Enveloped by cold waves of pure rage, Gregor took off out of the village, his eyes blind to everything else except for Lytan's sobbing face, big blue eyes wet with tears as Sara who had not so much as spoken a word to him, cried into her lap, and rocked herself back and forth in her chair, while the pain in Gregor's chest grew, burning hot like a furnace, until all he could see was red.

The battle fever that came, filled him with life and fury as he released a howl from the depths of his soul, saw violet-colored eyes spin through the back of his mind, and sped back west in great leaping strides. (You've unconsciously activated the ability wind walker.)

-1 HP.

The description Lytan had given him, enough for Gregor to find his way to the boy's home, a thatched-roofed house out in the middle of the Northern Woods, miles from the nearest village. The remains left behind a black cratered ruin of scattered belongings and debris as Gregor scanned the area, and saw the two mounds where the boy had buried his mother and father. (Investigate as much as you like, then follow the tracks when ready.)

(Take a look at the house's remains?)

Still flooded by waves of fury, he tried to calm himself, and walked slowly through the ashen black ground. The area where the door was meant to be, shattered apart by scorching flames that left the interior in shambles. The bookshelf he saw in front of him overturned on its side with scrolls and bits of paper scattered all over the rugs. The fireplace, where Lytan's father would sit, and whittle away at figurines that he would sell to travelers, marked by splashes of blood on the walls. The scrawled white chalk on the floorboards, marked into a wide circle with a star shape inside.

(Go in further.)

Head wavering at the thick smell of desiccation and smoke, he pushed himself to go further inside, and felt his stomach churn at the sight of the three hounds that they had kept with them. The animals so badly burnt and molded into the floorboards that Lytan had been unable to bury them. The tears that rolled down the boy's eyes as he explained how he struggled to free them, creating a quaking fire inside of Gregor. The two rooms at the back, sat opposite each other. One where Lytan and Sara had shared a bed, and the other where his mother and father had laid down for the last night.

(Search Lytan's room?)

Not exactly sure what he hoped to find here, he let out a muffled curse, and tried to not step on the charred wooden fragments that crumbled apart underfoot. The room, small, and empty of most things, besides a bed on the right side, a collection of wooden figurines on a bedside table, and a painting that had to be Lytan's family. The dark smudges where the flames had gotten to it, destroyed much of the canvas as he turned towards the tiny window, where the children had made their escape. (Select another option to continue.)

(Search his parent's room?)

Mouth dry as though afraid of what he was going to see, Gregor took a step into the parent's room, and felt his blood boil with fury at the sight of more markings on the walls. The circle and star that adorned each wall of the room, sprayed with dried up blood that was shaped into the ceiling. The battle and scuffle that had been fought here, revealed by the overturned bed on its side, knocked over chairs, and scrapes on the floorboards. The ax cuts that ripped into the furniture and walls, proving the boy's father and mother had not gone down easily. Whatever time they had bought here had saved the children's lives.

(Go back out and get some fresh air.)

Unable to take any more of this, he quickly stumbled back outside, and swallowed gulps of air. The memories of what he had seen, combined with what Lytan had told him, making him more certain that someone had to die.

(Investigate the gravesite?)

Leaden footsteps taking him towards the two burial mounds, Gregor could imagine the boy's anguish and determination as he clawed at the soil. The flowers that had been laid atop them, gently covered in a thin layer of white frost, when he noticed a gleam of gold.

Hand moved to brush away the frost, he revealed a golden pocket watch in good condition that looked to still work. The watch was most likely of gnomish design.

(Take the watch.)

Seeing no reason to leave it behind, when it could be of some use to him, he pocketed it away, and stood back up.

Pocket Watch worth +30 Gold Pieces

(Leave the watch where it is.)

Almost certain the boy would not want his parent's gravesite disturbed, Gregor let out a heavy sigh at the fickleness of life, and stood back up.

+3 Morale.

(Sweep the area for tracks?)

Daunted by the strange silence that seemed to pervade the area, Gregor circled the burnt-out home, and studied the surrounding trees, berry bushes, and folded grass. The light scent of woodsmoke in the air as he bent down to examine crooked branches that were out of place, or twigs and leaves that had been moved. A difficult task considering the white frost would have covered away most of the tracks, until he saw claw marks up high on the trees that pointed north. The peculiar sight making Gregor wonder how much of Lytan's tale about the monsters leaping down from the trees was true?

Lips peeled back into a stubborn snarl, he gruffly shoved that thought aside, and followed the claw marks north. The thick tangle of woods, scraping against his arms, ripping at his clothes as he moved quickly, his eyes glued to the trail.

-1 HP.

The sudden clearing he entered, hitting him with the raw stench of burnt flesh. The glade ahead where people had pitched grey tents for the night, empty of all life, except for the cawing of birds that flew towards the blackened corpses that hung on the trees.

The foul odor of death much stronger here, he covered his mouth, and walked towards the campfire that had been kicked apart. The thirteen bodies that had been strung up on the trees upside down, burnt alive with mouths gaping open in silent screams. However what interested him most were the strange dark symbols carved into the trees around him, circles that had the shape of a star inside, and wondered if there was more to this story. (Investigate and follow the trail to continue.)

(Examine the bodies.)

