༺♱༻ T'were a mid-winter's eve in Olde-Towne and the buildings were shrouded in thickets of grey fog that blanketed the quiet countryside. The worn cobblestones were slick with moisture and the cold air hung heavy in the twilight. It was a gloomy place where whale oil lanterns perched on frosted posts burned with a soft, subdued glow. Most of the people inhabiting the small settlement were safe inside, cozied up against warm brick hearths, and knew all too well that venturing outside of their homes was foolhardy on a night such as this. Inside of tinted windows, burning coals illuminated in faint hues of yellow, like the eyes of demons. Thick smoke choked out of dirty chimneys and slowly into the darkening sky. Beyond the protective walls of the village, the perilous forest stood black and unending. Pines, oaks, and sycamores fought for supremacy with twisting branches of hardwoods and evergreens. Below the boughs, the forest floor was dead and rotting. The sun rarely found its way