The Hellish Hirsute Horror

Part 1: The Demon's Whiskers

Deep in the foreboding Black Pine Forest, an ancient evil dwelled among the twisted, gnarled trees. Old Man Kreznic was the town's oldest resident, having walked the earth for nearly a century. His face was gnarled and creased like the bark on the trees, with only two beady black eyes peering out from the tangled nest of wiry hair that engulfed his entire head. 

Kreznic's beard was the stuff of legends - a matted, filthy mess of gray and black tendrils that dragged along the ground behind him, easily spanning over 10 feet long. The grizzled bushman was a local legend, a source of dark folklore and hushed rumors that few dared to even speak of.

For that mangy bird's nest of facial hair was no ordinary tangle of human strands. It was an accursed, hellish thicket composed of thousands upon thousands of malevolent spirits, wicked demons, and tortured souls - all bound to Kreznic's demonic will.  

The twisted old crone could, with but a thought, animate and control any part of that ethereal bramble patch to do his bidding. By simply plucking out a gnarled tendril, he could give life to those strands and command them to become a slithering, malicious entity. 

The manifestations took on myriad terrifying forms - begrimed serpents that could crush the life out of their victims, amorphous oozing globs that smothered human prey, or ethereal wraith-like spectres with gnashing jaws and ravenous appetites. Death beasts at the old man's beck and call, birthed from his very essence.

Yet the townspeople sorely underestimated old Kreznic's dark powers. For decades the grizzled crone was dismissed as a batty mountain man - his true nature a source of myth and ghost stories told to misbehaving children to scare them into behaving.  

That all changed one fateful summer when three young friends - Zane, Ronin, and Akari - became the targets of Kreznic's maleficent fury.

It was the first day of their summer break from college, and the trio was overjoyed at being free from responsibilities and homework for the next few blissful months. They joyously packed up Zane's beaten-up pickup truck with supplies and camping gear, intent on roughing it in the Black Pine backcountry for a guys' weekend.

As they set off on the winding mountain road, they passed by old Kreznic shuffling along the shoulder in a hunched lurch. His massive tangle of beard hair dragged behind him, kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake.

"Hey, check out that freaky dude!" Zane shouted as he spotted Kreznic in the rearview mirror, causing the others to whip around to look.

"Whoa, what is that thing? Beast Jesus?" Ronin chuckled in amusement.

"More like a Chia Pet that took a steroids bath!" Akari joined in on mocking the leering codger.

The cruel laughter of the three youths drifted back to the seething Kreznic, instantly provoking his wrath. The old man's sunken eyes burned with hellfire fury at their callous ridicule. They would pay dearly for their insolence.

That night, as the trio was gathered around their campfire telling stories and jokes, an unnatural chill swept through their campsite. An ominous fog began creeping out of the tree line, growing thicker with every passing second until it obscured everything more than 10 feet away in a churning gray mist.

"What the...?" Zane shivered, grabbing a log to stoke their dwindling fire.  

Before the friends could react, a massive, writhing tentacle-like tendril burst forth from the fog, lashing straight towards Zane. It coiled around his throat with blinding speed, wrenching him off the ground and sending him crashing into the trees.

Ronin and Akari leapt to their feet, reaching for the camping tools and equipment to use as weapons. Another two sinuous tentacles whipped out of the miasma and struck at them.

That's when the true extent of the trio's unique abilities was first revealed...

Ronin deftly swatted aside one of the grasping tendrils with a glowing orange forcefield that appeared in his hand. With a shout, sizzling plasma coalesced out of thin air and turned the other probing tendril into a smoldering pile of ash.

Meanwhile, Akari focused his mind, causing the very earth itself to rupture and upheave. Towering earthen spikes burst forth from the ground and pierced the first demon tentacle about to crush Zane.

The hideous being let out an unearthly wail of agony as its tendril construct was obliterated. In a whipping blur of motion, the injured demon retracted back into the fog bank from whence it came.

"What...the hell... was that?!" Zane wheezed, finally able to speak after being released from the beast's grasp.

"I think we just pissed off one angry forest spirit," Ronin gulped as he readied himself for another attack. The lingering miasma hung low and heavy like a suffocating funeral shroud upon their camp.

For what seemed like an eternity, the three friends huddled back-to-back in a defensive circle, their strange powers at the ready to combat the resurgent demonic force. Just when they thought the worst was over, the mists parted and the abomination emerged in a new horrific visage.

