Ian - The sun was falling beneath the bloodstained horizon. I watched silently thinking about what had happened. It was all so quick. It has been many months since my family was taken, and I am still no closer to getting them back then when we started. I laid back and stared intently at the sky, and soon drifted to sleep...

I awoke no more than an hour later, cursing myself for being so careless. I have been following a man for 5 days towards the camp of a man known as Francis Brummette. He had sent out invitations to many established warriors throughout the world. He was going to raise an army against the Underworld. I had not received an invitation, but I had to go. A few months ago, those I love had been taken by the Underworld's Army. Alexia, and my 3 younger siblings. I had to get them back. So, traveling to where I heard it might be, I found a man boasting about being "the greatest warrior of them all!" and I followed him towards the camp. It's been five days since then, and the camp is in sight. I decided to wait awhile until the man was inside before going down.

It was dark, I had fallen asleep again. Gah! I strapped on my sword and quiver and made for the camp. I walked towards it, the moonlight almost fully blinding me, but I kept my eyes fixed on the torches burning throughout the camp. I quickened my pace, anxious to get there. I arrived at the entrance where 6 men with steel armor and spears stood guardian. "Show me your invitation please" said the man who looked to be the leader; he had his armor engraved and carried a long sword instead of a spear. "I do not have one, but please let me speak with Francis." I said calmly. "Go home boy. You're too young for war." he told me. I grabbed him by his armor as the guards closed in around me. "I have no home to go back to. My home has been destroyed and the people I love killed or taken prisoner. Now let me in, or I'll kill each one of you to get in myself!" I could feel my body heating up. No, not now. Please not now. "Uh...uh...you....you can go in" the guard said. "My thanks." I replied with a smile.

"Blast it!" A man screamed in a thick Irish accent. He tossed a bunch of papers off a table with three of his closest councilors at his sides. "What do ya mean most of our invitations didn't get out!?" His face began to turn bright red with anger.

"Our enemy closed off and killed most of the messengers Francis," Another man spoke, "we haven't heard from them in the longest time and only a few warriors are here."

"Which few?" The large man asked, anxious to hear the list.

"We have Danguroo from the West tribes, Westwald from the Castle of Rensong and the war hero Fero." Another councilor read from a paper.

Francis stood in silence and began to rub his head, "Nothing from Yuni?"

"Nothing sir," the first spoke, "Nothing at all..."

Francis' rampage subsided and was filled with worry and concern. He looked down at a large map of the land and ran his fingers over it. "We have vampires attacking from the north, wares at the east, demonic bloodsuckers to the west and south east as well as Ogres coming from the northwest and we only have three of our original heroes?" He looked up at the three men who avoided eye contact. "Grand... just fucking peachy..." he whispered and looked back down at the map, running his fingers over the new battle plans he was hatching in his head.

"Sir!" A guard ran in, panting, "a man demands to speak to you!"

"Tell him I'm busy!" Francis screamed back.

"But sir, he's desperate to join..." the guard tried to argue.

"We don't need fool hearted warriors! We need heroes!" He picked up a glass and threw it at the guard, shattering it near his head.

"But sir! He... he lost his family..." the guard spoke, now halfway out of the tent in case he threw something else.

Francis looked down at the map and was panting lightly, feeling the stress start to build up. His large shoulders went up and down with each large breath, thinking hard. He didn't need someone messing up all of his plans, but he didn't have too many options... and his family was gone now... he knew exactly how that felt. Everything was weighing in his head.

"Sir...?" The guard spoke up, "What say yo-.."

"Bring him in..." Francis said, glancing over at the guard and turning back around to look at he map once more.

