Small feet left deep prints in the muddy road that meandered through the village, the first rays of the rising sun racing the children to the opposite end of the square as Harrowbrook slowly, lazily began to wake to a new day.

The village, situated at the western edge of the Mourning Plateau and within sight of the border of the Black Forest, was one of the largest settlements of the Fringe Folk, those people stubborn enough to refuse to retreat into the relative safety of the six city-states. Life in such places consists of hard labor and fear, both of which folk accept as a small price to pay for their freedom and the retainment of their ancestral homes.

The sound of hooves trudging through the muddy slop turned heads in the square, and the fletcher that was setting up his stall next to his workshop nearly fell over onto his backside when he saw the mounted visitors. Visored helmets sat atop broad shoulders that were wreathed in capes adorned by fur and clasps of ornamented gold, which in turn fastened said capes onto pauldrons and breastplates of the same silvery metal of the helmets.

Anyone could have told you that the arriving men and women were Seekers, warriors trained by the church of Resounding Truth to safeguard Nascindor from the evil of the Black Forest. Judging by the beige livery that adorned their armor, these particular Seekers hailed from the fellowship known as Pilgrim's Watch.

Among their number rode Graham Hardcliffe, a level-headed man who had been a member of Pilgrim's Watch for almost three decades. On his left side, on the back of her own horse, was the leader of their squad, Anne Morningale. She was a veteran of two separate Host incursions, a dour woman for whom the life of a Seeker was not only duty but a calling, the very purpose she claims to have been born for.

Following behind the two was Josiah Bowstone and his squire Léon Guimont, mentor and protégé riding side by side. Josiah frowned at the boy, who rode with his head held high, clearly showboating for the crowd of onlookers.

Their horses neighed as they came to a stop outside of what passed for an inn in the little hamlet and the knights dismounted, hitching their steeds to the posts lining the front of the establishment. Anne took off her helmet, allowing her amber hair to fall down upon her shoulders.

"Alright men, take an hour or two. Freshen up and fill your bellies. We wait for the patrol we are to relieve to arrive and brief us before we head into the forest. Dismissed." 

She barked the orders to her squad, who acknowledged them with a salute before the group entered the inn, followed by children enamored by the knightly visitors.

Graham was the first to step through the doors of the dinky tavern and he met the gaze of the barmaid who was scrubbing a table with a wet cloth. Noticing that he was intimidating to the poor girl, he raised his hands in a comforting gesture.

"No need to fear, lass. Treat my companions and I as you would any other guest to your fine establishment. We are hungry and tired, and we have coin to pay for your troubles."

Seemingly soothed by Graham's words, the barmaid curtsied and ran off towards the kitchen, to fetch food and drinks for the weary Seekers. The group seated themselves around a table in a corner booth, setting their helmets and capes aside. Graham dismissed the ogling children with a stern look before he turned to his comrades. He cast a glance towards Anne, who seated herself at the bar.

"I see Sergeant Morningale isn't joining us this time, either. Does that woman ever ease up?" Léon thought out loud. "For someone who is supposed to be our leader, she spends very little time actually fraternizing with us."

The barmaid returned from the kitchen, carrying with her a tray full of tankards and a jug, which she set down on the table before curtsying again and vanishing back from where she came. Graham took the jug and filled his tankard with the spiced ale contained within. He took a sip and relished in the warmth that spread to his core as the alcohol settled in his belly.

"Morningale has seen and done things that would make you soil your undergarments, boy." Said Josiah. "As far as I am concerned, she has earned the right to be as reclusive as she damn well pleases. Our place is not to question her."

Léon clearly did not expect to be chided in this manner and sunk into his seat before sheepishly filling his tankard. The men nursed their drinks in silence for a while, until they were served a hearty breakfast in the form of bread, baked beans and poached eggs. As they dug in, Graham spoke up, weighing in on the subject at hand.

