Soulstealer: Origins

His lungs screamed in protest, fighting for every ounce of the frosty night air. The call of the huntsman’s horn echoed across the Matra mountains as the baying of the hounds that had followed him all the way from the hamlet of Eger drew ever closer. He placed a hand on a tree and felt the rough bark under his fingers as he bent low to catch his breath. His roughspun cotton shirt and breeches did little to fend off the chill of the night air, and he could see the clouds of his breath swirling before him as he painfully sucked in the frigid cold with each breath.

He had harbored such high hopes of disappearing into the east. To run away from his past… from his very nature. To find solace amid the wider world. No matter the distance, the kingdoms crossed, or the cultures he encountered, people remained the same. The benevolent King Stephen, the man of God, had already seen war in his short time as monarch. Challenged by Koppány, Duke of Somogy, and rightful successor to the Hungarian Empire as the most senior member of the Árpád dynasty. When Grand Prince Géza passed, however, Stephen convoked an assembly at Esztergom where his supporters declared him grand prince.

He wondered if that would be his fate as well. The baying of the hounds once more rang out among the alder trees of the Matra mountains. It was a fool’s arrogance to think he could hide from the goddess Morrigu and her Dark Druid among the holy ranks of Christianity. The pagan goddess desired his legacy, desired his very fate, and in the end, Christianity had no use for a monster like him. They had swept into Eger, on horseback and carriage, flanked by pagan huntsmen with their Cu Sith hounds. The faithful, his last line of defense against his pursuers, hid like sheep among the wolves, leaving the death eater to do as he had for the last decade. He ran, fleeing into the night.