Interpreter’s Notes: This is a curious passage, not for the contents itself but for it’s origins. It seems a bit too...flowery for the Moiragetes, yet I can’t imagine it coming from a Daimones, even one of the Nine. What’s stranger still is that the speaker refers to the Moira as “young.” There are few creatures we know of that could make a claim like that. --Prelate Jacobi

What is magic but stories we are not yet ready to hear -- voices calling out to us from the shadows of things, from the corners where the Mundane touches the Veil and all is possible.

Magic cares nothing for Order or for Chaos, it's like music or love, seeking only to exist and wanting nothing more than to be truly seen.

Interpreter’s Notes: What we know about the “wolves,” is that they are the foot soldiers of the Moriagetes, their first line of defense here in the Mundane. There are many wolves, and we hear about their exploits fairly regularly. Every now again though, we get an entry like this, where “wolf” sounds more like a title than a category. The stories attached to this title, are almost always horrific. --Prelate Jacobi

There once was demon in a Scarlet Hood, a Nameless One drawn up from the Void.

She was a grasping thing that delighted in death, in consuming light and dark, Chaos and Order -- whatever stood between her and power.

One day she decided to kill a god and earn her Name.

So she traveled to the citadel of a Daimones, one of the Nine of that time, a god of forest and wind whose power had grown frail from age and battle and ancient grudges.

She tore apart this old god's wards, ripped away the trees and earthen spirits that protected her -- then breached the gate of her home, to stand by her bedside.

"What bright eyes you have." The demon intoned, a sick smile marring her rose-petal lips as she realized her mistake.

The Wolf was upon her in an instant.

mate u know i’d beat u anytime