A cold wind blows, a biting sigh from the East,
The candle flames flickering in anticipation of the Beast.
The shoemaker tosses and turns in his sleep,
Unknowing of the week's end feast.
Gaily they laughed, confident they mocked -
Yet every one of them relieved behind their doors locked.
But what feeble protections they give,
As the creature hunted and stalked.
As the nights draw long, and villagers seek repast,
The Chakkar dreams as their prey dreams fast.
For the beast seeks to end its loneliness,
And the dreams, they cannot last.
The dreams begin their alluring pull,
The pounding begins in his skull,
The shoemaker dreads the world awake,
For only the Chakkar makes his heart full.
As the sleepless days drag on,
The shoemaker's rest has gone.
The Chakkar's tale, a week to grow
The monster's feast has begun.
The wintry winds blow, the night's lament.
The victims' time is now spent.
For from the shoemakers dreams, comes the beast,
And within moments, he is rent.
As the Chakkar frollicks and feeds,
It's maw lapping while the body bleeds,
A sound, a scrape, from a room nearby:
The Chakkar must satisfy its needs.
The shoemaker's wife gathers her young,
Urging their silence, the stillness of their tongues,
She sends them into the night, the illusion of safety,
Yet in the darkness, the Chakkar slunk.
— Author unknown, Collected Stories and Fragments
The stories of the origins of the Chakkar are as vague as they are deadly. Scholars and sages have ended friendships and acquaintances arguing whether the creatures are even real. Yet, despite their lofty debates, stories of Chakkar go back hundreds of years and can be found in the folklore of many civilizations. In the far eastern lands of Hoelsbrad, the beast is well-storied - much to the misfortune of all.
Unlike other predators and aberrations, the Chakkar is said to only exist
within their stories. Retelling the story can awaken the monster
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