BEWARE, THE CARRION JACKALS

[Unwillingly 18125]

Sunlight shafts through the honeyed leaves of an autumn tree. 

 

It shines upon the top of a youth’s head, his hands curled white-knuckled around the soft leather of a dulled training sword. Hair clings to his jaw and brow by way of a thin veneer of sweat, making for a subtle but lingering distractant from his opponent. 

 

Standing across from him, a boy not so much younger, who tauntingly grins with the zeal typical of most teenagers who believe they could take on the world as long as they have a sword in their hand. 

 

“Tired yet, Galahad? I think your legs are trembling!” goads Rumil, words punctured by a bout of laughter.

 

“They are not.”

 

Galahad readies his sword, a shoddy training gladius that’s seen better days, and points it outward towards Rumil, waiting for the slightest fault in his step or lapse in judgment. 

 

And when he attacked, what his blade struck was not the familiar flesh of his brother, 

 

But the accursed flesh of a devil, grinning his way with vice between every incisor.

 

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An artist’s depiction of one of the Jackals
 

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Issued by the Ivory Crown of Cauróst

12th of Malin’ss Welcome, 205 S.A.

 

Deep into night, citizens of Cauróst may be roused from slumber by the faint clamor of blades and commotion in the square. Not long after, the following missive is publicized.

 

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To the People of Caurost,

 

Beware, for wickedness has touched our lands. In the deepest hours of the night, a duo of unidentified warlocks lay waste upon the High Prince and a Kha’rajyr as they spoke in the square. By way of their powerful incantations, they not only launched their flame, but summoned creatures of undeath as well in an attempt to slay those present. 

 

As the High Prince and Kha’rajyr defended themselves against the creatures, help arrived: councilor Veluc and a known mage by the name of Natalie. The two came to the aid of those under attack, and after a prolonged battle, the warlocks eventually spent themselves before fleeing with blood in their wake.

 

One of  the warlocks, a woman of lavender skin, long ebony hair, and a pair of twisted horns, was last seen in maroon and burgundy attire. She was particularly chatty, electing to goad those she faced in direct combat, while resorting to mundane means of attacks where suitable, such as potions and daggers. Before they fled, the woman suffered open gashes on her arms and leg. She is resourceful, deceptive, and sly. 

 

Her accomplice, on the other hand, was seen in only dark garb and remained rather quiet. His face was seen little. Few words were spoken from him, but he fought as viciously as his counterpart did, resorting to careful positioning and tactics between himself and our forces. He is attentive, fierce, and collected. 

 

Use any and all of the above information to aid in uncovering and eliminating these foes. Those with knowledge pertaining to black magic or the occult, particularly in the form of Warlocks, are advised to contact the crown of Cauróst.

 

Signed,

The Ivory Crown of Cauróst

Galahad Ílumrin

[Demonica 678]

The Witch sat on her bed, kicking her feet and smiling as she studied the poster held between her fingers.
They’d drawn her as she’d hoped they would: fierce eyes, wild hair. But they’d missed the fire—she dipped her quill in ink, adding a wickedly curved tail and a spiraled mustache to her portrait.

 

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