"For what it's worth, I think Anne has done right by us. Sure, she doesn't smile a whole lot nor is she particularly pleasant to be around, but when it comes time to draw blades and fell Hatelings, there's no one else I would rather have my command."

Josiah nodded in silent agreement, as did most of the group. Their breakfast continued in silence, each of the men simply content enjoying a moment of restful silence from their day to day. This was a rare treat in the life of a seeker, whose lives so often consist of moving from hardship to hardship.

Graham broke the silence first.

"Does anyone else find it odd that the patrol we're supposed to be relieving isn't here yet? Usually they arrive before we do, don't they?"

Josiah impaled a piece of egg on his fork and examined it, turning it around in idle thought.

"Beats me. Maybe they've been held up by something?"

Léon took a sip of his ale and chuckled.

"If my shift was about to end and I'd be getting out of the forest and back to Sanctum, I wouldn't stop for anything. I can't imagine any reason as to why anyone would." He mused.

Josiah looked at the boy, a smirk on his face and grabbed him by the shoulder in a brotherly manner.

"It's not like you'll get to rest there, either. I'll be making sure of that." He said and laughed boisterously.

Léon found Josiah's remark far less humorous.

"Yeah... you're a real slavedriver, you know that? Would it be too much to ask for a single day off? I'm sure you would also appreciate a day without having to tend to me, no?" The squire asked, a hopeful look on his face.

"And what would you do with a day off, I wonder? Laze about, no doubt. Just like the hymn must sound eternal, so must be our vigil. The fact that you have not already internalized this lesson means that I have been too soft on you!" Josiah said and continued laughing, though Léon was sure he was only half joking.

Graham took great joy in moments such as these. They reminded him of his childhood home of Rivercairn, where almost every day the small logging village gathered to spend time together. He could feel himself sink into the padding of the seating, getting increasingly comfortable.

However, this bliss was suddenly interrupted when they heard screaming coming from outside. The doors to the tavern flew open and in stumbled a man with a wild look in his eyes, panic written on his weathered face.

"H-Hatelings! In the village! They've come from t-"

The sound of shattering glass interrupted the man as a shape came crashing through one of the windows. It tumbled across the tavern floor, a tangle of limbs and sinew, before coming to a stop in front of the bar. The barmaid shrieked as the creature began to straighten its crooked limbs with a revolting symphony of cracks, shakily getting back up. The thing looked vaguely like a man, though it rested on all four of its mangled limbs which looked to bend the wrong way, like that of a digitigrade animal. It took a few shaky steps, crabwalking to and fro a couple of times.

Its head was also anything but human, consisting almost entirely of grotesquely distended jaws lined with freakishly large molars. As it clamped these jaws together with loud clacks, it began to scurry towards the barmaid, who backed up towards the kitchen.

Anne was the first to act, being at the bar. She drew her sword and approached the creature with long, determined strides.

"Seekers! To me!" She proclaimed as she raised her sword overhead, preparing to impale the monster. Graham and the rest of the squad jumped up from their seats, unsheathing their own weapons and rushing to the aid of their commanding officer.

"Josiah! Take Léon with you and secure the entrances. I doubt this thing is the only hateling in the village." Graham instructed Josiah, who took his protégé with him out the front doors.

Meanwhile, Anne brought down her sword, stabbing it cleanly through the torso of the abominable creature. Black blood sprayed onto her and it writhed in pain, those humongous jaws gnashing and snapping furiously. But far from being slain, this injury only seemed to drive the creature into a frenzy. Like a dog it shook its frame, tossing Anne to the side, leaving her sword still stuck to its flesh.

During this altercation, the barmaid had retrieved a cast iron pan from the kitchen and brandished it in a desperate attempt to keep the hateling at bay.

"Help! Keep it a-away from me!" She cried, terrified out of her mind. Graham jumped over a table to place himself in the doorway to the kitchen, between the barmaid and the creature. He kicked a nearby chair towards it in hopes of knocking it off balance. However, the beast simply chomped at the wooden chair, turning it into splinters in one bite of its terrible jaws.

