The temple welcomed everyone. The townspeople at the foot of it’s mountain sing praises to travellers and tourists alike of the wonders within. Stories of peace, stories of power, all given to those with the spirit to claim it. It was everything that every traveller desired and they could not resist it’s allure. Of course, there is a beauty in every web, a gleam to every hook, the prey need only make one mistake.
From the tall ramparts with their crumbling stone, to the grey towers with their crooked peaks, to the chill wind cutting through its echoing halls, to the still moat which encircled it all, the castle ruins presented all the warning signs that it would be better left alone. With an empty potato sack slung over his shoulder, Stefanus marched inside, ignoring all these warnings. Only the precious contents that may be hidden within concerned his desperate mind.
Off the beaten-path is a road winding around a hill, across a plain and through a forest, ending in a small town. A town of old buildings and no history. A town of quiet, sinister madness. A town where people wear masks and become their true selves, free of the pressure that is normally restricting their spirit. It is unfortunate that the true self of many men, if not every man, is evil in the full sense of the word.