The shadows had long finished their work before the sun rose. When the town began to wake, chimneys slowly beginning to release streams of smoke, the sounds of voices rising through windows, the shadows were long gone. None of the people of the small village knew what it was they would soon face. If they had, they would likely have fled in terror.<br/><br/>Soldiers began their normal routines of practice, drills, and duty. Mothers ushered their children to school. Fathers left their homes bound for their respective places of work. The Lord of the Keep, the  man who was overseer to all that went on in this town, slept late this morning, much to the surprise of his assistant. This had never happened.<br/><br/>The Lord's man servant, hesitant and fearful that he would be punished for doing so, finally crept into his master's chambers when he could get no answer through the door. His shout was heard all through the keep. He rushed to his master's side. The Master, Lord Farwulf, lay in his bed, pale as death, unwaking, and covered in blood.<br/><br/>And still the Archer slept, his body gone cold, his pulse indetectable, his dreams a plague of terror.