From the churning haze materialized a gargantuan, featureless humanoid mass easily 10 feet tall. It lumbered towards them, shapeless slimy tendrils sloughing off its body in a grotesque semblance of facial hair gone horribly awry. It let out an ungodly, hollow moan as it sensed the three young men.

"That thing's going down for good this time!" Ronin shouted as he projected twin plasma blasts from his hands, bombarding the titan. Akari's telekinetic power rent the ground asunder, toppling the towering behemoth before it could get close.

The monster flailed in the dirt, wracked by the pulverizing energy blasts and terrakinetic bombardment. But like a horrific melted wax effigy, the abomination soon began reconstituting itself, its ravaged form oozing back together to a singular sludgy mass.

Prepared for a drawn out battle against the resilient demon, the trio readied their next barrage of attacks. But the beast had other plans. Faster than they could react, a torrent of filthy bandril-like tendrils whipped forth from the thing's body and encased all three in their snaring, crushing grip.

The young men struggled against their unyielding bonds, summoning their powers to no avail as the restraining horror-limbs only squeezed tighter in response to their attacks. Their strength was fast waning as they were lifted up, coming face to malformed face with the demon. 

Its singular mouth, an empty void rimmed with jagged fangs, formed into a sadistic grin as it prepared to deliver the final, lethal constriction...

Just then, a thunderous explosion boomed out from the forest behind the creature. The entity whipped around in time to see dozens of white-hot ethereal spears streak through the air. The flaming javelins lanced into its mass, their searing energy weakening its physical form to a splattering ooze.

There stood Kreznic, plucking a fresh handful of whisker-demons from his beard with cold indifference. The old crone merely watched with detached bemusement as the surviving specter remnants were reduced into scorched ruin by the surprise barrage.

As the youths crashed to the ground, freed from the evaporated horror's hold, the ancient hermit turned and regarded them with thinly veiled disgust.

"So...you three whelps have some misbegotten powers, hmm? Consider yourselves lucky I decided to spare you...for now."

And with that brusque warning, Kreznic spun on his heel and vanished back into the foreboding Black Pine Forest just as swiftly as he arrived. The three battered friends were left in stunned silence as they processed what had happened.

They quickly realized they had made an enemy of a force far more ancient and primordial than they ever could have imagined.

Part 2: Kreznic's Revenge

The trio tried to put the harrowing events of that first night out of their minds, intent on still enjoying the rest of their camping trip despite the near-death encounter. After all, Kreznic and his foul beard-demons were gone...for now. 

But in the back of their minds, they knew the vengeful old crone wouldn't let their transgression slide so easily. They were powerful, but so was he in ways they barely understood. Ronin, Zane and Akari treaded carefully through the Black Pine woods, keenly aware that they could be vulnerable to another ambush at any moment.

Sure enough, at the crack of dawn on the third morning, a dense ground fog started creeping through their campsite once more heralding the arrival of fresh new horrors. The three friends wasted no time leaping to their feet, powers at the ready for whatever Kreznic would throw at them next.  

From within the obscuring mists, a series of bestial roars and inhuman shrieks pierced the air. Hideous undulating shapes began emerging - twisted amalgamations composed of tangled beard hair, splintered wood, and sharpened bones. 

They took the forms of grotesque wolf-like creatures, with toothy maws lined with jagged fangs and splintered claws capable of shredding flesh in an instant. There were at least a dozen of the unholy beasts, circling the young men while gnashing their teeth menacingly.

"These things just keep getting uglier," Zane grimaced. "Somebody really needs to buy that old freak a hair trimmer."

The bearded wolf demons needed no further provocation. With a guttural rallying howl, they charged forth at the friends with blinding speed and feral hunger. Ronin swiftly formed a protective energy bubble around them to deflect the first clawing attacks.

Akari concentrated and caused razor sharp stalagmites to erupt from the earth, spearing several of the hairy horrors before they could get too close. Yet for every one that was skewered, two more instantly emerged from the fog to replace it.

The battle raged on until the air itself started to distort and fluctuate. Ronin and Akari could sense that Kreznic had personally entered the fray now, lending his dark energies to overpower them at last.

Zane realized there was no way they could withstand the relentless demonic horde and the old warlock's formidable presence bearing down upon them. He knew they needed to escape the camp and flee deeper into the Black Pine wilderness where Kreznic's reach may not extend as far.

Focusing his own previously untapped strength, Zane gathered his inner energies and unleashed a devastating shockwave that knocked the remaining beasts back. Using that brief window, he grabbed his friends and channeled his power into a speed-enhancing ability that allowed them to race away from the campsite like speeding bullets.

