We Burn Our Dead

It was not the rain that troubled them now; it was the nightmare—the lurking, hulking thing that slumbered in the forest depths, that woke to the sound of their heartbeats, that rose on staggering feet, stretching and shaking off the dust of long years.

Sturmund lives only to fight, always searching for that worthy foe to grant him a good death—always disappointed.

Those few remaining mercenaries who still follow their mad Captain wield their blades merely to survive another day, content with a slosh of ale and spit of meat. Blood-stained gold doesn't trouble them much when a little water clears them of the deed.

Each has chosen this life of violence, and each bears its heavy price without complaint.

From royal halls to whore-filled taverns, storm-tossed seas and bandit-infested swamplands, haunted ruins and desolate outposts, broken homes and broken lives—the paths of the warriors stretch back many hard years, down life’s dark and winding trails. The journey, however, has taken them all to the same bitter destination—to the house of the beast.

Making camp on a desolate hillside, two of their number venture into a nearby forest to hunt, and unknowingly awaken a dreadful power from its ancient slumber. Setting out to rescue their missing companions, the line quickly blurs between hunter and hunted.

Countless men may have fallen to their blades but Sturmund and his warriors might just have met their match in the beast, for this foe will challenge not only their skill at arms but their very will to survive.

And in the face of nightmare, can such brutal men set aside petty differences, overcome the scars and traumas of their past lives, and unite to face the beast without—and the one lurking within each of their hearts?