It is a time of old gods, new beliefs, and new restrictions on living. Sherewode stretches nearly from coast to coast, from the Humber in the North to Buckingham in the South. From Willenhall in the West to Crowland, East of Ermine Street, with tendrils running all the way to Kernow, Scotland, and Wales. Everywhere, Saxons and the old Ænglish are being crushed under the cruel bootheel of the Normans.

Thousands of years of history is being stolen, plundered, and sold off. Justice and belief are under attack, being rewritten by the Normans. Belief in the Christ of the East is in ascendancy, while everywhere belief in the forest gods such as Cernunnos is failing, being discredited, or being outlawed. And when Cernunnos himself is slaughtered by Norse gods, the people of Sherewode find themselves all alone.

From the dark, the myths will rise.
From the dark, the old gods return.
From the dark, old legends walk the earth.
With iron, steel and fire.
With wood, bone and teeth.

But the people of Sherewode are not alone. Something haunts the darkest places of Sherewode now, something on stag-legs that is human. Something that is of Cernunnos, but not Cernunnos. Something part god;, part Stag, and part human.
And it is not alone. In its name, the one they call Hurnungaz is resisting the Norman invaders. And with him stands Wulfrun of Scarsdale, Wenlock, Brother Bwyd, Hereseige John and many more.

Cernunnos has fallen, but Caerne has risen.

Hurnungaz and the Hooded are striking back–the Sælvatici have risen. And Sherewode will rise.

Legends, myths, and old wives tales are told of the Krampus, creatures of Nordic persuasion who venture out of the deep woods around the time of the midwinter festival. None are more feared than the one called smol, but it was not always so.