Prologue

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The Song Of The Wolf, written by Pien Pouwels.

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© Pien Pouwels

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Thousands of years ago, there lay a land in ancient Greece called Arcadia. During a time that gods stepped down from mount Olympus to indulge in human delights, King Lycaon had his reign.

Lycaon was a man of impeccable intellect who introduced a high level of culture and civilisation to his land. He ordered the erection of temples and forced his beliefs upon the commoners, obliging them to worship Zeus as the supreme deity.

He was a King of greedy essence and knew no limits to his quest for authority; his assertion of dominance. Proof of this were the many women with whom he'd sired twelve sons. The young royals were widely regarded as wicked, and the common folk didn't dare to play ducks and drakes with them. Mortals were easily seduced by the charms of wealth and luxury. Which became apparent among the gods when Lycaon and his sons began to neglect the care of their people.

Zeus himself decided to put Lycaon to the test. Dressed in the rags of a poor peasant, he travelled down from Olympus and knocked on the palace doors, begging for food and shelter. Lycaon figured out his visitor's true identity and welcomed him, accommodating him generously. Blinded by his own arrogance, the King committed a dire crime. In cahoots with his eleven other sons, Lycaon served the youngest of the brood as a roasted dish, to give the god proof of his faith and the sacrifices he was willing to make.

Realising what had been placed on the table, Zeus raged against his host, filled with wrath at the death of an innocent baby. The supreme god was known far and wide as merciless, but never without reason. He cursed King Lycaon and the rest of his sons to take on the forms of giant wolves. He resurrected the youngest son –now as a grown man– and named him the new King of Arcadia.

Not having foreseen the outcome of his actions, the almighty god had made a dreadful mistake. By going against the laws of nature, the youngster's soul had become misformed, more sinister than his predecessor's had ever been. The new King sentenced his father and eleven brothers to death, planning to give them a taste of their own medicine by offering their flesh to the gods. Hell-bent on hunting the wolves down, he sent assassins after them.

The creatures proved too fast, their size and enhanced senses no fair opponent to meek humans. With luck on their side, they escaped Arcadia, each of them fleeing to a distinct part of the world to keep their whereabouts a secret.

Time passed without a sign of the Lycanthropes, as they were now referred to. Due to the lack of sightings, their existence morphed into myths and left whispers on the tongues of many.

In the year 132, a nude, unconscious stranger was found on the island of Hibernia.

The creature appeared human but looked different from the Hibernians, the Celts that had discovered him. The crucial difference being his eyes, which were glowing like brilliant, topaz gemstones even in daylight. His skin was rock hard, making it impervious to sharp objects. He had two, almost fang-like incisors, and seemed deaf to the concept of human language. The only manifestations of communication that escaped his mouth were animalistic growls.

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