Climbing the steps I struggle for breath as an unnaturally chill wind howls about the crumbling ruins, and the stench of damp moss rises from the ancient stonework. Then I spy him, the ghost of Lakewatch Tower floating between the trees whose twisted branches seem to reach out for comfort like contorted bones in some terrible silent torment. Beside him are his only companions for so many centuries, the spirits of his wolf-children who died by his own hands.

Garach Wolf-Father stopped before the tower. A luminous cloud-like figure, yet it’s eyes and mouth are as black as the night sky. I watch his lips curl upwards at my wary approach in something akin to a smile. The desolate figure beckons me on.

Cursed to know only eternal anger, loathing, and hatred; this is one ghost that cannot be saved.

S.K