0 - Prologue - Hate Incarnate

The citizens of Peregrine Harbor rejoiced when the news spread that the serial killer known as the Night Skinner had been slain. On each night of the full moon, the coastal city had lived in terror every month. A seemingly unstoppable killer had stalked the darkened streets, butchering his victims in a most vile manner. As the death toll grew, the once merry city was fighting a losing battle against sinking into grim despair. Shrouded in terror and the unknown, the monster eluded the guards and heroes of the harbor city for the better part of a year.

Finally, with the blessing of The One Above and the combined efforts of the four Churches of Law, a band of champions was able to end the reign of the Night Skinner. Led by the renowned monster-hunter, Count Valloc Randeau, the heroes were comprised of a myrmidon of Phealti, a huntress from the far-off Saphire Coast, and one of The Giver of Fate's own newcomers. This quest-empowered force tracked down the elusive moonlight slayer, cornering the beast in an ancient shrine dedicated to Vhyne the Vintner.

Stories of the battle that ensued that night depict an epic confrontation of utter savagery. The Night Skinner was a greater lycanthrope, one on the cusp of ascending to the supremacy of monsterdom. The means of its ascension was one of the great prophetic marks. The huge werewolf bore the Mark of the Moon, also known as the Eighteenth Omen or the Sign of Terror. The prophetic glyph gave the murderer complete mastery over fear, and it used dread's crushing might to cripple the wills of its enemies and prey.

The valiant Count Randeau marshaled his comrades-in-arms, allowing them to stand before the vile creature. In the end, it was the One Above's champion, an unknown hero from another world, who struck the final gallant blow and ended the Night Skinner's reign of terror.

In the days that followed, while the city regained its festive air, there was one location where an aura of animosity took root. A dark presence pervaded a warehouse where a country knight had been slain on the eve before the demise of the Night Skinner. A fell, fervent enmity pervaded the large structure, so much so that the laborers refused to work within the building, unable to withstand the hateful emanations roiling within the storehouse.

The owner of the establishment sent for an exorcist to rid the building of the wraith that had infested the location. Before the spiritualist was able to attend to the haunting, the news of the Night Skinner's death engulfed Peregrine Harbor, setting off days of celebration and carnival.

While the city made merry, the warehouse festered. Black, cold hatred seeped into the timbers, waiting to pounce on any who entered its demesne.

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When someone finally stepped through the wide warehouse doors, it was the seething specter that recoiled instead of the visitor. The one who entered was steeped in a darkness far greater than that of the hateful apparition.

A short man, smartly dressed in a long red coat shaded so darkly it might as well have been black, sauntered up to where the duel had been fought. Two large rings glinted on the fingers of his right hand, while his left hand was covered in a fingerless glove, gripping a crystal-topped cane. He had shoulders far more expansive than his waist would suggest, and, between the split in the rear of his coat, hung a twitching rat-like tail. The stranger had a long, whiskered murine snout that was coated in dragon-like scales. His slitted eyes glowed with fire-like embers.

"Well, look at you. You could have gone on unto the hall of your rigid god, yet you did not. You just could not let go of your animosity, could you? Passed up the rewards of your divine devotion for a petty vendetta. My kind of guy," his sibilant voice addressed the vast open room. "Very well. I can help you. And you can help me."

"I was sure that Death's reformer was too weak to tip the scales. The Moon's fearmonger was on the cusp of ascending to legendary status. A few more lunar rituals, and the Night Skinner would have become a beast of the ages. Now it will be forgotten, a wasted potential defeated by a fickle change of circumstances."

The man sighed and sauntered in a circle around the warehouse floor, his booted feet kicking up dust in the evening light of the third day of celebration.

"Death's disruptor was an unexpected element in my grand game, and I do not like surprises. It is now likely he will run afoul of the Emperor's tyrant, as the marks do tend to seek each other out. Still, if he does not come into conflict with the Blood King, there is a chance he will befoul my machinations. Along with Fool's child and the Wheel's wildcard, Death's agitator is one of the hardest to predict, and variables are not what I need at this stage of my game."

The figure tucked his cane under his arm and stripped off his half-glove. On the back of his left hand lay a mark of glittering black ink. The star-filled ebon lines formed a wicked ram's skull with the Roman numerals "XV" in the middle of it. The dapper kobold bore the Mark of the Devil.

"Why don't you do us both a favor, spirit, and remove the changebringer from my board."

The scaled man used his cane to scratch a complex circular rune onto the warehouse floor as he voiced a caustic-sounding incantation. With a final flourish, he threw his arms wide and hissed loudly, "Arise, my black-hearted revenant! Seek he who brought about your death and humiliation. Rend him from existence."

The dapper figure stepped back as the blood-soaked planks of the floor shuddered. The wood twisted and blackened, forming into a gnarled dark arm. The limb pushed against the flooring, dragging more of itself into the air until a knotty simulacrum of the fallen knight stood towering over its scaled master. Black eyes leaking ebon shadows stared at the small draconic sign-bearer, awaiting its release.

"Go and find your flesh, revenant. And then seek out he you hate."

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