Your blood and bones will pay for your scorn, But first you must bear them your unborn, Your innards and flesh are for the beasts, Only then will the wolves come to feast. It is never wise to insult a witch, especially not The Enchantress herself. A being so powerful that tales were written of her before she reached her teens. The people of Vildaheim are arrogant, full of disdain for the woman who dares to call herself a witch. For the witches were all burned at the stake, and the warlocks all beheaded. A witch walking amongst them now can be nothing more than a desperate woman’s scheming to make more coin, by passing off trinkets as enchanted objects. More than twenty years after chasing the charlatan woman from the market, a much younger stranger arrives. She says her name is Aribelle. Then she claims to be the Queen of Beasts. The crowd around her laughs uproariously. Aribelle cackles too. Too bad for the kingdom of Vildaheim that their mirth drowned out the howl of over a thousand wolves approaching.