~`- Renwold -`~ The Curse of the Ware-Wolf It was getting close to midnight, the falling rain from the darkened sky above that blocked out the setting sun. It always rained like this towards the south-eastern regions of Renwold as the region crept ever closer to the fall, one would guess it was due to the fact that nature her self wanted the leaves and seeds off of her dearly beloved trees and plants so they can start germinating through the months leading up to winter. The trail leading to Mithmigal, one of the farther villages off to the east. It was boarded on three sides by thick forest. The only occupation one could even do was be a Lumberjack, a coal Miner, or a bartender at one it's many pubs and Inn's that littered the small town. It was as if each house was it's own pub from home-grown wheat based whiskey an grape based wines. The town was full of drunks, and if every city in the region had a sentience to them, Mithmigal would be the town drunk between the southern cities. Here, we find our brothers, Martin and Christopher Le-Chance, standing in the mud of the road just outside of the city. They are guided over the path with their rusty Iron Lantern as well as the flickering lights of the small village just through the trees to their right. Martin is ahead of Christ, his hood drawn over his head to protect his field of vision from the rain that fell upon the two weary trailers. Looking back, behind his shoulder he sees that his brother, Christ has slowed down to a crawl with his head lowered. Martin stops and turns to him, shouting towards him with concern in his breath, "Christ, what's the hold up? We're nearly there, brother!" Christ didn't answer him, remained silent as the sound of splattering rain water fell around them. Martin scuffed at him and turned, walking to his brother as his feet splash in the puddles of mood built up in the rain and grabbed hold of his brother's hood where it was ties and shook him out of his dead-minded like state, "Christ! Snap out of it! We're only a few more meters away from the village, just a few more feet from salvation..." Christ slowly looked up to his older brother, his hood hiding his eyes from the shadow that was made from the lifted lantern in Martin's hands. "... Alright..." He would speak softly and walked around his brother, continuing his march towards the city ad he trudged through the thickening, quicksand of a pathway. The Pub The place was a dump, smoke filled the air as a few Lumberjacks and a group of Miners rest their feet to a pint of imported Ale and Whiskey. Just to relax the night away from their hard day's work and to spend their hard earned cash to drown their sorrow's away, that's what this town's work force does every day and every night. They have few visitors, but welcome them with open arms just as long as they don't cause any trouble to the village as a hole. If they do, they will form a mob and kick the trespassers out of the city and banned them from ever coming there ever again. Back in the corner of the pub, sits a man with a large sword, a Claymore perhaps. The blade was long enough to be called such but it was far too wide to be one of normal craftsmanship. He had to of had it custom made by hand by a blacksmith. Across the room from him, sitting at the bar of the pub was lovely young woman. Her hair was blonde and long, draping over her ears with curly ribbons of silk. Her eyes were kept close as she held a glass of wine, swirling the liquid around in it's container. She looked to be bored as she waited on the stool at the bar.