The fog parted as Kreznic's conjured demons gave chase after their prey through the twisting woodland paths. But the farther the trio fled, they could sense the unnatural forces weakening in pursuit. The old mage's dominion over the forest only stretched so far before his foul magic began to wane.

At last, after putting several miles between them and their pursuers, Ronin called for them to stop so they could catch their breath. The oppressive sense of dread had fully lifted, signaling that Kreznic was unable to track them any longer. 

For now, they were safe from the demonic hirsute horror that constantly dogged them...

"Did you see how he sent those things after us?" Ronin panted, still winded from the frenzied chase. "And when we got far enough away, I could feel his power weakening."

"Yeah, he's limited to just the woods surrounding the town," Akari frowned, quickly piecing together the entity's limitations. "He can create his demons anywhere in that space, but can't project them far beyond it."

Zane shook his head in disbelief. "Guys...what the hell are we dealing with? Seriously, that was some twisted stuff straight out of a nightmare!"

"Uh, pretty sure nightmares would be terrified of the horror we just survived," Ronin deadpanned. "But you're right bro, Kreznic's some kind of ancient evil we know nothing about."

"Well we're not going to just tuck tail and run!" Akari boldly stated. "That demented forest freak sent his foul minions to kill us. We need to figure out who - or what - he is, and put an end to his torment for good. No more holding back."

His determined words hung in the air as the other two solemnly concurred. Until now, they had been three ordinary college buddies with extraordinary powers simply trying to enjoy a weekend camping trip. But now, Kreznic's vendetta had made things deeply personal. He awoke abilities within them that had been mostly dormant, only flaring up in rare circumstances before now. But their uncanny talents would need to be fully unleashed and mastered if they hoped to end the demon beard's reign of terror forever.

The time for playing defense was over. They would rest, regroup, and strike back against the eldritch force known as Kreznic with everything they had.

Ronin sighed as a new sense of purpose and determination set in. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm kinda over this being our relaxing summer break..."

To be continued...

Part-3: Unholy Reinforcements

As Ronin, Zane and Akari tried to regroup after their latest skirmish with Kreznic's demonic forces, they realized that taking the fight to the ancient warlock would require more firepower. Even their combined abilities were barely enough to fend off the bearded horrors he could conjure up.  

Fortunately, they weren't the only humans to manifest extraordinary powers in recent years. Strange, inexplicable abilities had been cropping up in a scattered number of individuals across the globe for reasons unknown. The three friends decided to call in some heavyweight allies who could help turn the tide against Kreznic's relentless assault.

First to arrive was Lara - a stoic, raven-haired vixen who could forge and manipulate any form of organic matter into tremendously durable bio-constructs as deadly weapons. Her plant-based arsenal would prove invaluable against the old crone's shaggier minions.

She was swiftly followed by Marcus, a former Marine who could generate and weaponize intense thermal energy. His scorching heat blasts had the power to incinerate even the most formidable threats within seconds.

Rounding out their strike team was Gabrielle, a lithe young woman with the ability to fold the very fabric of space itself to teleport or displace objects and people. Her mastery over interdimensional rifts would provide them an unpredictable edge that Kreznic wouldn't see coming.

Once the full team had assembled, Ronin quickly briefed them on the threat they faced - a malefic, ancient hermit named Kreznic who could animate his seemingly endless beard hair into deadly, spectral horrors at will. 

"This guy's bad news," Ronin warned them all. "His powers are rooted in forces we don't fully understand yet. That possessed hair of his ain't like anything we've ever dealt with before."

Marcus let a low whistle as he pondered the daunting new threat. "So where exactly does this evil Santa Claus keep his naughty list? I say we pay him a visit and crisp that tangled rat's nest right off his face!"

"Slow your roll there, Zippo," Lara cautioned. "From what I've heard, Kreznic's forces are practically limitless within his domain. We're gonna need a plan that doesn't involve us just charging into the heart of that demon forest unarmed."

"In that case, allow me," Gabrielle stated with calm poise as her eyes began glowing with eldritch energy. With a few deft hand gestures, shimmering spatial distortions formed beside her which quickly expanded into massive rifts. Through them could be seen glimpses of sprawling armories and high-tech weapon caches. 

"Even the most formidable warlock will think twice about turning our guns against us," she smirked, ferrying forth stockpile after stockpile of firepower through the spatial breaches.  