"Gather the staff in the pantry and lock yourselves inside. Do not come out until we sound the all clear. Got it?" He addressed the girl, who nodded and began to usher the kitchen staff and the proprietors into the small room at the back of the kitchen.

Josiah appeared at the front doors once more, his hair disheveled and a large gash running across the surface of his breastplate. Graham was relieved that he didn't seem to be bleeding, which would imply that only the armor had been damaged.

"There are two more hatelings at the square! We've prioritized getting the villagers to safety and will proceed to purge the hatelings once they are out of the way." He wheezed, clearly having exerted himself greatly.

"Go with the Progenitor, Josiah. Suffer no evil!" Graham exclaimed, even as he prepared to fend off the beast.

"Suffer no evil!" Josiah echoed the sentiment and vanished back outside. Anne had gotten back to her feet and pulled a dagger from its scabbard strapped to her thigh.

Graham swung his mace in wide arcs, intent on keeping the creature at arm's length, as he knew that should he allow it to close the distance, those jaws would easily crush his armor. As it lunged at him, he stepped to the side and brought his weapon down on its head. With a satisfying crunch, the heavy head of his mace shattered several of the creature's large teeth and dislocated its lower jaw.

This was a short-lived victory, however, as the hateling loosed a gurgling croak and from within the toothy countenance burst forth a bulbous mass which quickly grew into another head, this one sporting a large milky orb of an eye above a circular mouth that oozed a black secretion. From this disgusting orifice, a spined tentacle protruded that lashed wildly, leaving deep gashes in the wooden floor and walls.

"Keep it busy, Hardcliffe. I'll end it!" Morningale exclaimed as she lunged at the beast. Landing on its back, Anne plunged her dagger into the original head, hoping that whatever vital organs this thing had were still located in there. Her gambit seemed to pay off, as the creature stumbled a few steps side to side before collapsing onto the floor, the second head along with its tentacle falling limp.

Graham stomped on the creature's heads for good measure, crushing their crania with a disqusting squelch. Wasting no time, the Seekers rushed outside to aid Josiah. Upon exiting the inn, they were met with a sorry sight.

Littered about the square were the bodies of several people, the mud beneath them having been colored crimson. A few of the unfortunates had been disemboweled, their innards spilt onto the ground like flesh-colored coils of rope. The body of a man, which Graham recognized as the fletcher he had seen when they arrived, sat against the well, his severed head half-buried in the mud a few feet from him.

Josiah was still fighting one of the creatures, a revolting mass of shuddering feelers and scythe-like claws that reminded Graham of the limbs of the crabs he had collected in his youth due to the way they undulated and lashed out.

"The battle is joined, Seeker Bowstone!" Morningale shouted as she and the others arrived to Josiah's aid. The hateling seemed to notice their arrival as it spun around and hissed, spitting a sizzling, caustic fluid in a far-reaching arc towards the approaching men. The liquid only barely missed Graham, hitting the wall of the inn instead, instantly turning the wood black and eating through it. Josiah took advantage of the brief distraction the arrival of his comrades had provided and sunk his blade into the side of the creature, burying it inside its body up to the hilt.

With a roar of effort, he ripped the sword through its body, cleanly cutting the abominable creature in half, painting the ground in its dark, viscous blood as its halves stumbled and fell. Josiah sheathed his sword and rushed towards the well, the others behind him.

Behind the well, laying on the ground, Léon clutched at his neck in a fruitless attempt to staunch a profusely bleeding wound. Josiah knelt beside the boy, alongside Graham.

"Heavens... Maybe I can still save him..." Josiah said as he reached for a vial on his belt. But Graham grabbed him by the wrist.

"Look at his eyes, Josiah. It's too late." He said, sounding genuinely apologetic. When Josiah peered into Léon's eyes, he saw that they were bloodshot and small black tendrils made their way towards his irises. In the heat of the battle, he had been compromised, the same black ichor that ran in the veins of the hatelings now running in his.