Never one to shy away from knowledge, Gregor pressed the cloth to his mouth, and drew in closer to the bodies. The bellow-hearts that cawed angrily, and clawed at his arm, driven off with a flash of steel, before he moved in closer. The rank smell of decay, meeting his nostrils as he touched the caved-in chest. The person whoever he or she was, had their heart ripped out of their ribcage. A human if he were to guess, judging by their size, lack of tusks, and claws. Or possibly a vampire.

Hand moved to thumb back the lips, he didn't see a second row of fangs, still he didn't believe this to be the work of bandits, but something else, far more nefarious. Why else would they take the heart?

Head twisted around to look at the others, it was much the same with chests cracked open, and took a step back.

+1 Morale.

(Take a look through the tents.)

Sword hilt clutched tighter in hand, he advanced towards the tents wearily, the stillness and danger he felt in the air, much stronger here, although that could be just the feeling he got from the buzzards. The nasty bloated beasts that lined up on the tree branches around him, boreing holes into his spine as he glared back up at them, before he swept open the tent flaps. The noxious fumes that hit him, almost as bad as a battlefield as he gritted his teeth, and ducked his head inside. The torn grey tent he entered, releasing streams of light onto blood mangled bedrolls, putrid innards, and a locked wooden chest.

(Open up the chest?)

Heart notched a little inside at the thought that anyone would leave valuables behind, Gregor drew his sword, and levered the weapon in between the crack.

Sword thrust as deep as he could get it, he pushed the hilt down hard, and heard the chest squeak, before being ripped open. The contents of the box, mostly undergarments, and clothes, as well as a journal that he picked up.

Encrusted in dried up bloodstains, he tugged it open, and found a log of bounties recorded down in a neat script. Each bounty they had collected detailed down to the capture and payment of gold. All of them written by a man called, 'Hargrin Cole, a familiar name.'

Flickering through to the last few entries, Gregor began to read.

Arrived in the village of Kalswel, a small frontier hamlet close on the borders of Caldasher. It seems the folks there have been having quite a bit of trouble with someone called the Demon who leads a scraggly band of deserters. We have been hired by the local commander to deal with the problem, but he doesn't seem too keen on mercenaries. I've got no worries though, the lads, and I will get the job done. I just wish Sara would stay behind. The wee lass keeps sneaking back into camp, every time we try to leave her behind.

Next Page.

It's been a few days now, and we've tracked the scum into the Northern Woods. Collard and some of the others want to turn back, but I convinced them to stay on. If we're caught in a fight, I'd like as many swords with me as possible.

Next Page.

We've lost two men to a nest of feral dwarves, but we're getting much closer now. They shouldn't be too far ahead of us, and their slowing down.

Next Page.

... I'm not sure what to say, only that we've found them, or what's left of them. They look like they have been torn apart by wolves, but no wolves that I know of could crack a man's chest open like that, and scoop out his insides. I've seen a lot of puke in my time, but I think it's time we left.

Next Page.

There's something in the woods…

And there the journal entries stopped.

So this had been Sara's father, a bounty hunter who had been tracking the Demon who was in turn killed by something else. Well that was a pity, he would have liked to collect the gold on the renegade's head.

Journal placed back into the chest, he searched the other tents, but it was much the same with bloodstains, and scuffles marked out in the dirt. No other chests though, so he headed back out.

(Take a look at the other tents instead?)

Worried the chest may be trapped, seeing as how it hadn't been touched, he searched the other tents, but it was much the same with bloodstains, and scuffles marked out in the dirt. No other chests though, so he headed back out.

(Get a better look at the markings.)

Half certain the markings were linked to the attacks in some way, Gregor drew closer to the trees, the claw marks that had been gouged into the wood, bleeding a rich golden brown sap. The star inside of the circle, formed from one unbroken line.

And written underneath it, in a scrawl that was indistinguishable from a distance was a message. "Cursed are those who do not bless his name, and pay homage to he who has stood at the very beginning of time. For he shall scourge the world with fire and ice."

(Destroy the message.)

Chest constricted at the words, he drew his blade out. And before he even realized what he was doing, he hacked away at the tree with maniacal fury until there was nothing left behind but scores in the wood, his rage a bonfire of warm heat.

+1 HP.

+1 Morale.

(Follow the tracks out of camp.)

Rage burning brighter still, he searched the clearing for more signs of Lytan's monsters, found trees with the same odd claw marks, and took off down a path into a shallow valley. The trees more sparsely populated below, had dozens of wild deer that looked up at him with big brown eyes, before they pranced away. The knee-high grass he stepped on, itched his skin as he moved forward, his eyes still on the scratches that adorned each of the trees, when the trail sputtered off in a hundred different directions.

Certain that he was near the lair now, he drew his sword from its sheath, and inched his way forward, head on a constant swivel as he tried to watch the trees, when he spotted an entrance dug into the ground like a burrow, only for something much larger. The huge gaping hole that had been dug into a hillside, overtopped by a single gargantuan tree with thick roots that spread out across the top. Its pale yellow leaves buffeted in the breeze, strangely beautiful as Gregor gazed up trying to see how far it went. The remembered stories of the Hearth trees in Tarstone, hard to compare to this great monolith.

What do you do?

Choice 1. Smoke out whatever's inside?

Choice 2. Search for another opening?

Choice 3. Try and sneak in?