Charlie sits in the silence. What was once a lovely village, filled with the hustle and bustle of merchants in the square, or with neighbors quick to wave "good morn" has now become a battlefield in the war against the Wolves. All that is left are the corpses of victims, and the ashes of dreams on bloodstained streets. This is where Charlie decides to make his final stand. Charlie was born here, and will die here, under the same stars as his fathers before him. He will scream the names of the innocents lost in this struggle when the Wolves come for him, scream so they hear them plain. One day the bards will sing the "Ballad of Charlie Stubbs", and of how on a hot night in August, in the year of Our Lord 1238, the Wolves came from Wroclaw, and Charlie bagged his limit. To resist the Wolves is to risk all. These are odds he's used to.