A dark malice was encroaching on the land of Coesarde, an evil which could not be vanquished by ordinary means. It padded soundlessly through the night, peering in on mothers and children, terrorizing men and beasts alike. His name was never uttered, this shadow-bane of old. When through a village he would creep, a wave of despair would follow.
This was the horror toward which Hrunto sailed, leaving his wife-woman and country behind to follow God’s call to this distant land. As he traversed the great sea, he felt a weight of dread settle about him. For even this valiant hero was not immune to the soul-devourer.
But as Hrunto stepped upon the Coesardian shore, the monster gathered itself and retreated to the mountains in a fiery streak. Hrunto passed through the village to the mead-hall, where he met with the chieftains to inquire as to the nature of his foe. They chanted to him a verse, passed down from many a year ago.
On one fateful day will come
An evil which ne’er has seen the sun
Come to pillage and destroy
His name is… Mortenoi
At the sound of these words, a righteous anger welled up inside Hrunto, for he could no longer bear the thought of these innocents held in bondage to fear itself. With a great battle cry, he unsheathed his evil-slayer and charged towards the foothills. For a fortnight he searched, in caves, under boulders, but to no avail. As he lowered himself dejectedly to the ground, abandoning all hope, something inside urged him to press on. As he rose, he noticed a narrow fissure in the rock face before him, and knew, inexplicably, that he had cornered his enemy, Mortenoi.
Knowing the tight space would disadvantage him, Hrunto lay down near it, and feigned a deep sleep. But, being weary after such a long and fruitless search, he inadvertently drifted off into true slumber. A light tap on his shoulder woke him several hours later. Hrunto rolled over to find no one there. Rising to his feet, he saw a blackness seeping from the rock-slit. He waited for the form to fully emerge before lunging towards it. A shriek of agony pierced the air as Mortenoi writhed in pain and jerked away from the knife-stick. He soared into the air before plunging towards Hrunto, and knocking him off his feet. Hrunto fell down a rocky incline and was wrenched to a halt when his foot was snagged between two rocks. As he struggled to free himself, the wraith approached with murderous intent. Knowing he had no other recourse, Hrunto called out to God, his Creator, the One who could save him from his peril. Immediately, the rocks shattered and a glowing flame passed through his twisted foot, restoring it to its proper form. Hrunto rolled out of the way as the malicious spirit crashed into the ground where Hrunto had lain only a second before. This brave hero, with his last ounce of strength, plunged his sword to the hilt into the manifestation of darkness, which shriveled with a scream to a black point, before vanishing with a crackle. Hrunto, only just realizing his victory, returned to the mead-benches of Coesarde to inform the people of their freedom. And to this day, no one knows who it was that woke him…