CHAPTER 2

  EXT. RIVERBANK NEAR DUNMERE – EARLY MORNING

  The mist still clings to the river as the boat brushes up against the muddy shoreline. The forest beyond rises like a wall — dense, quiet, ancient. The trees here are gnarled and twisted, their bark ashen gray, leaves sparse and brittle like old paper.

  Lucius disembarks first, already scanning the tree line. Serena follows with the wrapped relic secured in her satchel. Cassian hops off last, muttering as he adjusts his boots. They move quickly up a narrow deer trail that cuts through the underbrush. Lucius leads — sure footed. The others follow, the weight of the relic and the tension of being hunted starting to settle in.

  EXT. FOREST RIDGE – LATER

  As they ascend, the landscape changes. The greenery gives way to the Ashen Pines — a ghostly grove where every tree seems burnt, though they never were. The air here feels thinner, colder. They pass a crumbled statue, overtaken by moss and roots — a winged figure with a broken sword. Only the name “VARROS” remains etched in the stone. Lucius pauses, rests a hand briefly against it. Cassian breaks the silence.

  CASSIAN

  “Lucius, how does one even find there way out here?”

  LUCIUS (without turning)

  “You don’t.”

  Cassian glances at Serena — that kind of answer is why he finds Lucius both fascinating and insufferable.

  EXT. ENTRANCE TO THE CAVE – NIGHT

  Finally, they reach a ridge. A fallen tree hides a narrow pass between two cliff faces. Lucius pushes aside the brambles and gestures them through. A narrow crevice opens into a hollowed cave nestled beneath twisted stone arches. Strange glyphs are carved faintly into the walls — ancient sigils, long faded. Inside, it’s cold. Shelves carved into the stone hold tattered scrolls, alchemical vials, old tomes, and artifacts, from vanquished demons. A small firepit sits in the centre, still with old coals.

  CASSIAN

  “You live here? I was expecting something, grander, a castle perhaps?

  LUCIUS

  “Must be thinking of someone else...”

  Lucius kneels beside a weathered wooden chest near a stone pedestal, carefully unwrapping the cloth to reveal a dark, rune-etched container — a relic vault designed to mask the presence of the artifacts sealed within. Serena stands at the threshold, her voice quiet.

  SERENA

  “All this… you collected it?”

  LUCIUS (Low, Measured.)

  “I didn’t collect it. I survived it.”

  He sets the container down carefully and opens the lid.

  LUCIUS

  “Serena”

  Lucius holds out his hand, Serena places the crimson relic into his palm with a silent exchange of trust. He takes it and places it inside the container— the air shifts. The relic’s pulsing slows.

  LUCIUS

  “This masks its presence.”

  CASSIAN (muttering)

  “Useful little trinket. You make all these?”

  LUCIUS

  “Some. Others I claimed from corpses. Either way, they work.”

  Cassian realizes everything here is a story. A warning. A burden. They’re only just beginning to understand what Lucius carries.

  SERENA

  “What now?

  Lucius (low, measured):

  "I know a man. Served with him, before all this."

  He gestures vaguely to the cave and the cursed life it represents.

  "Part of the Celestial Order, A good one — rare, these days."

  CASSIAN (turning to him):

  "And you trust him?”

  Lucius (nods):

  “Elias. He trained me, dragged me off a battlefield once — what was left of it. Could’ve left me for dead but didn’t. He’s not just a good man… he’s a master scholar.”

  SERENA

  "Roderic’s men will be looking for us."

  LUCIUS

  "Then we head west, away from Ebonreach. The temple lies in the mountains of Greenhearth. That’s where we will find him."

  CASSIAN (smirking):

  "Wonderful. A welcome change of scenery."

  Lucius pulls a worn white cloak into his satchel, the symbol of the old order he once belonged to barely visible. He strides past them toward the mouth of the cave.

  LUCIUS

  “We will stop at Dunmere, then continue up the mountain path.”

  CASSIAN (immediately on his feet a sudden shift in his tone):

  "Dunmere? Best we don’t stay long. Lovely little place. Made a few... acquaintances there. The kind that likes to sharpen pitchforks and remember names."

