In the last warm days of the year, when the last trees have already put on their golden clothes and the remaining harvest has been harvested, the darkness starts to gather behind the windows of hundreds of abandoned houses, empty shacks and mansions. For the holiday of the Last Harvest, those dark things become almost material. Superstitious inhabitants try not to even look in the direction of abandoned dwellings, fearing the reciprocal attention of otherworldly forces. And in some ways they are right.
Kriemhild, the Wolfen witch, who chose the path of darkness, looked around the room. Dry chairs, crumbling plaster on rotten walls, pumpkins neatly arranged on the windowsills of dusty windows. And those pumpkins were pretty unusual. Each of them was a little soul enslaved by her witchcraft. Each of them has its own story.
The witch snapped her fingers, and the unsightly picture in the room came to life. At once the old candles flashed with witchcraft, filling the room with flickering yellow light and the spider webs glistened with silvery threads. The revived pumpkins circled around the witch’s cauldron filled with some mysterious potion. Kriemhild smiled, showing her big razor-sharp teeth. This was her army… Her family. Old necromancers from the cursed baronies would never understand what power a young soul full of genuine and sincere feelings possessed. She needed to prepare for the arrival of guests. The harvest time was about to come. That was the harvest of lost souls that would join her plan.