By the Light of the Moon
an excerpt

~* PROLOGUE *~

Ever since the dawn of man, there have been two distinct factions: the hunters and the gatherers. Typically, the role of hunter befell the manfolk to go out and seek the meat for the tribe while the role of gatherers fell upon the women. They were the ones to find the berries and the fruit, to gather materials to create clothing and other things useful to the tribe.

However, evolution is a strange and mysterious thing. It seeks out the needs of the people to make them stronger, more impervious to harm. It seeks out one strain to make them the stronger species, to protect the others in the tribe.

It is a well guarded secret that there is a third faction of man: the protectors. Those who shifted under the light of the full moon.

At their creation, these folk were revered. It was a blessing to have a shapeshifter with your tribe. During the month, they were the strongest, the ones who formed the first line of defence when clans warred. They were the sworn protectors.

As the years passed, their numbers began to thin. The age of man became smarter, ending the Dark Ages and moving into the Age of Enlightenment. It soon came that the shifters were not blessed, but rather hated. It was inexplicable, the way they changed under the light of the moon. Without an explanation, they became feared. To change in the presence of another human carried an immediate death sentence. Men went to great lengths to hide what they truly were.

The blessing quickly turned to a curse.

The lycanthropic families quickly died out or were stomped out in an attempt to curb the unknown.

One family did survive.

One man.

It was his legacy that lived on.

They faded into obscurity, managing to hide what they were. In time, the world seemed to forget about them. They moved to the wilderness of Brittania and settled there. They once more took on the role of protector, the small village to the southwest fell under their care. The village survived attack with the help of the mysterious family. In their eyes, the family was a sort of demi-god. While the villagers may not have understood who or what the family was, they never caused any harm and that was good enough for them.

Until one man sought the power.

One man sought the secrets of the shape shifters.

One man wanted it for himself.

He would stop at nothing to harness the power of the lycanthrope.

He had already killed once for it.

And was willing to do so once more.