With their combined powers and an arsenal that would make a military jealous, the six friends felt they finally had the overwhelming advantage needed to storm Kreznic's twisted realm and purge the corrupted woodlands of his dire influence once and for all.

As they began mobilizing for their bold counter-offensive, Marcus turned to Ronin. "You know, I just gotta ask - how the hell did you guys end up in this century's most messed up beard versus hair battle royale in the first place?"

Ronin rolled his eyes with chagrin recalling their less than triumphant first encounter. "You're not gonna believe this, man..."

(Meanwhile, deep within the bowels of the blighted Black Pine Forest, a very old and very vengeful presence was brooding silently.)

Old Man Kreznic sat in the dead silence of his dank, cavernous lair - an ancient hollowed-out tree trunk sunken halfway into the bog, festooned with rotting roots and shriveled vines. The only sound was the occasional wet plop of moisture dripping from the damp, mossy walls.

Kreznic's pale, skeletal fingers absently stroked the wiry tendrils of his infernal beard sprawled around him. It took immense concentration to project his essence across vast distances. Sending his demons so far into the forest to harry those wretched youths had severely taxed his powers.

But the old warlock knew they wouldn't be able to hide forever. And now he could sense the presence of new interlopers flooding into his cursed woodland dominion. Re-energizing his malign spirit would take time, but soon he would be ready to unleash his pet demons in a ferocious new onslaught to purge them all.

Those three friends would pay dearly for their impudence. And these new upstarts would taste the full fury of his hellish whiskers...

(Kreznic's origins and how he came to bear the mantle of the Demon Beard dated back centuries, a dark and formidable history that would soon be revealed in full...)

To be continued in Part 4: The Demon's Roots

Part 4: The Demon's Roots

The dank confines of Kreznic's boggy lair seemed to stretch back into the primordial ooze from whence all life first crawled. As the ancient warlock marshaled what remained of his energy to birth fresh new horrors to unleash, the walls appeared to throb and churn with viscous, sentient life.  

It was from this very same foetid pool of pre-human sludge that Kreznic himself was first spawned eons ago. Before kings and kingdoms, before even language itself, he had emerged - a shambling, primeval mockery of a man birthed from the festering discharge of the nascent Earth.

Towering nearly eight feet, his womb-born body was little more than a twisted mass of hairless, tumorous flesh and protruding bone. Devoid of human comprehension or intellect, he was among the first vile mockeries to draw breath on the young world. But where his squalid kindred were vacant, drooling husks acting only on base instinct, a flicker of malign intelligence smoldered within Kreznic's sunken skull.

His was an ancient cunning and inquisitive malice - almost fooling the unwitting into believing it to be the spark of self-aware reasoning. A mere century was all it took for the alien creature to study and mimic the fledgling human tribes, even as it pondered how to subjugate and extinguish their upstart species.

When at last its mastery over primitive man's ways was complete, Kreznic embarked on a dark crusade to amass arcane knowledge and power by any means necessary. It slaughtered and consumed shaman after shaman, draining their minds of every last ancient rite and ritual until their spiritual wells ran dry.

With each victims' occult insights metabolized, Kreznic evolved from a lumbering obscenity into a towering, beard-ridden humanoid form barely perceivable by man's limited senses. Its disfigured hulk now possessed the outward guise of a hunched crone armed with all the primordial magic of the uncivilized world.

Over the next thousand years, while man's paltry kingdoms rose and fell into the dust, Kreznic roamed the wild places unfettered and unseen by any human eye. All the while, it only grew stronger on the clashing auras, ley energies and chaotic forces far predating humanity.

It gorged itself on the spirit essences of every great beast unfortunate enough to cross its path, fully metabolizing their primal vigor and life forces. Consuming the heart of a slain Gyrfalcon bestowed upon it the dark gift of sight into places and realms no mortal could perceive. The rended soul of a slain Cave Bear became the burning furnace of rage that fueled its potent curses and hexes.

With each soul devoured and assimilated, the cyclopean witch-thing only mutated further into an unholy, primeval apotheosis of the Earth's most eldritch, untamed spirit. Its tendrils of matted hair - once thin, dry and brittle - transmuted into a living, prehensile mass of manifested life force and spiritual miasma. 

By the final century before recorded human history, Kreznic had become an apex predator of humanity itself. Entire clans of early Neolithic man would go insane or perish from withering illnesses whenever they allowed the demon brute's foul shadow to fall over them. Their wisest shamans counseled shunning and fleeing any land that bore even the slightest taint of its presence.

