It is a time of old gods, of 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, 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, being outlawed. And when Cernunnos himself is slaughtered by Norse gods, the people of Sherewode find themselves all alone.

But not all hope is lost. Sherewode is a dangerous place, an Old forest, full of memories, full of the echoes of gods and spirits. It is the refuge of vagabonds and outlaws, cutthroats and Norsemen, Anglo Saxon outcasts and the old Ænglish. It is a place of malice and mystery, a place of hope and vengeance.

And something is stirring in the depths of Sherewode. The Sælvatici are rising and with them comes up a ragged band of heroes.

For hundreds of years the accounts contained herein have been hidden, buried in a house in Rievaulx, Yorkshire. Now they have finally come to light and, with them, the questions arise. Is Hurnungaz the one we think of as Robin Hood? Were the Sælvatici freedom fighters or terrorists, were they Robin Hood’s men or an entirely different cult or sect? Just how vast was what we now call Sherwood? Was it truly the lair of the old Ænglish, Anglo Saxon outcasts, Pagans, heretics, cutthroats, vagabonds, Norsemen, and wolfs’ heads?

These lost tales paint a vivid picture of times in the Dark Ages—but are the Sælvatici truly gone, or do they still walk amongst us?

From the dark the Hooded may rise—but who—or what—is Caerne?