The small village of Landen-Span slept placidly. The first snowflakes just beginning to fall weightlessly upon the uncultivated fields surrounding the village. It was a peaceful scene, but the eye was always drawn upwards, up the cliff and to the dark outline of the castle and the scene was all the more powerful with the full November moon rising among the thick clouds, casting the impressive silhouette of the castle on the tiled roofs of the humble houses below.

From afar, in the neighbouring village, Crowspeak. The sound of bells from a small church tolled death sending an eerie and rare calm throughout Landen-Span like the silence before a huge storm.

Very close, perhaps too close the howl of restless wolfs pinned in the frosty air. Everything was quiet. No one expected the tragedy that had been forged in the castle, no one from the village knew of the consequences and above all for their neighbouring village where the bells kept ominously tolling death.