It was in the dark heart of these lightless primordial ages that Kreznic first encountered the few humans who, like itself, were born harbingers of unnatural abilities and unfathomable power. But even their formidable talents were no match for the eldritch entity's mastery over life itself.

Upon their inevitable defeat, the witchling predator rendered their essence down into demonic ichor to be subsumed by its seething beard strands. Every human spirit Kreznic absorbed only fueled its metamorphosis into a sentient, malign ecosystem unto itself. 

When at last the fell brute felt its power reach an untapped zenith, it psychically manifested a crude lair within the very heart of the eldest forests on the fringes of the primordial world. There it slumbered for hundreds of years more in a deathless, catatonic reverie - dreaming an endless cycle of fanged nightmares as it awaited the inevitable dawn of man's world.

Little did humankind realize just how ancient and profane a remnant of their planet's first spawned evils still persisted out in the wild places. With the modern age now upon them, the unholy monstrosity once known only as Kreznic would finally have mankind quivering in fear of the Demon Beard's unchecked power...

...

Wren was among the eldest mystics left in the mortal realm, a venerable sage whose spiritual longevity had allowed him to bear witness to epoch upon epoch of the world's hidden supernatural history.

He had studied countless prophecies and portents tied to the blighted Black Pine Forest - all of which heralded the nearing ascendancy of a pagan evil so immense and suffocating, entire civilizations once hovered on the bring of ruin whenever it stirred from its fitful slumbers.

The hermitic scholar had encountered the vile entity known as Kreznic and the horror of its malign whiskers century upon century ago, when mankind's own foothold was but tentative and unestablished. Back then he had but feeble powers to combat the demon, armed only with ancestral rituals and weak incantations from a bygone age.

Those paltry talents would no longer suffice. Wren knew that if Kreznic had arisen anew, then its true power stemming back to the primordial world would be a force none could hope to best alone. He alone of all living beings knew the dark rituals and slaughters the fiend had committed to attain its supremacy over the world's primal life essence. 

If even a fraction of the demon's grotesque secrets were to fall into the wrong hands, the carnage could be unimaginable.

Looking up from his dusty tomes of eldritch lore, Wren's wizened gaze settled upon the old oak staff clutched in his gnarled fingers. Ancient runes lay etched along its length - flowing inscriptions that resonated with primal spiritual might.

It was time to seek out worthy wielders of power to defend the mortal realms from Kreznic's return. Wren only prayed his advanced age would give him the strength to guide them to mastering abilities far older than the Earth itself...

To be continued in Part 5: The Kingdom of Yavamar

Part 5: The Kingdom of Yavamar

The sprawling Kingdom of Yavamar was among the eldest and most formidable realms in the known world, tracing its lineage back over two millennia to the first great human empires. Its regal bloodline flowed from a long dynasty of ancestral chieftains turned kings and queens, each more powerful and noble than the last.

At the center of their vast domain lay the impregnable Citadel Argonath - a massive fortified city carved into the side of an immense rocky plateau. Its gleaming spires of granite and basalt towered defiantly over the surrounding forests and valleys, proclaiming the monarchy's strength to any who dared threaten their rule.

The founding house that ruled over all Yavamar was the venerable Tarnvok clan. For generations, their royal bloodline had been blessed with a wide spectrum of extraordinary abilities passed down from parent to child. Mastery over the elements, telekinetic talents, and mystic sorcery were but a few of the supernatural gifts that flowed through their royal veins.

It was these amazing powers that originally allowed their ancient ancestors to unite the scattered tribes into a fledgling kingdom, then steadily expand their reign across the breadth of the realms over thousands of years.

At the head of the current generation sat King Varthaman Tarnvok, an imposing figure with the height and physique of a battle-hardened warrior. His shoulder-length dark hair had started graying at the temples, but his muscled frame still rippled with strength honed over years of combat training.

Varthaman was a formidable practitioner of the family's elemental alchematry talents. With but a few arcane gestures, he could conjure gouts of elemental forces from pure alchemy - streaks of flame, concussive shockwaves, or petrifying stone darts that responded to his merest thoughts. Any who drew steel against the Tarnvok throne soon learned the futility of opposing Yavamar's protectors.

His wife, Queen Aylara, was a vision of elegant and deadly beauty. The lithe, raven-tressed sorceress was a prodigy of mystic magics beyond mortal ken, able to bend reality and manipulate the elemental forces at her whim. Her skills at casting illusions and deceit were unparalleled, ensuring no conspiracy or treachery would ever breach the sanctity of the Tarnvok dynasty so long as her watchful gaze stood vigilant.

