Become the beast..... Free the beast from within... free the beast... become the unholy creature that you were meant to be... release the beast.... release the BEAST... become the unholy creature you were meant to be... unshackle him... UNSHACKLE IT.

Curse you, witch. I Hear You. You will not let me rest. I have spent years running from you, but now I am coming for you. I will remove that head of yours from its shoulders and shove it up your arse. Then we'll see how much you have to say.

The once great knight, Ser Valden, tormented by a spectral voice for years, teeters on the precipice of madness. This voice, a relentless specter, holds the key to unleashing the darkness that festers within him. He knows this all too well, and after years of futile flight, he understands that he can run no longer.

Valden aims to seek the source of the onslaught of demands and terrible requests made flesh in his mind by this perpetual, chiding voice. The clock is ticking; the world itself is dying. One prophesied misery has come to pass:

Psalm VI:I - You shall know the last day has come, the sun shall set and never rise.

Ser Valden stares out over the writhing dark ocean. Hanging above it, a grey disc of rock- the now lightless moon with no sunlight left to reflect. Ser Valden accepts this as proof of the prophesied misery come to pass. There would be no more sunlight. He turns and moves towards his cave. Smoke billowing from its entrance, he ducks as he makes his way in. He moves deftly for an old man through the caves uneven floor. He find his tattered and worn armor slumped in the back of the cave.

"The time has come for you to become my skin once more. I need you as my ally"

He dons the armor, as he has done countless times before, and as he places the battered helm over his head we catch a glimpse of yellowed teeth baring a smile. He then moves to the makeshift cubby where he stores his once honorable, but now tainted, flail. He admires the wood of the handle, smoothed and darkened by sweat and blood over the years. The spiked ball and chain, rusted, dulled, and snapped at points... would still prove to be as deadly as it was in the past.

Ser Valden's cave dwelling lay along the southern cliffs of the cliff nation of Grift. He leave his home now to head to for supplies, and possibly some guidance from an oracle or seer. the capital hovel sits on the south side of the isolated cliff nation of Grift. He heads north now, to town, to seek an oracle, a priest, someone who can help him understand the haunting voices in his mind and what compels him to recreate the atrocities of his past. He estimates the journey to the capital will take 5 days, should the weather hold.

Thunder begins to roar, yes no rain accompanies it. The sky is a hungry dark beast of the void, its stomach rumbling as if it hasn't been fed in eons.

On his first day of travel, Ser Valden is unmolested. The path he travels is one well worn by him, as he has traveled it many times. He walks mostly with his thoughts against a backdrop of grey desaturated darkness. The sky's mournful cries are the soundtrack to his journey.

As he makes camp that night, the voices return.

"Bring me blood ...blood... bring me blood. Unshackle the beast. You are weak- weak! You are afraid.. to unleash."

As Ser Valden wakes the next morning, or at least what he perceives to be morning, he finds that a light drizzle has begun to fall. The thunder is no longer lonely, as it has now been joined by its gentle companion. Sleep was fitful for Ser Valden, and one of his two remaining rations has now been used. He is still 4 days away from the capital, and will likely have to hunt or forage for food before completing this trek.

As he breaks down his camp, he is alerted to the fact that he is not alone. Approaching him from a ways down the road, is a crowd of chanting people. They’re not just chanting though, and it’s a bit odd… but they’re sobbing as well.

Ser Valden, sensing no immediate threat stands by the roadside and awaits them as they continue their somber march. As they approach, it is clear that they are carrying a very large.. Box? Coffin. It’s a coffin. One that could fit 4 to 5 men laying head to toe within it.

Ser Valden moves to address this procession, but as he does he feels something trying to wedge its way into his mind- something foreign. And he must test presence to resist.

Ser Valden now hears a new voice in his head, not the manic voice that has been tormenting him for years now, but one of strength and calm. Coherence.

It would appear that Ser Valden is not the only one hearing the words from this disembodied voice, as several members from the procession turn to regard him simultaneously.

Initiative has been rolled, and the 4 members of the procession that answer their master’s call break rank and approach the now readied Ser Valden. Shield raised, and grimace cutting through the rain, he awaits the pain they may bring him this day.

“Well come on then, put me in that coffin- I dare ye!”

The first of the four takes a frenzied swing at the old knight. ROLL.  Ser Valden rolls to defend and fails. The wild dagger hits for 2 damage, but is reduced by 1 by Ser Valden’s armor, and again by 1 by his shield.

The next attacker, hoping to find Ser Valden off balanced from fending off the first attack swings a crude club at Valden’s knee cap. The gambit paid off, as Valden failed his defense roll once again. The club crunches into his knee, hitting for two damage, but is reduced by 3 from Valden’s armor.

Valden laughs, and taunts the attackers “HAHAH is that the best ye got?”

The third attacker collides with the first attacker, their mangy robes blending together in a huddled mass of desperation as a short sword emerges from the mess- aimed for Valden’s face.

Valden dodges deftly with his highest defense roll yet with a 17.