*Refugee Camp* Ian was escorted through the camp. It looked much bigger from the outside...but that's probably intended. In fact, the camp was almost empty. Most of the tents had supplies in them, not men. Some fires only had one person, and some none at all. "This way, please keep up." ordered the head guard.He quickened his pace a little. For the amount of people in the camp, it was enormous. Ian looked around at all the men in the camp. Most were seasoned warriors, some he even recognized from stories. Though the men were few, they were tough. They were truly Heroes. Sweat was running down Ian's face, dampening his hair. It was extremely hot, which was odd for this time of year. Ian continued walking with the guard. "It's right up here," he said pointing to a large tent with a flag. As we reached the tent, Ian heard a man with an Irish accent. "We don't need fool hearted warriors! We need heroes!" he heard the man yell, then the smash of of a glass. Ian backed away, not wanting to hear anymore of the conversation. A minute or so later, the guard came out. "You may go in" he told him. Ian walked into the tent, feeling a blast of heat from the fire and almost coughing on the cloud of smoke flowing freely throughout the tiny abode. "Hello my Lord" Ian said humbly, dropping to one knee. "My name is Ian. I am a warrior from the North. 2 months ago, an army of Vampiric soldiers took my brothers, sisters, and the one I love. This, all after they burned my village to the ground." Ian said with his head toward the ground. He knew when to be humble. "I come to you asking a favor my Lord. I have heard your name since I was a boy. You are a Hero among Heroes. Let me fight by your side. I beg of you. I must have my revenge. I must get my family back. Please. Let me fight." Ian said with a salty tear in my eye.

Francis heard the voice and stood up from crouching over the table where the map was. He slowly turned around and saw the man kneeling before him. "You?" He asked in disbelief, "you want to fight? You're not even old enough to smith weaponry and you want to fight against the supernatural beings of the night? You lad? You?" He couldn't believe what he was seeing. The man looked so young, too young to be in wars, but then again, everyone was fighting for their freedom and will to live. This man even had a good reason to fight... and Francis knew this.

The large man sighed and shook his head, "Rise me boy-o, rise..." he didn't like accepting a man like him into the ranks, but didn't want to jump to conclusions. "Can you hold a sword?"

"Yes sir. I can use a sword and bow with the best of them. My father and grandfather taught me to do both, as well as survive in the wilderness." Ian told the huge Irish man, who had to be Francis Brummette. Ian took his bow out and within a second drew, fired, and hit a horse fly that had been buzzing around. The men started with mouths gaping. "Ah, missed the wing. I'm better with my sword." Ian said walking over and removing his arrow from the horse fly, wiping it with his gloves and putting it back into the quiver. "I thank you for letting me into your ranks. I shall not disappoint you." Ian told Francis. "What will you have me do now my Lord?" Ian asked with a grin on his face. Everyone was still looking at the fly, save for Francis, who stared at Ian with a smile as big as he could muster.

Francis stared stoic at him, "Hold on bucky, you aren't in yet," he said and walked over, grabbing two swords. He threw one at Ian and kept one for himself. In the blink of an eye, the large man sliced at the young man, a powerful slice that he was well known for. Francis wouldn't let just anyone into his fight... he had to test him. Not much was known about this young man and Francis wasn't going to take his kind hearted story of his father and grandfather to be the truth. He had to make sure that he was speaking the truth. He shot the fly with no ease, but there wasn't much in this war for an archer. The heroes he was seeking out had to be talented in all aspects of war, including sword.

Howling trees and hooting owls all around the legendary knight made their nightly noises in the moonlight. The scuttle of critters and surprised squeaks of them being caught by their prey. The clip-clop of his white war horse was muted by the cloth-clad hooves on the trail. Those of the darkness moved around the figure, the lessers of the dark; the spies and poisoners, tricksters and murderers of the lone travelers. Ghost knew where they were, one of the so called gifts to his exile. It also confused the darkness, made them curious and angered the stupider of them. Ogres.. "I hate ogres. he muttered under his breath. Through the trees, roughly 2 leagues, a camp. A human camp, or rather, fortified military camp. Humans. Dirty, cheating, lying humans. Ghost's arm tingled for a moment while he counted down from fifty.

Ghost opened the letter that arrived by homing pigeon (also known as Carrier Pigeon) several weeks ago with the location. Fool. Ghost believed this Francis Brummette to be a fool to carelessly give out the location of the camps site, but desperate times call for desperate measures. At least that's what Ghost tried to convince himself of. Howling behind him turned his attention away from the letter. Ghost closed his eyes to concentrate on the parasite arm and felt them. 100 yards and closing. Lycanthropes. Shit. Ghost hates lycanthropes because of their sense of smell, since they were among the hardest to fool and easiest to be found when moving through their patrols.

