It is said that in the waning months of the year, when the days grow short and cold, the Night Witches rise. From the deepest depths of haunted woods and cursed bogs, when the light of the full moon shines once again, they take to the skies on wings of raven feathers. It is said that the moonlight gives them power beyond the imagining of mortals and prompts them to conduct strange rituals and rites in its orange glow.

With this power they poison the will of the wind and provoke it to stir up in great gusts that rattle the leaves of trees and chill the very earth itself. Every living beast and being within these lands can feel it, and fear it in turn. It is said that the coming of the night witches invokes the terror of the trees, and that their leaves hasten to loosen themselves from their earth-bound masters and ride the wind to greener lands of lesser peril.

But it is when the wind dies that the true terror begins.

A shadow will dart across the moon. It is soon followed by another, and then another, and soon the air is filled with an evil laughter, as if the night sky itself has borne a mouth. It is laughter of an ancient race, one shunned by sunlight and all things good. A laugh of madness, malice, and most of all fear.

From the sky they swoop and dive at any man or woman caught outside during the darkness of the night. They attack with slashing claws and wicked spells that spin the mind and muddle the senses. It is said their victims go mad with fear and turn to run into the dark forests of the east, never to be seen or heard of again. They continue their torturous torment throughout the night into the early hours of the morning to when the sky grows gray just before the dawn.

Then, like a morning dew, they vanish with the coming of the sun. Never to be seen again until the coming of the full moon. The small villages and towns of the east may rest easy for a while. They do not understand the Night Witches' disappearance, nor do they seek to. To them, it is the rising of the sun that finally puts to end the cruelty of the night.

But the Witches, a race as old as the dawn of time, are wiser. They fear the darkness as much as any man, for even they do not know what creatures of unholy creation lie within the shadows of winter. And so, like the leaves, they depart along an autumn breeze, to return when the daylight wanes once more.

It is said that the wind will whisper when the night witches come.