  SERENA (folding her arms):

  "Let me guess — another angry husband?"

  CASSIAN (grinning):

  "More like an angry lord. His wife was lonely, and I happened to know a sonnet or two."

  LUCIUS (walking ahead):

  "Let’s keep focused. I’m not dragging your corpse back here."

  CASSIAN:

  "If I die, let it be for love."

  SERENA:

  "It'll be for arrogance."

  SCENE: THE ROAD TO DUNMERE – LATE AFTERNOON

  The sun has nearly dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in deep reds and purples. The dense trees of the Ashen Pines start to thin and green. The group walks in silence, when suddenly, a faint rustling reaches their ears.

  LUCIUS (whispering, alert)

  "Hold."

  Lucius raises a hand, motioning for them to stop. He listens intently, his eyes scanning the shadowy woods ahead.

  LUCIUS (low, steady):

  "Northman raiders. At least three, maybe more."

  CASSIAN (grinning, eyes flicking to Serena):

  "Well, well. Looks like we might be in luck."

  They move forward cautiously, behind a thick line of trees. Through the branches, they spot a small camp by a stream — three horses tethered to a nearby tree, a campfire still smoldering with two raiders idly watching over the area. A third man is seated at the fire, sharpening his blade.

  SERENA (whispering, her grip on her sword tightening):

  "Three of them. Easy pickings."

  LUCIUS (nodding grimly):

  "Keep quiet. We take them fast and get the horses."

  Lucius signals, and they move out in a swift, coordinated silence. Cassian sneaks forward, his footsteps barely a whisper on the forest floor. Serena and Lucius flank the camp, positioning themselves for a quick strike.

  Cassian reaches the nearest, swiftly drawing his dagger and slashing across the man’s throat before he can make a sound. The raider drops to the ground with barely a whisper.

  Serena leaps forward from behind a tree, her blade slashes at the second raider’s chest.

  SERENA

  "Quiet. And clean."

  The second falls, clutching his wound as he gasps for air. Lucius steps into the clearing with a swift, lethal motion, his sword slashing through the third raider’s side before the man even knows he’s there. The camp is eerily quiet now.

  CASSIAN (dusting his hands off, stepping over the bodies):

  "Well, that was easy."

  SERENA (sheathing her blade, glancing at Lucius):

  "Let’s not waste time celebrating. We need those horses."

  LUCIUS (eyeing the horses tied to the tree, then looking back at Cassian):

  "Take the reins. Let's move quickly."

  Cassian smirks and walks over to the horses, expertly untying the first one. He swings himself onto the horse’s back with a practiced ease.

  Cassian (calling out to the others):

  "Shall we? Or would you prefer we leave one of these fine creatures behind?"

  Lucius and Serena approach, each taking a horse. Lucius mounts his quickly, scanning the area one last time to ensure no one else is nearby.

  LUCIUS (coldly, his eyes lingering on the bandit camp):

  "They won’t be needing these anymore.”

  SERENA (mounting her horse with a nod):

  "Agreed. Let’s go."

  The group rides off, taking the stolen horses with them.

  EXT – THE OUTSKIRTS OF DUNMERE – LATE AFTERNOON

  The road bends through thinning trees, giving way to wide fields and the smoke trails of chimneys. Dunmere lies ahead — a quiet town cradled between forest and hill, its stone walls low and moss-covered, like the place itself has learned to keep its head down. Lucius rides at the front, his cloak tugged by the wind, face half-shadowed beneath his hood. Serena follows close behind, eyes sweeping the rooftops. Cassian brings up the rear, already adjusting his scarf to hide more of his face.

  They pass beneath a wooden archway, the old gate left permanently open. A pair of town guards watch them enter — older men in rusted mail who look more bored than suspicious. Still, one of them squints at Cassian as they ride by. The town is modest — a handful of stone cottages with slate roofs, a central square with a dry fountain, and a chapel that looks like it hasn't heard a sermon in years. Market stalls sit abandoned for the evening, and only a few townsfolk remain in the streets.

