'The Power of the Gods protects you'

It had been many long years since anyone had seen or even spoken of the Spellcasters. These once great, and much loved beings had forever been a part of the World, protecting it's inhabitants from the ever-present threat of the darker forces in the land. But, no more. For war had come to the land, war against the Spellcasters, and for one hundred years they were hunted and destroyed, tried as heathens and burnt for their sins. They were now scattered across the land, hidden, exiled and hated, destined to live in the dark places of the world, out of sight and out of mind.

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The Sun had just begun to creep over the autumn reddened trees, and a cool breeze was causing the fallen leaves to dance playfully across the fields. A family of Deer grazed contentedly across the hills and the last of the Summer birds chirped their morning chorus. Far off in the distance, farmers were bringing in the final harvest before the long winter, and preparing to bring in the cattle to be stabled for the cold season. By mid-afternoon, the weather had taken a turn for the worse, the deer had retreated to the near-by trees to graze in the undergrowth, and the birds, having ceased their singing, were now huddled in their nests pre-empting a storm.

As the rain began to fall and the wind turned icy, a figure appeared at the top of the hill, hunched against the growing wind, he wore heavy leather clothing, boots and gloves, and a tattered weather worn cloak was pulled tight around him. By the time he had reached the trees the Deer had long vanished, he picked himself a spot beneath a large Oak and settled down. Night drew in, and as it did so the strangers face revealed a far more sinister side, luminous lines began to appear along his face in ancient patterns, blue on the right side, red on the left, illuminating the patch of ground around him. He sat staring into the darkness, evil intent in his eyes, his face set, knowing what needed to be done.

By morning the man was nowhere to be seen, all that remained of his stay was a burnt out fire and hundreds of odd runes carved with great precision into the Oak under which he sat, too many to have been carved in just one night, and too precise to be carved with a simple knife. The amber that had begun seeping from the trees wounds was not the usual colour, it was blue, dimming and brightening in pulses as it oozed slowly towards the mossy floor while high up i the tree tops the leaves had begun to wither and die.

Snow came to the land that day, falling in large fluffy flakes, sticky and consuming. Combined with the wind it quickly covered the landscape, forcing the Deer to huddle deep in the forest, which was growing darker as the canopy above was replaced with a thick layer of heavy snow ,some of which was finding its way through the larger gaps between the greenery. The old Oak, having lost all of its leaves, was being subjected to the full force of the unrelenting snow. It fell feet deep around its trunk and spread outwards into the undergrowth, the strange weeping sap was now a thick coat that was now very close to making contact with the snow below.

Hours passed with the sap creeping slowly towards the snow beneath it. Eventually as night began to fall, a rivlet of the blue amber made contact and began a startling change in its consistancy. With alarming speed the sap began to spread across the compact snow, forming blue vein-like channels all across it, by now more amber had begun this same action and before long the mounds of snow settled between the trees were coated in blue pulsating 'roots'. The mounds did not stay that way for long, they began to move, shifting and bulging in the gloom and one by one sprouted thick canine legs, tails and finally hidious wolf-like heads, snarling and wild. The mounds themselves became the torso, jagged and hard as rock, with razor sharp icicles protruding from the spine.

By midnight the forest was filled with the ear splitting howls of these creatures, their gleaming white bodies a stark contrast to the luminous veins glowing across their icy skin, and their hate-filled red eyes, glimmering like bloodied diamonds illuminated their path in the gathering dark.

Meanwhile, in the nearby village of ___________, lights were flickering on in every street, and worried eyes peaked into the darkness from behind curtains. Off in the distance, a mile away, could be seen glowing figures sprinting down from the hills towards the village, horrifying growls and roars grew nearer and as the helpless villagers watched from their windows the town gate burst and splintered as close to one hundred of the beasts swarmed into the town. Panic ensued as the Wolves headed directly for the doors and windows of every house and shop, and punched their way through with ease. It was a terrible sight, the night air was filled with screams of innocent villagers and the enraged snarls of their demonic killers.

Their merciless slaughter went on until morning, by which time everyone was dead, limbs and torsos were scattered across the town, staining the snow with the blood of thousands, but the most disturbing sight of all, aside from the horrific way in which the towns-folk were killed, was the missing heads. The head of every man, woman and child had gone, devoured by the hellish monsters that were now leaving in all directions in search of more blood, more death. As the howls depleted into the distance, a man entered the town, dressed in heavy leather and a weather worn cape. He was laughing.

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High in the mountains, beneath a small rocky overhang, sat a Woman. She was deep in meditation, and showed no sign of being affected by the freezing winds that blew in all directions, whipping the heavy snow into a frenzy. It seemed as if the weather could not touch her, like it was avoiding her in some way. Her head was bald and her skin, deathly pale, although her face showed signs of a beauty that had long given way to the now drawn and shadowed visage that replaced it. She wore a plain black vest and trousers, her other clothes lay next to her in a neat pile. Her bare arms, which rested on the knees of her crossed legs, were adorned with tattoos and in her hand she held a small orb, which rolled un-propelled around her open palm. She sat a while longer, oblivious to the horendous weather that tore all around her, until suddenly her eyes shot open, one glowing blue the other red. Her head turned in the direction of the Rootvale Valley, and in a swirl of snow, she vanished. She had been summoned.