Out of Character:
The dark sky thundered above the maddened land, as did the horses hooves across the slowly softening ground. Armor plates clanked and equipment baggage shook in the wind. The osmium clad warrior was but a shadow in the eerie and gloomy setting. Not even the armored steed he rode atop, carrying the pale color of rotten flesh could be clearly distinguished as it was on the move. Its rider pressed his body unto the neck of his stallion as it sped through the morass. His destination posed a monastery in the middle of this swamp, one that was outlined by cliffs as deep as the mountains of Salvar were high, with walls as jagged as a pirates serrated blade, and weather as unruly as an ocean’s storm. Many a man has found his demise at this land’s brims. Whilst driven by curiosity to glance over the edge in order to reveal the connecting ocean they had gone unaware of the strong breeze creeping up from behind. The ferocious waves though, crushing against the near walls of the deep cliffs sometimes made it hard to differ from where the thundering actually came, from zenith or nadir – the heavens or the circles...
Damion had received the letter only two short days ago as he was returning to his abode that lay in central plains of Salvar. Whilst reading it through, a slightly disgruntled look had spread across his face – considering leaving Salvar again after just having returned seemed so much of an unnecessary drag. Yet, he was not the one to turn down his best and possibly only friend. He had spent much time with Maxwell Faust, knowing that such a short notice could only mean something truly important. Without thinking about whether or not to, Damion immediately set off in the direction he came from, the western port of Salvar. The messenger that had handed him the letter lay frozen, and dead atop the ever-frigid ground of Salvar.Originally Posted by Maxwell Faust
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Now Damion had found himself in Raiaera, traveling through darkness, as Maxwell had recommended – and the weathers had been most generous shrouding several days in thick fog and thunderstorms. Even now, as Damion rode through the Vergaurdian Swamps, rain droplets fell upon Salvic’s figure as his steed evaded trees and larger puddles. Almost each pound of a hoof was accompanied by the sound of thunder, shrouding it’s movement in strange silence. Having nothing else to do stay put upon his horse, Damion let his eyes wander and scan the area wildly. What he discovered in the distance was a dark shadow, it had the shape of a human, but moved ever so weary, completely unnatural. Something was strange about this area, some may have shuddered at the eerie scenery yet Damion put if off as rather comical. A cripple walking through a swamp, not his problem.
Suddenly a loud, crushing, bursting noise emitted from underneath the horse, ripping Damion from his tranquil thoughts. What flew up beside the halberdiers face was certainly not a twig as it drew some sort of liquid behind itself. A short glance back proved Damion’s assumptions to be correct. The shrill noises were screams of pain, and the shapes lying mangled as lifeless in the broth were not storm battered logs. They had been a pair of bandits or adventurers, obviously hoping to halt and steal the halberdiers horse for whichever reason. Now they were nothing but a stain on the horse’s leg and a piece of its hoof, logically making the shape which had been cast up aside Damion’s face a finger. The horse on which the halberdier sat upon had shown no remorse to the fools and simply stampeded onwards through the morass. The beast’s cruelty filled the warrior with pride, most certainly had he grabbed the best of the herd.
The desired destination had slowly come into view, proving the map that his comrade had folded and tied to the letter extremely precise. After having reached somewhat more solid ground again, Damion slowed the go of his horse. The relentless pounding of its hooves turned into a simple slapping noise. Before entering the clearing in which the monastery stood, Damion jumped from the back of his horse which halted almost directly after he made contact with the ground. Without even having to be called the horse returned to Damion’s side, allowing him to retrieve his halberd from its baggage straps. He had not trained the horse long at all, yet it followed his orders without even a word being spoken. Slowly, it then headed towards a tree and shook its head – obviously it had found a place to stay put. Damion made his way to the clearing, noticing at just this moment a horse to his right. It was snow-white of color and strapped in finely adorned saddling – somewhat the complete opposite of Damion’s horse. The saddles alone proved to the halberdier that his comrade, a true sword-master, progeny of the great Faust family, Maxwell Faust, had already arrived though he was no where to be found.
“That man and stealth, what on earth is he always afraid of?” Damion chuckled, his thoughts straying from the matter at hand.
Knowing well enough that a briefing conversation would ensue, Damion fingered a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He inhaled the fine taste vigorously and exhaled with a shallow breath, making sure to surround himself in the smell. He finally had the chance to rid his nostrils of the pungent swamp stench. The armored warrior knew that his ally would emerge from the shadows soon enough. Probably the nobleman must have seen Damion coming before he had even spotted the monastery. Bracing himself for a sudden hand on his shoulder the halberdier waited, anticipating the congregation with his only true friend.
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