"All we can do for him now is to end his suffering." Graham sighed. Josiah looked at the boy, whose breathing had turned into a gurgling, the blood getting into his lungs. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, he drew the dagger from his belt.

"I'm so sorry, lad. May you find peace from all the evil of this world as you leave it behind." With those words, Josiah sunk the dagger into the chest of the young man he had trained for the better part of a decade, stilling his heart. As stoic as he was, Josiah was not spared the grip of grief taking a hold of his heart and he had to fight back tears.

"Mourning shall have to wait, Bowstone." Anne said. "You said there were two hatelings here, yet we only slew the one you were engaged with."

Just then, a shrill shriek of a woman carried through the air, accompanied by the panicked crying of a child. From a path between two houses, a large hateling with absurdly long legs and a worm-like upper body emerged. In its coils, it had a small girl who was crying for her mother.

The creature lowered itself into a squatting position and before the seekers could react, leapt incredibly far, landing far outside the village. It took another leap and landed into the treeline of the Black Forest in the distance. The distraught mother of the girl arrived to the square, clinging onto Josiah.

"My baby! That thing took my girl! It took my daughter! You have to get her back!" She wailed through tears that streaked down her cheeks.  Anne tore her off of Josiah and pushed her back.

"Keep your hands off of my men, woman. While we share in your sorrow, your daughter is dead. Hysterics will not change that." She snapped at the woman. This did not sit well with Graham, who had to say his piece.

"With all due respect, Sergeant Morningale, you can't know that. Shouldn't we at least try to look for the girl?"

Anne glared at Graham, visibly angered.

"She is in the Black Forest now, and already in the clutches of a hateling. Even a seeker would have a hard time surviving such an ordeal, so what do you think the odds of an unarmed, small child are? The girl is dead, Seeker Hardcliffe, and unless you want to endanger the rest of these people by neglecting our patrol schedule, I suggest you fall in line." 

Graham mulled over Anne's words, lost to his thoughts for a moment. Then, he had an idea.

"Sergeant Morningale, I request for the permission to scout ahead."

Anne's eyes narrowed for a moment, before she sighed.

"You really want to do this? You'll find nothing but shreds, if that." She questioned Graham.

"It doesn't feel right to me not to try." He answered. "If there is even the slightest chance that the girl lives, is it not our duty as seekers to see to it that she is safe?"

There was a long stretch of silence, punctuated only by the sobbing of the girl's mother, as Morningale thought it through. Then, finally, she spoke.

"Very well. Permission granted, Seeker Hardcliffe. You may scout ahead, on the condition that I accompany you. Is this understood?" Anne stated, a hint of resignation in her voice.

"Understood, Sergeant. May we go in glory." Graham replied.

"Verily, Hardcliffe." Anne sighed.

Graham unhitched his horse from the pole and mounted the steed. He directed it towards where his squad was gathered, the men and Anne busy preparing the body of the squire for transferral back to Sanctum.

"Josiah, the people at the inn are still probably in hiding." He said, just now remembering the people in the pantry. "Be sure to tell them it's alright to come out, and pay for our meals."

"Will do, Graham." Josiah said, shouldering his corner of the makeshift wooden coffin the men had constructed for the deceased squire. Anne got up and dusted her hands before turning to Graham.

"The men will deliver our comrade back to Sanctum and lay him to rest. I've sent word to the other fellowships that we are going to be running late and that you and I will be our fellowships only presence in the forest for the next three days. I strongly urge we find what remains of the girl, if we can, and then return here in Harrowbrook to wait for our comrades."

Graham gave Morningale an affirming nod and the seekers began to carry the coffin to the horses.

Graham looked at the treeline in the distance. The black, gnarled trees formed a thick wall that prevented him from seeing anything beyond that initial row. He had been in the forest countless times but even after all these years, just looking at the place sent a jolt of revulsion through his being. Anne noticed this.

