The Gwyddien and the Raven Fiend

Something in this quaint little village doesn’t isn’t right, and the Gwyddien, in the guidance of his Gray Lady, has come to discover it.

  • Excerpt

    Ordinary folk could resort to cold iron to repel the dead and fae. Horseshoes hung in doorways were a poor barrier; better a knife, forged at night beneath a new moon, buried under the threshold. Better still to use it properly, as a weapon.

    All tools that were denied to the gwyddien. They were poor methods, anyway. Not nearly fatal enough. Likely to repel a fairy or a wraith only for it to slink away, hide itself in shadow, skulk back, and take its revenge.