Five hundred years ago, in the dead of night, the towns people had been rallied by their local ministers to destroy what they considered to be the devil. This creature was not of this world, but neither was he Satan or even a demon, simply put he was a creature of the night. Unfortunately for this creature, he resembled the heathen and the towns paranoia of the unknown lead them to do unspeakable things.

The creature had fangs on the top row of his teeth, but they were not for anything other than to look at. He had large bat like wings that carried him anywhere he wished to go and could wrap around the normal human body two times. His tale, enough to tie a man to the whipping post with the creature feeling some slight discomfort. The arms bulged with muscle and made their way down to hands that looked more like talons. They could slice a man into pieces with one swipe, but they had never caused any harm to a single living soul. The creature's feet were abnormally large, but looked just like any other man's feet. His thighs rippled with muscles, and they had to so they could hold the extremely large body that sat on top of them. The body was fearsome in and of itself. His face was beautiful, as if it had been carved from stone. His eyes held sorrow and anguish from the pain of rejection and ridicule he faced daily. The jaw of this creature was sculpted to perfection, strong and sharp. His nose long and sitting above a set of full lips and between high cheek bones. The ears were pointed, but were easy to hide with his long black hair that trailed down his back to the top of his tail. He was so large he could take an army of ten thousand men and stand the victor. So, why did he allow the villagers to do what they had done that night?

Fear rolled the lands in those days, the fear of the unknown and anything that was slightly different. The ministers of those days were strict and played on these fears to keep folks in line. When this creature showed up on the outskirts of their village, sitting in the graveyard, the people were quick to run to the churches, seeking protection from the ministers, men of God.

No one took the time to try and understand this creature, to learn his name, or learn that he was nothing but supernatural. He worked for no one, harmed no one unless a time called for it, but it seemed even then he didn't want to present and even harsher image that his physical appearance. 

That night the towns folk, lead by their fearless ministers, stormed the graveyard looking for the creature. Their torches were bright, their pitchforks sharpened, and the ministers whips were coiled on their hips, waiting to be used. The creature sat in a stone slab in the middle of the graveyard, awaiting his fate. He put up no fight what they grabbed and beat him to the ground, or when ministers began ripping his flesh from his bone before they tide him up and drug him back to their churches. In his mind this was a punishment well deserved, though he knew not why.

The rain poured, as if the sky was mourning this creatures impending doom. The water mixed with his blood as it flowed down his back in small rivers and pooled into the mud. The chanting and cries of victory arose from the mob as the ministers, with the help of some young men, tied him to a wooden post that was on top of a platform they built in anticipation for this moment.  The creature kept his head down, allowing his dark hair to cover his face in shame. 

Instead of praying and pleading to God for protection from this creature, or trusting Him to handle the situation for them, the ministers pulled out an old book written in Latin. This book was everything the ministers preached against in their Sunday morning services. The towns folk saw friends and neighbors be punished for much less than what these ministers were about to do.

This book was a book of curses and spells, the work of the Devil, the ministers always said. Tonight however, they were going to use it as the work of God. Before they opened the book, they beat the creature and continued to rip his flesh open anywhere their whips could reach. His chest, arms, back and legs were all nothing but mangled flesh when they finally finished, by some miracle, he was still breathing.

As the creature was bowed forward, only being held up by the strength of the ropes, the ministers quickly opened up the book. The light of the torches caught the name on the cover, 'Accalia'. No one knew what the name meant, but all that matter to them was what the inside of the book could do to the creature of the night. The ministers were filled with excitement and adrenaline, ready to make an example of him and once and for all put themselves on a level that they never should have strived for. 

In a booming voice, the minister holding the book began to speak.

"As punishment for your crimes against God and His people, you will be sentenced to an eternity of anguish. Each morning, as the sun begins to rise, you will turn to stone, a slow painful process that will remind you of what you are and what you have done. Each night, as the sun sets, you will return to your natural form, to be hunted by man and God. You will be bound to the square slab in the center of the cemetery, to watch over the dead, but remember. If you do not return each morning before sunrise, you will turn to dust."

Quickly all three ministers began to chant in the ancient Latin tongue, cursing the poor creature to an eternity of misery and pain, having not enough mercy to give him death. The howls and screams the wretched out of his throat as the curse began to settle and his body began to turn stone, still echo through the streets of what is now known, as Albany, New York.