  SERENA (quietly):

  "Charming little place."

  Cassian is silent, his eyes scanning the town ahead.

  LUCIUS

  "We’ll stay the night. Stock what we need, then keep moving. The path to the Greenhearth lies just beyond the north ridge."

  They dismount near a tired-looking inn at the edge of the square — The Moth & Lantern, its wooden sign creaking in the wind. A stable boy lingers outside, gawking at Serena until Lucius gives him a look that sends him stumbling into motion. As they tie off the horses, a woman steps from the inn’s doorway — heavyset, weathered face, apron streaked with flour and firewood soot.

  INNKEEPER (eyeing them warily):

  "We don’t get many visitors this side of the pines. You bringing trouble with you?"

  LUCIUS (quietly):

  "Just passing through."

  INNKEEPER (grunting):

  "Hope so. Folk around here don’t take kindly to strange swords."

  The woman turns and disappears inside. Lucius tightens the strap on his gauntlet and glances toward the fading hills beyond the town.

  CASSIAN (muttering to Serena):

  "She’s friendlier than I remember."

  INT. DUNMERE – EVENING – THE MOTH & LANTERN INN

  The inn’s hearth crackles as the party steps inside. Warm lamplight flickers over cracked wooden beams. A few tired villagers huddle at tables, nursing mugs of cheap mead. The party finds a quiet corner and sits.

  CASSIAN (sipping mead)

  "Well, this is almost cozy — in a 'hope-it-doesn’t-collapse-on-us' sort of way."

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  SERENA

  "I’ve seen worse. At least the mead’s warm."

  LUCIUS (quietly)

  "Places like this hide secrets."

  A quietness settles between sips of mead, the warmth doing little to chase off the unease hanging in the air.

  CASSIAN (sipping mead)

  "Is it just me, or does everyone here look like they’re waiting for something to catch fire?"

  SERENA

  "They’re scared. You can feel it."

  A grim-faced GUARD steps in from outside, cold air trailing behind him. He speaks with the INNKEEPER in hushed tones — urgency in his posture.

  GUARD CAPTAIN (faintly to innkeeper)

  "...gone again. That’s five now. No blood. No trail. Just gone."

  INNKEEPER (whispering)

  "And nothing from the butcher?"

  GUARD CAPTAIN (whispering)

  "He says he saw nothing. But he always sees nothing."

  The innkeeper slips a folded note into the guard’s hand. No words pass between them. He nods once, tucks it into his coat, and disappears into the night. Lucius approaches the bar.

  LUCIUS

  "Someone’s missing?"

  INNKEEPER (sighs, reluctant)

  "Another girl. Vanished just like the others. Locked doors, no sign of struggle. Just... not there come morning."

  SERENA

  "How many?"

  INNKEEPER

  "Five. Maybe more. Some folk don’t get missed right away."

  LUCIUS

  "You mentioned the butcher."

  INNKEEPER

  "Gorvul. Runs the meat stall at the end of Tallow Lane. Big man, gentle voice. Used to be a sweetheart when he was a boy. But now? There’s something... off about him, meat taste strange too."

  LUCIUS

  "What do you mean by strange?"

  INNKEEPER

  "It’s soft… sweeter than it should be, turns in your gut. My husband says it tastes like grief."

  LUCIUS

  "You ever see where he gets his stock from?"

  INNKEEPER (shakes her head)

  "Never once. No carts. No game hauled in. Just smoke from that chimney and cuts on the counter come morning.

  CASSIAN

  “Well, that’s not ominous at all.”

  Lucius pauses, eyes narrowing slightly. He doesn’t speak—just watches the door like he’s already decided something.

  LUCIUS

  “Be seeing you.”

  Lucius gives a stern look towards Cassian and Serena.

  CASSIAN (leans back, sipping)

  "We really going to chase ghost stories? It’s late, the mead’s warm, and no one’s screaming — yet."