"Having second thoughts, Hardcliffe?" She said, a slight smirk forming on her lips.

"Oh, grow up, Anne." Graham retorted, allowing himself to be less formal with his commanding officer now that the rest of the squad was out of earshot. "You don't like the place any more than I do."

Anne leapt onto the saddle of her steed and the two knights took off, following the dirt path leading out of Harrowbrook.

As they rode, only one thing swirled in Graham's troubled mind.

"What do you think happened that allowed the hatelings through? You think the patrol we are supposed to relieve is even alive?" He asked Anne.

The sergeant was silent for a while, deep in thought, before she answered.

"Obviously there's been a gap, and the most likely explanation for that is that one of the squads making up the perimeter has been slain or is otherwise indisposed. What matters now is that we patch up this gap as fast as we can, and it is partly the reason I chose to accompany you on this doomed quest of yours. Two seekers is not a full squad, but it is better than one seeker until the rest of the men can join us." 

The arid steppe of the Mourning Plateau slowly gave way to the grey, dead soil of the Death's Head Orchard as the two seekers neared the outer rim of the Black Forest. Graham's horse ground to a halt and reared, refusing to go any further towards the cursed woods. Anne's steed was similarly spooked and she had some difficulties getting control of the animal. 

Graham dismounted and secured feed bags around the muzzles of the horses, which calmed them down considerably as they began to eat.

"Nothing like food to soothe the mind. Right, sergeant?" Graham said, caressing the head of his horse as it fed.

"Simple beasts have simple needs. I'm not surprised you can relate." Anne remarked and guffawed at her own jab.

Leading their steeds to a tree sheltered by an outcropping, Graham and Anne fastened the reins onto it but left them loose enough that the horses could get free if they really wanted to. After all, tying them on tightly would doom the poor animals to a death at the hands of the denizens of the forest should more of them slip out.

Graham took another look at the forest, which was now looming much closer, the blackened trees looking like countless emaciated hands with the gnarled branches being their crooked fingers. It never got any easier to do so, but the duo approached the treeline regardless.

The thing people first notice upon entry is that the Death's Head Orchard has a distinct smell to it. Nothing like the Gutmire, for sure, but the air is dry and stuffy, like it doesn't move at all. The first few minutes between the dead trees is always spent acclimating to this change in atmosphere, and this time was no different. The skull-like burls in the trees leered down at Graham and Anne as they cautiously made their way deeper into the woods, and they couldn't help but feel like they were being watched, which was not an unusual feeling when one lingered in the Black Forest.

But now that they were here, Anne brought to the front the problem that Graham had ignored up until now.

"So... where now? How will we find this girl?"

Graham frowned, not wanting to admit that he had no idea where the hateling had gone after it had crossed the threshold into the woods.

"Look for any signs of the creature's passing. Something that large must have left some marks in the surroundings. Broken branches, depressions in the soil... anything." He said, trying to sound more confident than he actually was.

Scanning the area, the two stumbled upon the remains of a cobblestone path leading towards the misty depths of the orchard. Graham knew that the outskirts of the forest had once been the location of a city that was now lost to time, and that remnants such as these were scattered all over the place.

"What's that?" Anne said, and pointed at something on the path.

What had caught her eye was a scrap of red cloth that lay on the stones of the path, sticking out like a sore thumb in the muted greys of the surrounding orchard. Graham picked it up and examined it.

"This was part of a larger article of clothing. Shows no signs of wear or having been here for very long... this is from the girl's blouse." He stated.

Anne scoffed.

"You can't possibly know that. For all we know, that scrap has been here for years. You are seeing a lead because you want to see one. Do you even remember if the girl had a red blouse on, or is that also a wishful guess?"

Graham's brow twisted into a scowl and he turned towards Anne.

"Would it kill you to once in your life, just once, hold out hope? We are talking about a little girl, Anne. A child! Taken to this awful place by a literal nightmare. I'm sorry if my reluctance to accept that she has met a grisly end, that I have hope that she might be okay and able to return home to her mother, bothers you!"

