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[NPC] What Men Have Forgotten

Though many of the Moors outside the hallowed gates of Darkshire may not practice the fro and toil of days long work, without the smothering fear that blankets the once-green land. Its time long passed, there once was a day known to all working men where their blood and sweat from the long long days of midsummer heat came to a sudden but sweet end. Yes back then on that day was the season of Harvesting Day. With a chill of the wind, the working men would reap from sunrise to sundown. Once the deed was finished and the day is done, all the men would foregather their families and feast upon the splendor of once hard work. 

Twas this very same day, this Harvesting Day, a band of young and marry chevaliers would walk the very land. With bravery in their soul, the fears of Pale’s common man were unable to phase its tainted hand through the hearts of these men. Marching deep through the thickest of murky wetland and past the darkest of fogged trees, these knights would finally find what they had been searching to see. A cave laid wide in their way, as fog known only to land slowly let low, four men delved deep below. Dark passage after passage they crept through tunnels unknown. Soon after four became one to forces the best unknown.

Though fear was near the one endeared, blade in hand he persevered. Deeper he delved til stumbling into a chasm. Yet seen through his eyes he couldn’t believe, torches made lowly lit to be let seen. The chasm was deep, deep, as deep as can be, a sickly voice said. “Who’s it be?”                   

“Sir Allard of Minas Tirith be thee.” The Knight spoke in return. 

“Minas Tirith you say, what be thine quest if I may?” The voice replied its tone more lively than before. 

“Of course to slay thy evil that was not here before. I have answered your questions, now I will give you one to bore. Who would be thee who speaks to me?” Sir Allard had asked.

“Who but me a nobody, if evil is what you seek then it shall be. Tell thee quickly do thy know thy master to which I serve?” The voice still unknown snarled and boomed. 

“Tis Dracula that is thine master, now come to thee so that I may slay thine bastard!” Sir Allard screamed his blade ready to deal death's hand.

“Oh, this cannot be.” The voice crocked in laughter. “The men of Minas Tirith have forgotten their way, thy master is no slave to the night nor drinker of one's blood. Diablo dare not even say his name or he might come to claim what rightfully be in his name. Thine master is the one and true Dark Lord and Sauron be his name. Now standing in my den, my bite takes claim of its new victim.”

Lunging through the deep dark, red eyes gleam. With teeth sharp and fur black as night, a foul beast known only as a wolfman bathes in a deep blood red.

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