Screams echoed in the pitch black of night in the normally quiet village of Fervan, filling the once peaceful evening with promises of terror. For an eternity the screams continued, followed by the confused yelling of those in the township not consumed by fear. A sickening crunch ended the screams, followed by the faint beating of wings and the scratching of large clawed feet upon a rooftop. For the briefest of moments there was silence in Fervan once more, and then into that silence was issued a lonely cry, birdlike and shrill, filling the night air and resounding through the houses and out over the open fields surrounding Fervan. Slowly, a door creaked open, and a burning torch moved out into the darkness, followed by a man of the town militia, his face a mixture of fear and drunken courage. A hand from behind him pushed him out of the doorway, and the door slammed shut. Trembling with fear, the militiaman surveyed the area, and gradually crept out further, holding his torch aloft and turning around constantly. Suddenly, he stopped and stared at what should have been an empty rooftop. His eyes and mouth opened wide, and the torch dropped from his hand as he groped for his sword. Abruptly the birdlike cry sounded again as the moon began to shine, and a dreadful shape was illuminated on the rooftop. “GRIFFON!” The guard screamed, as the creature launched itself skyward, claws outstretched and glistening in the moonlight. 'story thanks to my good mate tristan'