Chapter 1:

A figure steps out from the shadows of the mountain. The shadows seem to cling to him, try to hold onto him, but he walks forward unbothered by them. His gaze focuses on the flickering light of a fire that dances in the moonlight ahead of him.

He reaches the modest campsite to find a gathering of men drinking and chatting away in a leisurely way. He smiles at them as they catch sight of him. 

“Pardon me, would any of you be bothered to tell me whose territory I’m in right now?” The man’s tone is quiet and polite, but his presence still causes unease in the others. Even under a full moon and with a flickering fire in front of him his features are hard to make out, his body seeming indistinct like a ghost’s. His black robes twist and move in the nighttime breeze, the inky black fabric eerily absorbs the light around them in such a way that it appears as if the figure was cut from the nighttime pitch itself. A few of the men from around the fire can’t help but wonder if it truly is a specter visiting them on this evening.

Despite his peculiar arrival the person in question doesn’t immediately appear all that intimidating. He has a short stature and in the firelight the men can indistinctly make out a young face with vague pretty features. Blond hair is loosely tied together and draped over his shoulder with a plain piece of leather cording. At a glance one might think this young man is just an average person passing through the night. His pallor though is as pale as a ghost’s and even the warm glow of the firelight can’t hide this fact. None of the sober men present can convince themselves into thinking that this being is wholly human.

The eldest of the group, who’d been drinking heartily, ignores the discontent of his fellow friends though and answers, “In the Trudo territory of course!” He laughs, “Don't you know? The tallest mountain on the continent is theirs and it stands there as mightily as ever!” He points behind the figure at the mountain and continues to smile.

“Aye, I knew this of course.” The shadowy figure says. “I saw at the base of mountain, by some caves, there were markers with the Westin and Crest family insignias. What purpose do they serve in the Trudo territory?”

The elder clacks his tongue, “Oh, those…” He shakes his head, “Now that’s a story told with alcohol in hand. Go on, take a seat, have a drink.”

The man smiles and does so. The others who are more sober edge away as the newcomer sets himself down in front of the fire, but still pass across a flagon of wine to him. “Tell me the story.” He orders the elder who is all too happy to oblige.

“Aye, it happened… might be fifteen years now…” He pauses and considers the passing of time before continuing, “Those cultivation clans, they’re always facing troublesome beasts and curses. It came one day that the Trudos and their mighty mountain became overrun by demons-”

“Demons?” The figure interrupts. He repeats the elder’s choice of word with a subtle disdain that the elder misses.

“Aye, aye, nasty creatures those little beasts. They lurk in the shadows, they make not a sound, and they kill all manner of living beings without any regard. Truly a pestilence that can appear anywhere at any time. The problem with those little beasties is that one needs spiritual powers to kill them so the job can only be left to cultivators.” He shakes his head, “Now where was I… The Trudo clan was overrun with these demons. I heard it was near thousand of them swarming all over their mines. Even as mighty as the Trudo are a thousand beasties is a lot for them to handle. So what can they do but swallow their pride and call upon the other clans for aid. So it was that the disciples from these other clans arrived and were set to work.”

As he talks and describes in fantastical details about the battles the disciples fought within the mines the other men start to grow more at ease with the shadowy figure. The stranger lounges casually against a boulder, sipping from the flagon given to him, and makes hardly a sound besides to “hmm” and “ahh” at the right spots to encourage the storyteller on. In this manner he appears to be nothing more than how he presented himself, as a weary traveller readily accepting of rest and company.

The elder gets to the heart of the story as he explains the actions of the Westin and Crest clans. “Now those two clans have always been allies of the waterways, but their teachings are as different as the sun and the moon. The Crest clan have always valued physical prowess and are known for their courageous acts in battle where as the Westin clan are the scholarly sort and always have crafty tricks up their sleeves. So it’s no surprise that when their neighbor the Trudo clan asks for help those two clans join together. The sons of those clans battled demons together, an unstoppable trio they were, Hona Westin and the two Crest boys. Alas of course, every story has its tragedy. In this battle of cultivators against demons the younger boy from the Crest clan vanished without trace whilst in the mines. Now the two older boys believed him to still be alive and who was going to argue with them anyway…” The elder sighs sadly as he reaches this point of the story. “At the entrance of that cave the two surviving boys waited for the younger boy to find his way back to them, but fifteen years have passed and still no sign of him. Of course the poor lad must’ve gotten eaten by those beastly demons.” He shakes his head, “The markers anyway, those two boys sat there for so long people started to refer to them as the twin guardians of the mountain. They were treated like deities even, people giving them food and other offerings. Eventually they had to go back to their clans, but the local villagers had the markers erected hoping that in spirit at least they would still guard the mountain and protect the people traversing over or under it.”

“Just a bunch of superstition.” One of the men from around the fire speaks out. “Like a few rocks carved all pretty are really going to protect anyone.” He laughs and a few of the others chuckle as well.

The shadow man laughs as well, “Aye, you’re probably right. After all as I was passing through the mountain paths not far from here I heard tale of bandits harassing merchants. I don’t suppose you lot have seen anything of the sort?”

The group of men shift uneasily, but the elder just laughs, “Not us, but then we’re not merchants. We’re not the type that bandits would target.”

The shadow man smirks, “I suppose that’s true.” He leans back against the boulder and turns his gaze upwards. The moon hangs above the horizon with a million stars to keep it company. The group falls into an awkward quiet with only the sound of the fire crackling between them.