The Tale of Village boy - 1

It was into this world of perpetual dread that Ofken was born, a child of summer whose laughter was too soon silenced by the harsh realities of life on the edge of wilderness.

He was but seven when the beasts took his parents, their screams echoing through the night as young Ofken huddled beneath his bed, hands clasped over his ears, praying to gods he wasn't sure existed.

The years that followed were a blur of grief and hardship. Ofken grew, as children do, but there was a hardness to him now, a steel in his eyes that spoke of wounds too deep to heal. He worked the fields by day, standing guard by night, watching the treeline for glowing eyes and glinting fangs.

There was no help, nor did their voice get through, not loud enough to reach the lords of their region. They were ignored and neglected by the knights as they were mere villagers.