  SERENA (glancing out the window)

  "If what the innkeeper said is true, Gorvul’s hiding something. But breaking into a butcher’s shop in the dead of night… not exactly subtle."

  CASSIAN

  "Maybe he just hunts at night. Creepy, sure — doesn’t make him a monster."

  LUCIUS (firmly)

  "It does if his prey walks on two legs."

  SERENA (quiet, resigned)

  "You really think he’s behind the disappearances?"

  LUCIUS

  "I don’t think. I know that smell. It’s not just blood in the air — it’s rot. And if we wait, there’ll be another missing face come morning."

  CASSIAN (sighs)

  "Fine. But if we find nothing, you’re buying the next round."

  LUCIUS

  "If we find nothing, I’ll be glad to."

  EXT. DUNMERE – NIGHT – TALLOW LANE

  The party visits Gorvul’s butcher stall. Thick smoke curls from a brick chimney. Meat hangs under tarps, red and glistening. Gorvul, a hulking man with bloodstained hands and a too-kind smile, greets them.

  GORVUL

  "Evenin', travellers. Lookin’ for stew cuts? Ribs, maybe? Got fresh marrow if you’re feelin’ lucky."

  LUCIUS

  "Where do you source your meat?"

  GORVUL (chuckles)

  "Hunt my own. Always have. Got traps in the marshes, snares in the wood."

  SERENA

  "Funny. Locals say nothing’s been caught out there in weeks."

  GORVUL (grin falters slightly)

  "Luck’s a strange thing, miss."

  SERENA (folding her arms)

  "Strange enough to keep your hooks full when the hunters return with no game.”

  GORVUL (smiling)

  "Some folk have a gift. Mine’s meat. Always has been."

  CASSIAN (casual, but sharp)

  "And you’ve never had trouble finding it? Not once?"

  GORVUL (shrugs)

  "Trouble comes and goes. Hunger, though… that stays. I just make sure I stay ahead of it."

  A beat of silence. Gorvul wipes his hands on his apron and turns back to his stall, casually slicing a slab of meat with practiced precision. The wet schlick of the blade is the only sound for a moment.

  LUCIUS (quietly, to the others)

  "Let’s go."

  They turn without another word. Gorvul doesn’t watch them leave — just keeps cutting.

  EXT. DUNMERE – TALLOW LANE – MOMENTS LATER

  The party walks a short distance from the butcher’s stall, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows behind them.

  CASSIAN (low, sarcastic)

  "Charming fellow. Definitely the kind of man you’d trust with a carving knife and your grandmother."

  SERENA (quiet, tense)

  "He’s hiding something. You felt it too, didn’t you?"

  LUCIUS

  "His story doesn’t add up. No game in the forest. No deliveries. And yet… fresh meat, every day."

  CASSIAN

  "And we’re just going to take a stroll back in after hours and ask nicely?"

  LUCIUS

  "No. We wait. He closes up late — but once he’s gone, we go in. See what he’s really feeding the town."

  SERENA (nods)

  "I’ll circle the market square. Watch for movement."

  CASSIAN

  “I’ll keep watch on our new friend— if he moves, I’ll follow."

  LUCIUS

  "Meet back here in two hours. Keep low."

  They split off into the night, the shadows of Tallow Lane swallowing their silhouettes.

  INT. GORVUL'S BUTCHER SHOP – NIGHT

  The streets of Dunmere are quiet, cloaked in mist. Inside the butcher’s shop, the faint stench of blood lingers beneath the scent of old wood and smoke. Lucius kneels at the heavy rear door, his tools clicking softly.

  With a snap, the lock yields.

  He slips inside, silent as shadow. The quarters are dim, sparsely furnished—just a narrow bed, a battered desk, and a cold hearth. The air smells faintly of damp stone and old smoke. His eyes sweep the room, trained and patient. On the desk lies a weathered journal, its cracked leather cover curled with age. He picks it up, thumbing through the brittle pages, scanning the ragged handwriting for anything useful.

  Entry IV

  They used to call me Gorvul the Awful.

  The children laughed. Threw bones. Chased me with dogs.