The fourth and final attacker adds to the frenzied swarm and lunged at Valden with the sharp end of a snapped spear. Ser Valden knocks this jab away with a deft tilt of his shield.

The rest of the procession begins to chant and sob even louder as they lower the coffin to the ground as gently as they can muster.

Ser Valden readies his flail as he feels a surge of excitement in his chest…. The anticipation of spilled blood could not be stifled. He rolls a 14 on his attack.

He lifts his deadly flail over his head and brings it down on one of the men swarming him, and with a sickening crack the spiked ball of the flail bludgeons and pierces the exposed flesh of the man’s head, dealing 6 damage- outright killing him in a single blow. A smattering of blood and brains paint the remaining attackers.

Ser Valden will not stop there. He is afflicted with a bloodthirst that can only be quenched once the killing has ceased. Mechanically speaking, if he lands a kill, he immediately keeps attacking new targets until he fails to kill in a single swing. Each kill adds another d6 to the damage. After he fails to kill, he will lose an entire turn from exhaustion.

So with that, Valden spins like a beast unleashed and brings the freshly painted spiked ball across the throat of his next victim. He hits, just barely with a 12. He deals 4 damage as the spikes of his flail slash the throat of the man. He falls to his knees grasping at his throat in a desperate attempt to stem the flow of blood.

Two down, two to go. Valden’s blood fueled rage continues. He misses, with a 7. He immediately deflates and goes back on the defensive.

The procession, their chanting and sobbing continuing, have now opened the coffin… the rain caressing whatever may lay inside.

The two remaining men continue their fervor, the first one stabs with the broken spear handle once more and hits, as Ser Valden fails his def roll with a 4. The sharp wooden tip of the spear slides through the old knights armor, dealing 6 damage… which is reduced by 3 as the armor slows its advance. Ser Valden has gone from 5hp to 2.

The next attacker comes back around with his crude club, looking to bring it down on Valden’s head. Valden is unable to defend against this as he rolls a 5 on his defense roll. The strike lands squarely on Valden’s helm, dealing 2 damage but reduced by 4. No damage was dealt.

Valden, exhausted by his temporary bloodlust can do nothing else besides move backwards and maintain a defensive posture. He is badly wounded, yet that yellow grimace remains. He missed this.

The attackers advance once again. The broken spear stabs in once more. Valden once again, fails his defense roll- giving way to another thrust from the spear. The spear hits for three damage, but is reduced by 3 as well from Valden’s armor! Hanging on.

The man with the club swings aggressively looking for any opening he can find. Ser Valden defends with a 12! *Should have been a hit, Valden has DR14 for defence.

“Ye best run now”

Valden finds his strength once more, and lifts the head of the spiked flail from the mud at his feet and arcs it at the nearest attacker. He rolls a 5, but will expend an Omen to re roll. 16 on the die. Hit. He deals 4 damage to the unarmed man, breaking him. the man bleeds from his now exposed shoulder muscles until he collapses unconscious.

Valden’s bloodlust fuels another attack, he brings his bloody and muddied flail across the final assailant in a diagonal arc. 15 on the die, hit. Ser Valden deals 10 damage to the poor bastard, as his body shutters and collapses beneath the weight of the bloodfueled attack.

The immediate threat has ended, the combat is over. Ser Valden walks with a wraithlike gait towards the chanting crowd with the intention of facing whatever lay within the coffin. Rolling morale for the group, 11 vs 5. The crowd backs away from the coffin as the knight approaches, effectively surrendering themselves to this terrible visage of death.

The crowd now stands motionless, as if they had all become statues. Torches held throughout the group buffet as the rain threatens to douse the light. They watch the knight expectantly.  Valden picks up a torch off of the ground, and moves towards the massive coffin- its siding heavily carved and it is clearly very well crafted.

The edge of this coffin comes up to his stomach, he peers inside- the flame of the torch revealing a massive corpse. Its flesh heavily deteriorated appearing so dry that it seems to repel the rain that falls upon it.

The smell that emerges from this coffin is a bitter... waxy.. smell and Valden quickly notices that alongside all parts of this giant body are various types of candles, some very large, some very small, but all have been lit at some point and have melted down. This giant laying, effectively, in a bed of wax.

Valden makes his way to the head of this giant, and discovers that its face is covered by a filthy ceremonial mask. Bones, feathers, possibly mummified flesh… these components all come together to support two massive obsidian gemstones lodged where the eyes of this creature would be.

As Valden stares at this mask, the head slowly begins to turn to him…. He hears the voice command once more:

"LAY IN THE COFFIN BESIDE ME- NOW"

And he must test presence.

Ser Valden feels compelled to drop the torch that he is holding onto the ground beside him. He climbs into the coffin without a second thought, and lay upon the deteriorated flesh, mingling with the bitter waxiness that coats the floor of the coffin. The crowd's chanting resumes, as they lift the lid of the coffin and place it over the top once more. We see this crowd chanting, sobbing, lift the coffin and march down the road in the direction of Grift's capital.

Ser Valden yet lives, but what fates await him down the road?