"Horse, you'll have to meet me there. CAMP!" and Ghost hit the horse on the romp, sending it hurling down the overgrown path towards the settlement of humans half a league away. He just hoped it made it, horses were hard to come by since they fed much more than a measly human.

Ghost, the Pale Rider, turned towards the hard, long, quick steps of the lycanthropes. Wolves. Wolves have among the best sense of smell, much more keen than the wererats, cats or birds. Ghost drew his high silver-concentrated sword. Silver is a purifier and if it wasn't for his masters Pure-White attire and demand for silver in his out-fittings and weapons Ghost wouldn't have survived this long. The sword is a classical kite shape, wide base and narrow to a piercing point with a cross-guard tilted upward. The blade itself gleamed well polished with many scratches and gouges but sharpening kept it well tuned. "Bleed for us!" Ghost shouted at the 3 werewolves as they leaped over brush and through trees into the small clearing that Ghost waited for them in.

Ghost wished he had his plate armour on, not this measly chain mail and leather he was traveling in. The chain mail didn't clink together because of the rubbery wax coating he rubbed onto it, it just had to come off or it would rust the chain.

The first werewolf, jet black, in halfman halfwolf leaped past Ghost, racking nail across his kite shield in a fly of sparks. Ghost countered the next one, with a slash across its abdomen while it leaped to clobber the lone swordsman while he fought off the passerby werewolf. The airborne werewolf, grey, landed in a jumble and worked its way to its feet. The third werewolf, grey with black stripes, blocked Ghosts advance on the fallen werewolf.

The wolves began circling Ghost, sniffing the air. Ghost fought off the gorilla tactics of the werewolves. His arm was beginning to buzz, similar to a running current. The wolves growled before resuming their tac.

Ghost feinted a thrust and turned it into a diagonal slash, ripping a wound from thigh to shoulder on the black wolf, spewing its intestines and bowels onto the ground, the black-grey wolf took the opening and came face-to-face with Ghosts kite shield, stunning the beast before the blade entered below its chin and exited through the skull. The other wolf growled, it's glowing eyes sinking into the forest, watching Ghost all while. The bruises would fade much like the immediate sense of danger, but it was always there, it never went away. Ghost wiped his blade on his tunic after decapitating the werewolves and they transformed into their human hosts body.


"Halt! the guardsmen at the front gate held crossbows level with Ghosts chest, he saw his steed past them in the stalls, a boy and girl were tending the horse. Ghost furrowed his brows. Horse likes children? "Papers, leave, or be shot." The guards looked on edge, Ghost saw their fingers twitching by the bar to release the bolt that would thud into the chain mail.
Ghost lifted the cloak out of his way and retrieved the envelop and held it out to one of the guards to pass it to their commander. "T-The Pale Rider!" Ghost nodded towards his white horse being brushed by the children. "Sire, you've been expected, please follow this gentleman while I inform Burmmette of your arrival." The leader of the guards hurried off, probably because he wanted the good news credit rather than letting his underlings get it. Ghost looked behind him. Probably because he's afraid. Ghost followed the guardsman into the camp and looked around. The place reeked of sorrow and despair.

Ian was not ready when Francis tossed him the sword. He barely caught it. Just as he caught it, he saw Francis bring down the sword towards his head. Ian swiftly and gracefully moved away from it, he then thrust forward at Francis, but the big man parried his thrust. Ian rolled with the parry and brought his sword around his head and cut at Francis' head. Francis barely blocked it, but managed to. They were now caught in a deadlock. Both were pushing when a the head guard almost fell into the room. His face was bright red and dripping with sweat. "My lords. The Pale Rider has arrived."

Francis pulled away and nodded, "Very good m'lad. I can trust your abilities. You will be a good addition to the team." He threw the training sword away and beckoned him, "Come, let me show you another one of your teammates in the future battles. We need to get to know each other. The sooner we know each other, the sooner we can start trusting in each other." He walked out of the tent, still talking to Ian on his way to see the new hero. "This man is a bit unstable, but powerful nonetheless. He was the last person I wanted to go to, but it left me with no options. The peons and noblemen know him only as 'Ghost' but my spies are well known for being thorough. His real name is either Lewis or Louie, my intel couldn't get a clear name, but apparently he's a defender of justice... even though he's had some bad history..."