  Father didn’t laugh. He hit. Called me a mistake. A pig. A waste of meat.

  The night it happened… he hit me too hard. I bled.

  Picked up the knife.

  He laughed, until he didn’t.

  Afterward, the voice came.

  Not from outside—from inside.

  Whispers behind my ribs.

  It spoke of hunger.

  Since then, I eat.

  Always eat.

  Raw. Warm. Rotten. Doesn’t matter.

  The hunger never fades.

  But the voice?

  It hums now.

  They say I smile too much. That my eyes are wrong.

  They don’t see what’s inside.

  They don’t hear it.

  He loves me.

  He understands.

  Just as he turns to the last page, a sudden draft gusts through the chamber, stirring the musty air. A cloth draped over the far wall flutters, lifting ever so slightly—revealing the edge of something hidden. He frowns. The journal slips to his side as he steps forward. Behind the cloth, partly concealed, is the outline of a door—heavy, iron-bound, and clearly not meant to be seen. It matches no design in the rest of the room.

  INT. CELLAR TUNNEL – MOMENTS LATER

  Lucius descends. The stone steps echo beneath his boots. The tunnel beyond, walls sweating with damp. At its end: an open space, wider than it should be. Chains hang from beams. Crates of salted flesh. Butchers’ hooks. Body parts—some stripped, some barely touched. Lucius’ eyes narrow. Just as he suspected.

  VOICE (Over shoulder)

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  Lucius whirls around. Standing at the entrance to the cellar is Gorvul, eyes dull, lifeless. His mouth stretches into a grotesque grin.

  GORVUL

  “You’ve been sniffing around, cleric. You smell it, don’t you? The hunger...”

  LUCIUS

  “This ends now.”

  Gorvul charges, a massive butcher’s cleaver swings through the air with brutal force. Lucius ducks the first blow, then pivots, narrowly avoiding the second. Steel flashes—Lucius counters with a slash across Gorvul’s face. The butcher reels back, roaring in pain, clutching his face.

  GORVUL

  “Time to feed the hunger.”

  Gorvul shudders and lets out a guttural growl. He begins to change. Flesh tears. Bones twist. A roar echoes through the stone as he transforms. His frame swells grotesquely, limbs thickening into slabs of muscle and fat. Bones crack and shift beneath sagging skin as he grows, ballooning into a monstrous, bloated shape. From his distended stomach, a second mouth tears open—vast, lipless, ringed with jagged teeth slick with bile. It gapes hungrily, slavering, letting out a wet, gurgling roar that shakes the walls.

  The fight begins.

  Lucius dodges a crushing swing, drawing his blade. The demon is fast for its size. The battle rages, blades clashing against claws and bone. Blood spatters stone.

  Suddenly—

  A crash from above. Serena drops down through the cellar door, bow in hand. Cassian follows, blades flashing.

  CASSIAN

  “Well, it seems we missed the party.”

  SERENA

  “Not too late to join in.”

  Gorvul charges, eyes wild, jaws split too wide for any man.

  THWIP.

  Serena’s first arrow hit his shoulder—barely slowing him. Another struck his thigh, then his side. Blood burst from the wounds, but he doesn't stop. Cassian slides low beneath a sweeping claw, daggers flashing. One sliced deep across Gorvul’s gut—dark blood sprayed. The other buried into his back, a quick twist before he vanished into the shadows.

  Gorvul howls, staggering.

  Lucius comes in hard, flair and force. He slams into the demon with his full weight, blade rising—clang!—parried a claw, then drove his longsword into Gorvul’s chest. Not deep enough. The beast roared in his face, spit and blood spraying. Lucius shoved off, blade dragging free, spinning low and carving a line across the demon’s belly. They flank and Gorvul snarls, backing against the cellar wall. His body flickers—unstable, decaying.

  Lucius drives his blade into the demon’s heart. Gorvul screams—a sound not entirely human.