 Immediately after he had said this, Graham's expression fell and he remembered that Anne was, after all, his commanding officer.

"Apologies, Sergeant Morningale. That was out of line."

Anne looked at Graham, her face serious. Then, she turned away from him, almost bashfully.

"It was, Seeker Hardcliffe. But... you are also right. Long years of service have made me cynical. There's nothing wrong with your outlook. However, we are wasting time discussing this. What is our next step?"

Graham looked into the thick mist that the path led into, taking a deep breath and placing the cloth scrap under the strap running across his breastplate.

"We have no other leads than this scrap, and it was on this path. We follow it."

Anne nodded, taking point following the cobblestones, Graham following her close. Entering the mist, the two seekers were on high alert, their senses tuned to their extremes. Every sound was to be treated as a potential threat, and every dead tree a hiding place for unspeakable horrors.

Anne stopped suddenly, holding up her arm to quietly signal Graham to do the same. In the distance, partly obscured by the mist, Graham could just barely see the form of a rusted fence and rows of cracked tombstones behind it. They had stumbled upon one of the many ancient graveyards dotting the orchard.

"Why did we stop?" Graham whispered to Anne. Her brow was furrowed as she scanned the hazy scenery. Suddenly, she quietly pointed into the mist.

"There. Do you see it?" She muttered.

Graham squinted as he tried to see what Anne had seen. Then, he saw it. Movement in the mist, barely perceptible, as if something invisible was disturbing the moisture in the air, displacing it as it quietly glid through it. Realization came to Graham.

"Shades." He whispered. "How many, do you think?"

Anne kept her eyes on the graveyard as she began to skulk towards a nearby tree, motioning Graham to follow.

"Two, three at most. If we can, we should avoid confrontation and slip on by."

As they hid behind the tree, they came close enough for Graham to clearly see the phantoms idly haunting the graveyard. Like translucent, dark figures clad in the thinnest of gossamer, the shades aimlessly drifted between the tombstones. Their mournful murmuring was barely audible to their hiding place and the two knights prepared to make their move when Graham suddenly grabbed Anne by the shoulder.

"Wait. What's that?" He muttered and pointed towards the graveyard.

There, where his finger was pointing towards, a dark figure entered the graveyard. It was moving directly towards the shades and when it came into view, the seekers saw that it was someone wearing a dark leather getup and a hood that covered their head. In their hand, they had a walking stick that made loud noises as it struck the cobblestones with each step the figure took.

"It looks like a... man? I can't tell due to the hood." Anne mused. "Whoever it is, they are about to attract the attention of the shades."

What happened next made Graham do a double take. The figure spoke to the ghostly apparitions.

"And a good day to you, lads! How's the haunting today? Chilling, I hope. I'm just passing through, so I'll leave you to it. Cheerio!"

What was even more surprising was that the shades completely ignored the mysterious traveler who simply continued on his merry way. Graham had seen a lot during his years as a seeker, but never something like this. Which is why he couldn't help himself.

"What the f-" He blurted, before he realized he was being much too loud. The damage was done, however, as the ghostly spectres snapped towards the source of the sound and began to wail as they closed in.

"Nice job, Hardcliffe. Very nice!" Anne said sarcastically as she drew her sword and prepared to face the shades head-on. Graham followed suit, brandishing his mace.

The first shade accelerated towards Anne with a chilling shriek, ghostly hands grasping at her. Dodging deftly to the side, Anne performed a flourish as she spun, her sword cleaving through the apparition. The anointed blade excised the spirit and it dissipated into the still air with a heartbreaking howl.

Graham braced himself for the two other shades, which had turned their attention towards him. The first of them simply melted into the mist-covered ground, vanishing from sight, while the other drifted towards the seeker, translucent claws extending from its ethereal mass. The long limbs prevented Graham from engaging the main body of the shade, and he made a split second decision to fling his mace at the revenant.