He continued to talk until he saw the pale man guarded by some of his warriors. "I'll take it from here men," he said, "you are dismissed." He saw the men leave and looked over at his arm, "I hear you have an interesting dysfunction... is it true?"

"Hey! Look! It's Lord Edward the Pale Rider!" The children in the stalls squealed in joy at their hero's arrival.
"Lexes! Finish cleaning the stalls out or so help me!" The children laughed at Lexes. A burly man rounded the corner of one of the stalls and walked forward to greet Lord Edward and Squire Lewis, "they're good kids," he said, "but no discipline," the smile and fatherly affection showed.

"It's good to see you again, Döllan, this is a fine horse you bred here," Lord Edward patted Snowflake's ubharnised back. Döllan grinned ear to ear. He is one of the finest breeders and trainers of the Western Coast, but a humble man he is not, nor does he brag; confident, just confident. Lewis smiled at the children as they led the pure dove-white horse into the stall to begin brushing her.

"My Lord, prince Arthür is waiting for you in the courtyard for sparring. Will squire Lewis be accompanying you?"
"No, he has a--"

"-defender of justice even though he's had some bad history." Ghost blinked at the stalls and the two dirty children playing with Horse, feeding him bits of apple.
"Lord Ghost?" The captain inquired, looking at him puzzle-eyed.
"Just Ghost, captain. What can I do for you?"
"Would you like some coffee? It will warm weary bones." The captain has burn marks across the lower section of his face and one eye was milky.

Ghost, the Pale Rider, watched the intruder approach from the reflection in the guards helmet, he foot taller than himself, red beard and bellowing orders. /Lord Burmmette, no doubt./ "Thank you, captain Ross, for the warm drink," Ghost said to the departing captain with his men. Ghost turned to give Red Beard a look over before he spotted the youth beside him . /A servant? No, too dirty. Definitely not a scholar. Useless./ "I hear you have an interesting dysfunction... Is it true?" Ghost walked up to Lord Burmmette and offered his hand. Many men ward Ghost off as a boogeyman for his eerie appearance, others believe the horror stories.

"Lord Burmmette, I presume? Mind if we walk? I would like to take a look around." Ghost began walking, taking the whole camp into account but keeping the barrier to the wilderness nearby. The main reason for making a round around the inner perimeter is to check how many daemons lurked outside this beacon of civilization.


"It's nostalgic," Ghost muttered out loud. There were small gatherings of broken families, around fire pits and large tents. /There is no more love in this world. Nonthing worth saving anymore./ Those thoughts echoed the parasites too closely for comfort.


(OOC-- "/" means italic. I am on my phone typing this which makes this harder as well as longer to type. My last post which had the italic code didn't register it, so I thought this forum couldn't use it. Long storey short: found out just now I can.-OOCzu

"The Pale Rider. My grandfather had told me many stories of the Pale Rider." Ian thought to himself. Now, he was going to fight alongside him. "There is no time to be awestruck. I'm a man, and I must act it. In fact, I must act older. Most men who have seen only 17 winters do not go to battle...but I must get them back." Ian thought as he walked to sit down next to the guard who escorted him into the camp. "Hello, mind if I sit and eat?" Ian asked the guard. "Of course, of course." the guard replied, scooting over on the log on which he was sitting. The guard, whose name was Thomas, handed Ian a bowel of lean beef and potatoes while they talked of the camp, the soldiers in it, the weather, Thomas' family, and many other things. They got to know each other fairly well. Ian stood up "Well, I'm going to take my leave, do I have an assigned tent?" Ian asked to no one in particular. "Pick one mate. 's not like we got'a shortage 'o 'em" said one of the soldier's, whose name was Johnathon. Ian nodded, thanked the men, and walked toward an empty tent. The tent he chose was not far from where he sat, but far enough to get away from the noise. He laid out a sleeping role given to him by Thomas and laid down to wait for sleep to come.


He could not stop thinking about where he was and how he got there. He was a soldier now. He couldn't act like some awestruck boy. He was going to be fighting side by side with heroes, and maybe become one himself. Only time will tell. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come, but tonight...it would not. "Get you'selves re'ey lads! We're un'er attack!"