  The beast collapses, smoke curling from the wounds. The air is thick with the scent of blood, sulfur, and rot. The cellar is silent, save for the sound of ragged breathing. Lucius stands over the corpse, chest heaving. He pulls a small glass vial from his belt. With deliberate care, he kneels and draws it across a seeping wound. Thick, black blood oozes in—coating the glass like oil, swirling with faint red embers. He seals it tight, the vial pulsing faintly in his hand.

  Cassian stands still, weapons lowered, his usual smirk gone. Eyes locked on the corpse jaw slightly slack.

  CASSIAN (quietly, almost to himself)

  “Gods... What was that?”

  A long beat. He glances at Lucius—not with his usual flippant charm, but with something colder. Realising what he just witnessed.

  CASSIAN (voice harder now)

  “I thought I’d seen monsters before. But this...”

  LUCIUS (grim, wiping blood from his blade)

  “It’s getting worse.”

  Lucius looks to the blackened remains.

  LUCIUS

  “They’re not hiding anymore. They’re becoming bolder. More common.”

  His gaze catches a figure slumped against the wall—bloodied, lifeless. Lucius kneels. The guard from the inn. A jagged wound splits the man’s chest, but it’s the expression—frozen in shock, as if he died mid-sentence. Something glints in the blood-soaked fabric of his trousers. Lucius pulls out a folded, torn scrap of parchment. The ink is smudged, but the words are clear enough:

  To the Celestial Order

  We need aid

  Something foul is rooted in Dunmere.

  They vanish—men, women, children—without sound or sign.

  We see shapes that don’t belong to this world…

  We are not alone here.

  If this reaches you… pray we are not too late.

  Lucius stares at the note, jaw tight.

  LUCIUS (grimly):

  “He knew. And he tried to warn them.”

  He rises, eyes dark with resolve.

  LUCIUS

  “We need to find Elias. Let’s rest then keep moving.”

  Cassian nods once.

  INT. THE MOTH & LANTERN INN – NIGHT

  The hearth burns low. The inn is quiet — patrons asleep. The innkeeper barely looks up as the trio passes through, her expression unreadable. Upstairs, the door to their room clicks shut behind them. The night presses in.

  EXT. DUNMERE – THE MOTH & LANTERN – EARLY MORNING

  The sun rises, the morning mist clinging to cobblestone and timber. Light spills through dusty windows. The town is quieter now — the weight of fear loosened, though no one is sure why. The group gathers their things without fanfare. No goodbyes. No thanks. Just silence and the road ahead.

  EXT. DUNMERE – NORTH GATE – CONTINUOUS

  The trio leads their horses from the inn stable, moving with quiet purpose. Lucius tightens his cloak. Serena checks the satchel where the relic lies hidden. They approach the north gate, where two bored guards barely raise their heads. Just as Lucius reaches for the reins—

  WOMAN’S VOICE (Over shoulder)

  “Cassian!”

  They freeze.

  Cassian sighs audibly. Turns, slowly.

  LADY ROWENA stands across the square — windswept hair, eyes blazing beneath her fine cloak.

  LADY ROWENA

  “You said you were going to Dunport! You said—”

  A second voice cuts her off:

  LORD DARIAN (Over shoulder)

  “YOU!”

  From behind her charges Lord Darian — red-faced, furious, still in partial riding gear, a ceremonial blade in hand.

  CASSIAN (grinning)

  "Oh good, I was worried Dunmere had forgotten me."

  CASSIAN (calling out as he mounts)

  "I always did have a talent for slipping into places I shouldn’t.”

  Cassian vaults into the saddle just as Lord Darian reaches for him.

  CASSIAN (calling out)

  “Regards, my lady!”

  They gallop through the gate, laughter trailing behind Cassian as Darian curses and flails in their dust.

  EXT. ROAD BEYOND DUNMERE – MOMENTS LATER

  The town fades behind them. The hills rise ahead.

  SERENA (dryly)

  “Was that necessary?”

  CASSIAN “

  “Not at all. But it was deeply satisfying.”

  Lucius says nothing — slightly amused, a grin emerges. He leads them toward the distant silhouette of the Greenhearth mountains.