Chapter 1: Road to Vengeance

Allen Pierce stretched out his tired joints, contemplating the conclusion of another monotonous day. It was yet unknown to him that his life was about to be thrown into turmoil. Nor, that he was soon to encounter the legendary villain, who would change the course of his destiny forever.

An hour’s walk from the market square, the amount of people Allen met dwindled as he reached the outskirts of Ineset. Here, he and his grandfather lived in peace farming and making the trek into the town to sell their wares each week.

The remote dirt path lit solely by a pale full moon there was little to see but the dark outline of the fields as they rippled in the soft breeze. His heavy footsteps and the faint chirp of crickets the only sounds disrupting the eerie stillness of the night. Until, to his astonishment, a figure martialized out of the darkness before him. Cautiously slowing to a stop, Allen instinctively felt unsettled by their sudden presence. Concealed, as a passing cloud snuffed out the light of the moon, they were barely distinguishable from the night. 

Wrapped in a black cloak figure, they remained unnaturally motionless where they stood. Their attention held by something far within the distance, the figure did not acknowledge Allen despite their relatively close proximity to one another. Captivated, he saw the person’s gleaming amber eyes, as the wind rustled the hood of their cloak. Scanning the fields, their cold and calculating gaze unnerved him. Taking a step back, a twig snapped under foot. The noise, seemingly spooking the figure. Allen did not catch another glimpse of the person, before they melted like a phantom into the darkness once more.

Taking a few moments to recover from the surprise encounter. Allen soon felt gripped by a strange foreboding in the pit of his stomach. The image of their cruel eyes still fresh in his mind, Allen bolted from his spot on the road. Mere minutes from his grandfather’s farm, the pace of his steps rapidly quickened along with his heart. Abandoning the path, Allen cut across an adjoining field, trampling the tall wheat in his haste, he began to run.

Arriving at their cottage. Allen found, to his alarm, that the sturdy wooden door had been torn from its hinges. Broken and splintered, it had been discarded on the ground beside the open threshold.

“Gramps?” he said, fear obviously shaking his voice. Grappling with the rising dread and terror inside of him, Allen hesitated in the doorway. Until, finally frustration at his cowardice and overwhelming concern for his grandfather caused him to fling himself into the little dwelling. Calling out repeatedly, Allen felt hope for his grandfather’s safety diminishing with each cry, allowing for desperation to gradually set in. 

Furniture overturned, there were monstrous frenzied slashes on the walls and ceiling. Stepping over the debris heedlessly, Allen disregarded the shards of glass and wood that cracked wretchedly under him. Making his way across them, near the stone-cold hearth, were sickening smears of blood, and Allen’s grandfather lying amongst them.

 ***

This memory had plagued Allen. It had been a week since, but the image of his grandfather’s dead body would be something that would scar him for the rest of his life. 

Allen had been hunting down the creature, which had left their home in shambles and killed his grandfather in the process. However, an amateur hunter, he was only met with one back lead after another. Defeated and exhausted, his road to vengeance had now led him here. Slumped over a bar staring vacantly into the bottom of his third draft of ale. 

Devoid of hunger or appetite due to his grief, Allen had acquired the look of a man driven mad by the pursuit of revenge. Allen bitterly downed the rest of his drink. Sitting in the desolate bar in the early evening, there was hardly anyone to witness his failure aside from a few drunken regulars and the barkeep. 

Resigned in his fate to spend his foreseeable future in pursuit of what seemed to be a myth at this point, he tossed the last of his coins on the counter. Beckoning for another round from the man behind the bar, he had barely taken a sip of his last draft; when the door violently burst open.

Announced by a startling clang, that even awoke the man passed out next to him. Allen turned to see a burly vendor clamoring to lock the door behind him. “Oye, what do you think you’re doing making all that racket in my pub!” the bartender hollered. Panting the large man struggled to speak fast enough. “There’s a werewolf.” He wheezed, “In Lunzar Square.”