There’s a chill in the air, the sort that dances across your skin and claims it as its home without invitation; the sort that leaves you desperate and seeking of warmth. It was that time of year where darkness blanketed itself across the sky earlier and earlier with each passing day, the moon rising higher and higher against that black canvas and illuminating the world below for those brave enough to remain outside — a number that grew fewer and farther between with the steady approach of the Harvest Moon.

The Harvest Moon spelled out danger to each and every Courser that roamed the waking world. It was when the veil between life and death was at its thinnest, after all, and who knew what would happen to those stupid brave enough to remain outside when it was at its peak? Who knew what dangers lurked, both inside and out of the dungeons?

Conrad knew, was one of those dangers himself alongside his brother, Hannibal; wasn’t afraid to lead some poor bastard astray for his own gain, for their own survival in a world where they were predators disguised as prey.

That was neither here nor there, though, was it?There were legends about the Harvest Moon, with the most common theme amongst them being that the Harvester himself may appear before anyone unfortunate enough. Whispers from a friend of a friend of a friend whose cousin's uncle’s grandad had seen him once during the prime of his youth, big and scary, was never quite the same afterwards, you know?

Whispers like that weren’t always true, though. I mean, who knew if that friend of a friend of a friend's cousin's uncle’s grandad was a reliable source of information?

Whispers like that weren’t always true, though. I mean, who knew if that friend of a friend of a friend's cousin's uncle’s grandad was a reliable source of information? The only way to know, to verify that information, was to seek out the Harvester himself, and… 

Well, that’s exactly what Conrad intended to do. What was there to lose, after all?

With a low snort and a flick of his tail, Conrad stepped out from the dense forest and into the clearing that lay just before the dungeon entrance. The Harvest Moon shone brightly in the sky and illuminated the area in a faint, unnatural orange glow, and the natural white of his coat seemed to shift and change beneath it.

He slowed to a stop, sharp eyes roaming the area before focusing on the moon itself.

His voice rumbled in his chest, low and crackling. “Harvester of Souls.”

There is a stillness in the air, a whisper somewhere off to his side —

Or, was it in front of him? Behind him? Inside of him?

“Cour — ser — Cour — ser — silly little thing —”

“Lo-s-t little — s-o-u-l. Taint—ed. Dirty.”

Conrad remained steadfast as the whispers grew louder, sentences garbled and distorted. He wasn’t afraid of whatever spirits lurked just beyond the veil.

“I seek you,” He continued, voice steady. “I wish to learn of you.”

Silence.

In the curve of the moon, something looks back at him.