The Land Lord was thirsty for blood since the day he was born. That’s why he keeps a horn. He drinks it from by his side at all times. Nobody can keep count of how many creatures entered his stomach. There is nothing left of them, and nothing can confirm their existence. They have forgotten the exact second the first sip touched the Land Lord’s roof of the mouth.
He fares at night when the moon touches his pale skin. No one has even dared to try to enter his castle in daylight when he sleeps. Even the slightest possibility of failure to succeed in destroying him keeps everyone away. He feels no pain, sadness, or sympathy. Once you attempt to go against him, the chance of survival is so slim that it is practically suicide.
No one knows precisely how long the Land Lord has been in the Wet Deserts. Even the oldest generation has no idea how old he is and when he first sat on the throne. Maybe that is why he knows every inch of Wet Deserts, and there is no place where you could hide from him. If you stand in his way, there is no point in running - his sharp teeth will touch your skin.
