The LATE 1600s

Bloody footprints descended behind Alatar as he ran as fast as he could down the dark, enchanted forests of Zhoutis. The blares of alarms rang in his ears as he tried not to cry thinking about what happened a few hours ago. He could still hear the screams of thousands of men, women, and children of his village as sorrows washed over him sweeping him into a dark abyss.

He, moreover, knew it was by the grace of God that he was still alive though his left leg was badly injured. But injured leg wasn't his fear. The angry werewolves chasing him down were his biggest fear....