Snippet #1015882

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.