As the longest night settles upon the world, the Horned Man steps into the stillness of midwinter,

the ancient Weaver of the Night Sky.

In his hand he carries a blackthorn staff, dark as the void between the stars.

It…

-Translated from a tale spoken only in the old tongue-

Before the first forests rose, before the moon learned her dance, before humankind had breath enough to speak fear into the world, there was the Shaping.

The Old Ones, beings…

-From the Chronicles of Humankind  - 

They say the Horned Man walks the world marked by more than flesh.

Upon his skin lie sigils older than memory,

inked not by mortal hands,

but by the weaving of fate itself.

No…