” Tears began to form in his eyes, “They were only there to watch…”
He was abruptly cut off by Tharian. “Don’t dwell on things like that. It will only drive you mad, boy.”
Sera, Elric’s sister and the town’s priestess, shuddered as she recalled the night’s events. “The way he played with us— it was all like a sick joke to him.”
“Aye.” Thorian muttered, “And the worst part wasn’t even the killing. It was that feeling. Like we were nothing more than prey waiting for the slaughter. And the emptiness it left— no blood— no bodies. Just everything… gone.”
Kael clenched his fists. “Every step he took— it was like the air shrank around him. I couldn’t breathe. Like the world itself wanted to run.”
An old man, grizzled and bent with age, shifted in his seat. His voice was a rasp, but it carried weight. “You’ve seen him, then. You’ve seen the Shadowman.”
Elric, who had been silently observing them, furrowed his brow as he muttered. “The Shadowman?”
“Aye.” The old man confirmed. “A wandering knight of death. He kills not for need, not for greed, but for the sheer pleasure in it. No rhyme, no reason. Just death… and laughter.” His eyes gleamed as he spoke.
Kael shook his head. “He’s a legend. A tall tale used to scare misbehaving children.”
“All legends,’ The old man chuckled dryly. “Begin with a truth.”
The air seemed to freeze around them as Lyra and Draven approached them, the already tense air thickening with Lyra’s unwelcome presence. Her dark cloak billowed in the wind, and her eyes scanned the group, as Draven, the local hunter remained silent and watchful.
“I saw him too,” Lyra uttered, her voice soft, full of eerie certainty. “But there’s something more.” She looked at them, her gaze far too knowing. “A dark power still lingers in the air, like a mark on the land itself. It’s still here, lingering in the ashes.”
The others remained stiff, exchanging uneasy glances. Thorian stood, sneering. “Of course you’d know. witch. Tell me. Was he a friend of yours?”
Sera crossed her arms. “You summoned him here, didn’t you? Using your spells and black magic.”
Draven stepped forward, his face hardening at their accusations. “That’s enough! Lyra isn’t guilty of this. She’s the kindest soul in this town and you know it. Don’t let your bigotry blind you.”
Sera folded her arms and turned her back to them, her disdain for the witch far too stubborn to agree with the hunter.
The old man’s voice cracked through the murmuring like a whip. “Enough! There’s no time for accusations. We need unity, not blame. Focus on what we— you must do. You must find the Shadowman. Before he can do this to another community. And when you do find him, you need to destroy him.”
A silence fell.
Kael looked into the ashes. His troupe— every one of them– gone. Thorian, for all his crimes, had found friends among the guards who fought the beast with everything they had. Now, they’re gone. Sera’s husband, gone. Elric’s wife and daughter— gone.
The weight of old man’s raspy words settled on their shoulders. Each of them lost someone during the massacre, loved ones, their community, wiped off the face of the realm. The memories of them only Each had a reason to wish the Shadowman harm.
Elric gripped the boot and the doll tighter in his embrace, silently vowing to stop at nothing to bring the Shadowman to his knees. He would have his vengeance.
One by one, each of the others saw the conviction Elric had on his face and agreed, nodding.
The old man smiled and reached into his cloak and produced six small talismans— weathered, etched with what appeared to be faint symbols from the local religion. “Good. I pray that you find and end the suffering that he has caused this world.” He gives a talisman to each of the survivors. “Wear these close to your hearts. His influence seeps into your essence. These will protect you.” When he approached and offered the final talisman to Lyra, she didn’t move to take it.
“If I take your last one,” she muttered with a quiet defiance, “you’ll be left unprotected.”
His smile remained, only faltering a bit. “I’ll manage.” Holding up another from underneath his cloak.
She grasped it and looked around at the others. “Well, if we’re going to do this, we should probably get some rest. The rest of you can go, I’ll take care of the fire,” she said softly, “We’ll manage the funerals tomorrow.”
The others nodded, distracted by the weight of their own thoughts. They gathered their things, leaving Lyra alone by the fire. After they were each gone, leaving her alone with the smoldering ashes of the fire, Lyra’s fingers brushed the talisman, and for a moment, the fire flickered wildly.
Then, without hesitation, she tossed the object into the flames, and turned to leave for her tower in the outskirts of town.
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