On a distant plane called Innistrad

Amidst the turmoil and the strife

There was born a young man Tibalt

And cursed name brings cursed life

In the drownyards of Nephalia

He tried to learn himself a trade

But his mentor found him lacking

Dismissing every corpse he made



Oh Tibalt my boy, my dear friend

Do not listen to what they say

You can find your way in this world

If you’ll just come with me and stay



Rejected by the skaberans

All alone and isolated

He turned his skill to different aims

To hurt the world that he so hated

He started small, testing limits

And no one noticed the rats go

But his studies called for more flesh

And his victims began to grow



Oh Tibalt my boy, my dear friend

Do you realise what you’re doing?

It’s not just vermin anymore

I can see the darkness brewing



Soon even dogs were not enough

His thirst continued to swell

And his torture of the living

Brought creatures who in darkness dwell

Their language was not like his own

But it spoke to him nonetheless

Their chittering give him insights

Into the human body’s stress



Oh Tibalt my boy, my dear friend

You change more and more every day

Everyone’s noticed the difference

And you should hear what people say



Such works cannot go unnoticed

And inquisitors came to call

The door shattered as they entered

And they found him blood drenched, in thrall

But as the devils fled that place

Tibalt cast a spell most fiendish

He felt the pain that he had caused

And the cathars saw him vanish





Oh Tibalt my boy, my dear friend

Can you see what that spell has done?

Your blood is now a devils blood

And devils yearn to see blood run.

The explosion echoed through the graveyard, shards of granite fell like rain. In the dark night, Lew could see the man sized hole in the side of the mausoleum. His partner was already running up to the monument brandishing a crowbar.

Lew grabbed his tools, and rushed for the hole as well. They hadn’t much time. In the distance, dogs barked at the shock of the explosion, and the cold midnight air would only slow people’s investigation of the noise for so long.

Lew stepped into the tomb, and slipped a crowbar under the casket cover. Together, him and his partner pushed the cover from the tomb. Within, a simpler wooden coffin rested, much more fitting for a holy man. Lew took out a hatchet and cut the ropes that bound the box. Lifting the coffin’s lid, they found their prize. The body of Nicolai, the priest of the city of Erdwal.

Lew’s partner started the delicate task of removing the head while Lew stepped out for a moment. The city had come alive with lights and noise. Off near the graveyard gate, he heard a bird call. The signal from his other co-conspirator to wrap up the robbery. Lew could see why. Spilling out of the city and onto the road that led to the cemetery were dozens of people. Each held a torch high. The lookout gave another call.

Lew went back inside just as his partner finished the deed, stuffing the priest’s head into a black bag. “We’re done here,” he said, slinging the bag over his shoulder.

The three conspirators met up on the other side of the cemetery and slipped out into the forest.

~ ~ ~

The three thieves caught their breathes a little ways into the forest. Dimka, Lew’s male partner, still gripped the black bag with a vice. Lew had picked him because of his strength and intelligence. Dimka hailed from a rich trading family in Nephlia, yet he choose to live the life of a thief.

“We have to start moving,” Fanya said “It will be many days of travel before we reach Kessig.” Fanya was a guide and a survivalist. Her expertise was indispensable on the journey. Her keens eyes also made her the best lookout.

“You’re right,” Lew said, “we’ll hike through the night, and make camp in the morning.”

~ ~ ~

Lew didn’t fancy himself a grave robber. Most of his marks were still living socialites, and on occasion a vampire or two. But money is money, and the money was good.

They traveled for many days, until they reached the borderland of Kessig. That’s where the danger began. Stopping at a kill site, Fanya examined a dead deer. “Werewolves,” she concluded “Five or six, a pack”. The beasts were prevalent in Kessig, forming hunting packs that rip and tear through the forest. “We should put distance between us and this deer,” she concluded.

Fanya kept a watchful eye as the trio progressed through the deep forest. Every snapped twig or bird call set them on edge. Fanya carried a cross bow, but such a device would do little to stop a rampaging werewolf. For his part, Dimka held onto the head like it was solid silver.

When the three had reached a river bend, with dusk fast approaching they decided to make camp. Fanya drew from her pack a thin chain. Every tenth link was blessed silver. Enough to discourage a werewolf she hoped. She placed the chain around her bedding.

It started with a growl. Faint at first, at the edge of the clearing. Fanya was the first to wake. Then shuffling around the outskirts, staying out of the firelight. Dimka and Lew woke. Dimka was the first to act, grabbing his blade, he slashed at the darkness.

It was just the opening needed, and a second werewolf leapt from the shadows and clawed into Dimka’s back. Lew reacted instantly, swinging his saber at the werewolf’s exposed flank. Fanya, had loaded her cross bow and took aim at the shadows. Her keen eyes caught a glimpse of fur and lodged an arrow into the first werewolf. “A hunting pair,” she said loading another bolt.

Dimka was feeling light headed as he fought back his werewolf attacker. Blood was pouring from his back. He threw the head down, and ran the werewolf through with his blade. The werewolf, swept up in blood lust, did nothing to avoid the blade, and instead sunk it’s fangs into Dimka’s neck. The two fell where they stood. Dead.

Fanya locked her target onto the other wolf still prowling at a distance. Not as bold as the other, it skirted the camp site. She followed its movement around the camp and when it hesitated, she fired. The shot imbedded itself just above its heart. The beast’s apprehension broke, and it charged at Fanya, tackling her to the ground, and clawing. Lew ran his sword through the thing, ending its miserable life. Lew helped Fanya to her feet. The woman was shaken to her core, bloodied with claw marks, clothing in tatters, but alive.

Lew looked at the werewolves. In death, freed from their curse. They were men, nothing remarkable about them at all.

~ ~ ~

Neither Lew nor Fanya knew whether Dimka belonged to the Avacyn Church, but decided a decent burial was called for. They found a natural depression in the forest floor and placed Dimka and the two men there. After a pray, loose soil was thrown over the three. And a wooden stake hammered in the mark the site.

It was another day before they arrived at Travis’s house. The hermetic alchemist lived in a simple hovel. One that belied his vast wealth. The man was once the most powerful alchemist in Erdwal now spent his time in solitude.

“You have done well,” he said examining the head, “He is just as I remember him.”

Lew and Fanya sat uncomfortably in Travis’s workshop. “As promised, twenty pounds of silver split two ways.” He handed them a sack each.

“What are you going to do with the head?” Fanya asked. “Build a skabb with it?”

“Oh no,” Travis chuckled, “I never want to see this face again.” He placed the head in a jar of embalming fluid. “Nicolai was the one who drove me from Erdwal, forced me into this god forsake place.”

He opened a cupboard, and placed the jar on the shelf, “But I take great joy in known that as long as his head is with me, he’ll never enjoy the blessed sleep.” He closed the cupboard door.

“Now neither of us will get what we want. “