He walks through a swamp, not very deep, but still uncomfortable. The wind whistles, he pulls his cloak closer. His cloak, it is important, his affiliation is represented by it. He is hungry, but food does not satisfy him. He remembers the past, when he was a normal man; he was from rural nobility and had a regular life.

Previously he was called Falko Rudkowske and belonged to the minor nobility of the Kashubian`s. He didn`t have much and was also foreseeable that he would be impoverished, but something happened to him which changed his life and the life of those he had sworn to protect.

Everything began with his disease, which had spread in his little fiefdom. His doctor couldn`t tell where it came from or how to cure it. Shortly before the incident his alchemist told him that it is an artificial disease and someone had created it. As far as he knew he was the only one to survive it, if you call it that. People got worse by the day and they died one by one. He too died and was buried, however he still lives. Why? Who knows, but he died in his bed and from then on he remembered lying in a …… in his coffin.