The heavy mace flew towards and through the shade, causing it to explode in a puff of ethereal energy. Just then, the other shade rose from the graveyard earth behind Graham, howling its sorrowful dirge. Turning on his heel, he managed to only just fall onto his back and barely avoided the grasping hands of the spirit.

Now on his back and unarmed, Graham could only scurry backwards as the shade slid towards him. He knew he would not be able to reach his weapon before the apparition would catch up with him. Just as it seemed that he would be embraced by the shade, the tip of Anne's sword penetrated through the translucent core of the creature and it shrieked as it dissolved into ethereal dust that vanished into the musty air. 

"You're welcome, seeker." Anne huffed, catching her breath as she sheathed her sword. She extended a hand towards Graham and helped him up. "I see you decided to get rid of your weapon. Which part of basic training recommended such a maneuver, again?"

Graham dusted himself off, straightening his cape and picking up his mace.

"Very funny, sergeant. But I am grateful for the save, so thanks for that."

Graham noticed something in his periphery and turned to look at it. It was that black-clad traveler, looking at the two of them while leaning onto his walking stick.

"Awww, you killed my mates, you did! I always knew you seeking types were bad news. You lot can't leave well enough alone, can you?" He said, pointing an accusatory finger at Graham and Anne.

"Identify yourself. No one is allowed into the forest without express permission from the church." Anne stated, attempting to take control of the situation. "Start by removing the hood."

The figure grumbled and took a hold of the black cloth hood around his head.

"Church this, church that... always the same song and dance."

As the figure removed his hood, Anne drew her sword.

"Faltered!" She exclaimed as she laid eyes on the skeletal visage of the traveler. The ivory skull that looked back at the seekers somehow looked like it was expressing... mirth?

"Really? Do I look like one of those things to you? You need to get your eyes checked, ma'am." The skeleton chuckled.

Graham motioned for Anne to hold on, who reluctantly lowered her sword.

"Who... what are you?" Graham asked the traveler.

"WHAT am I?" The skeleton repeated, sounding genuinely insulted. "What kind of question is that? I'm a man just like you!"

Graham was confused. He rubbed his temple as he looked at the skeletal traveler.

"But... you're dead. Nothing but bone." He observed.

This seemed to really rile up the skeleton.

"Oh no, I'm not getting into this again. How many times and to how many people do I have to say it? I'm just a regular man! Flesh, blood and piss, just like you! Though judging by your lack of social graces, I'd say the Progenitor blessed you with a bit more piss than the other two. Good day, sir and madam!"

The peculiar traveler turned to leave, when Anne spoke up.

"Wait! Have you seen any hatelings pass by here? Perhaps with a little girl in tow?"

The skeletal fellow stopped in his tracks and turned his head to look back at the knights, a hint of a smile somehow apparent on his skull.

"In need of guidance, are you? Should have led with that! For you stand in the presence of the finest guide to these grand woods that has ever lived and, if I may be so bold as to suggest, ever will live." The skeleton struck a grandiose pose to underline his words.

"So have you seen something?" Graham asked, getting impatient. The skeleton approached him, tapping him on the forehead with his stick.

"Ah, be not so hasty, my rude friend. There is the matter of my fee, you see." It chuckled.

"The church will reward you handsomely for any assistance you offer to the seekers, you can be sure of that." Anne chimed in.

The skeleton scoffed and turned to face Anne.

"I have no interest in the baubles or pretend money your little congregation has to offer. But, as I am nothing if not magnanimous, I'll tell you what. I'll help you and we can figure out a proper reward for me as we go. How's that sound?"

Expectantly extending a bony hand, the skeleton seemed triumphant when Graham took a hold of it and shook it.

"Deal. What's your name, friend?" Graham asked.

The skeleton chuckled and twirled his stick before leaning onto it.

"Me? You may call me Rattlejaw. Charmed, I'm sure."