A field agent reports what he has learned back to his dread king.
Windmill Asunder, a Whistling Fiend, and Familiar Faces
“…the Howling Mother arrived with her pack. They tore into the demons as they made to close around the Black Duke who was still clinging to the side of the structure, howling into the windmill. I could see the dreaded chamberlain waiting, watching, in the tree line. No, my king, he did not see me. My training…”
“…the Whistler arrived. My king, I remained hidden in a nearby tree and watched that whistling horror pierce the Black Duke with a scorpion’s barb and proceed to beat him against the mill as an otter would a light stone! The Orphans fled out the back window, killing Morgantha soon after…”
“…appears that the Howling Mother has taken one of the Orphans into her pack. Mosomar, I’m sure his name was. Funny, isn’t it? That the dancing bard stormed north hellbent on killing werewolves only to join their ranks? I wonder what it was she promised to make him cast aside his vengeance…”
“…Ever loyal, ever yours to command, ever the Ebon Fold,