Varthaman and Aylara had two sons who would one day inherit the throne - the twins, Dravn and Kalrex. The royal heirs were barely 15 summers old, but already their command over their innate powers far exceeded that of most trained sorcerers and mages. Dravn was a virile, golden-haired youth who could telepathically influence and control any mind, causing immense pain or confusion in those foolish enough to challenge a future ruler.

Meanwhile, his younger twin Kalrex was an emotionless, pensive boy - already a master of scrying the souls and glimpsing the hidden motivations of all around him. His piercing violet stare could lay bare even the most warded psyche. Any shadow of disloyalty or deceit within the Royal Citadel never escaped his unblinking focus for long.

With such prodigious magical gifts safeguarding the kingdom, the people of Yavamar enjoyed a stability and prosperity unlike any their ancestors could have fathomed. Or so they believed...

For unbeknownst to the ruling Tarnvok family, a dire shadow had haunted their very bloodline since antiquity - an umbral curse seeded in the most ancient days of their clan's founding during those first, primordial struggles for power.

It was Kreznic, the malign Demon Beard, who had first imparted to the prehistoric Tarnvok tribe their burgeoning supernatural gifts over two millennia ago. What they believed to be blessings from the gods were merely mystical abilities leeched from the entity's own endless font of primordial forces - albeit a pale dilution of its true potency.

But the ancient evil's "boon" came at a cost. With each generation, a fraction of the descendants' souls became more and more enmeshed within Kreznic's indomitable curse of the Demon Beard. The Tarnvoks were slowly transforming into mere magical constructs whose very essences - past, present and future - were destined to be subsumed by the fiend.

With each passing century since its return from the slumbering darkness, the entity's claim over their bloodline strengthened. It was only a matter of time before their souls belonged to it entirely, and their cherished kingdom would tear itself asunder under its unstoppable thrall.

...

It was under this grave pall that Ronin, Zane and Akari sought an audience with the King and his court. Their arrival at the granite citadel's towering gates threw the vigilant sentries into an outright panic. Three disheveled, unkempt strangers with bizarre powers were not granted easy entry to Argonath's innermost sanctum.

After lengthy interrogation by Aylara's circle of mystical advisors, it was determined that the trio bore no ill intent - only urgent tidings that threatened the safety of the entire realm. They were grudgingly allowed into the gleaming throne chamber to make their frantic pleas.

"Your Majesties," Ronin began, unable to fully conceal the disbelief at their majestic surroundings, "we come bearing a grave warning about an ancient evil that has awakened and threatens your kingdom..."

For the next tense hour, the three friends recounted the horrors they'd witnessed at the gnarled hands of Kreznic and his unnatural whiskers-demons. The king and queen listened in stunned silence as they detailed the nightmare of the deadly follicles brought to malevolent life and the utter devastation they could unleash.

"And this...Kreznic...you claim is merely the prelude?" King Varthaman asked gravelly, his voice tinged with reproach. "What proof have you that this warlock - older and more sinister than any we've dealt with before - has not yet begun his onslaught against my kingdom?"

"Your majesty, I swear on my honor that all we've told you is the honest truth!" Akari pleaded, sweat beading upon his brow under the intimidating gazes of the royal family. "We don't even know where this Kreznic came from or how he gained command over such dark powers. Our only desire is to stop him from wreaking any more havoc against your people!"

The three youths were about to be summarily dismissed before Wren, the ancient white-haired sage, suddenly strode into the hall unannounced. His footsteps were halting and pained from the weight of ages upon him, but his booming voice still rang with clarity.

"King Varthaman Tarnvok, you and your heirs would do well to heed the grave tidings these young men bring," Wren admonished with a steely glint in his eye as he appraised each of them in turn. "For the fiend you dismiss so easily is Kreznic - The Demon Beard. The primordial evil from which your very bloodline first gained its power...and its curse."

A deathly hush fell over all assembled within the throne room as the full gravity of Wren's ominous words caused them to pale. The three questers felt a chill run down their spines, instantly realizing the truth behind the aged soothsayer's dark pronouncement.

"Explain yourself, sage," Aylara commanded, her delicate features turned hard as granite in the face of such provocations against her beloved family.

Wren could only shake his wizened head with a solemn weight few beings still living could comprehend.

"It is a grim chronicle few mortals know...of how the seed of your bloodline's gift was first imparted by a force predating humanity itself. And now, after slumbering for a thousand lifetimes, it has returned to claim its unholy due..."  

To be continued in Part 6...