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It was night and a shadowey figure strode through a deep dark forest glade, moonlight shone on him from a crack above the trees and a squirrel jumped from a branch somewhere beyond the darkness. His last guild attempted to fight a tigerworm the mythical beast, just by chance, Svire, the noble guildmaster, was the first to be beaten by the beast. His guild buried him under an oak tree with a squirrel staring down at them, they paid their respects, and left the grave. But under the earth, miraculously he was not dead but only hurt gravely. He pulled himself to the surface, couching out soil as he painfully pulled back on his armor, he had to find the rest of his guild. It was him who walked through the shadowey trees this night, it was him, Svire. |
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