A pale blue light wafted through boarded up windows of the small, decrepit stone and wood shack. It casted everything in an eerie tone as the pained screams of a woman pierced the silence. The cries went on for hours till they grew hoarse, a silent wish upon lips that could no longer form words from the hosts hoarse throat. And come morning all the villagers would find is the poor medicine maker dead, covered in cuts, runes, and blood, with an infant in her arms. The child would be named Jack in honor of the woman's late Husband.


Once more, what will become known as the Pale blood moon, blue light cascaded from the heavens. Heavy footfalls echoed in the old stone alleyways as robed figures chased after the intoxicated Jack. Risking a glance behind him, Jack's cold blue eyes locked onto one of the figures before he tripped over some rubbish, faceplanting into a decayed wooden crib of sorts. The cloaks that his Jacks attackers seemed to swallow up the unnatural glow, Jack noted solemnly to himself as they gathered around his fallen body. A soft chant that danced on the wind took up all of Jack's thoughts. Again, all that would be found is a battered and broken drunkard who got into a brawl and died, unfortunately.

"The veil between worlds is weakening. The deceiver shall be free of his chains soon and the entire world will suffer." The king had thought it to be made legend, passed down from elder to youngest for as long as the story has been around. No one knows this Familiar and yet the vivid prophecy stayed in the old, gaunt king. His head resting in his bony hands as his court filled with his most trusted of nobles.