The wanderer knows this, for over the last century he has lived those stories, has seen them scrawled in his blood or the blood of others.

Others like those dead Perishables scattered about the noble's courtyard, like those servants of the enemy, mortal and not, lying beside them.

And yet...he knows it is only the beginning.

They are coming.

Servants of the enemy, creatures forged and fashioned for one purpose and one purpose only-to kill anything in their path. And now their path leads them directly to the wanderer, to the Perishables, and to the family he has sworn to protect.

The story is not yet finished.

There is more tale yet to be told, and more blood needed for the telling of it.

The cursed blade has been unsheathed, the lone wanderer wanders alone no longer.

A hundred years of hiding, of running, but now it's over.

Now, the real story begins.

And the blood will flow.