The night had brought with it the bitter chill that one would have expected from the tail end of the Winter months, not what one would hope to find during Spring & Summer, covering the great walls of Romsford in a fine layer of glinting frost.
Mhorador stood there, silently, casting his gaze across the fields past the west gate of the city, his eyes scanning the darkness for signs of movement. There were the occasional times, not many, that he wished he never had the responsibilities he now possessed so that he could move virtually unnoticed again. He then thought to himself
"But, as with all things, times must change and we must change with them"
He had certainly changed in the last 5 years. His personality, his methods had become more aggressive and violent, as his treatment of the figures in grey cloaks portrayed, although he was, ultimately, unconcerned by this.
Satisfied that nothing was amiss, this time, he turned away from the walls and began to walk towards the steps that lead back to the streets. As he did do, he turned his head to the slim, dark clad, figure that was standing beside him and spoke in his, now familiar, echoed voice
"Are you coming? There is clearly nothing out there that warrants our attention"
He then turn his head back and started walking down the stairs, his full plate armour rattled and clanked as he did
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Mhorador took note that his "companion" had not followed him. As he stepped away from the city wall, he thought to himself
"Must be getting acquainted with his new surroundings"
Mhorador noticed that a thin, frosty, mist had descended this night, obscuring his view of his surroundings to mere feet of his location.
As he continued towards his manor house, a cold wind whipped through the streets, causing his robes and cloak to flutter as he walked, revealing the plate armour that covered his form. As he walked he could hear the sounds of other figures, also wearing full plate, walking in the distance although he could not yet discern either their direction or their numbers.
As the sounds neared to his location Mhorador's hand lowered to grasp the hilt of his sword, knowing that the starmetal blade would easily pull free from the scabbard, thereby granting him the advantage of the initial strike.
Moments later his magical senses involuntarily stirred into action, causing his minds eye to instantly discern if whoever was approaching was magical in nature or not. He could sense a large mass of magic, deducing that the source was either a single, yet very large individual, or several figures in a very close formation.
Now wary that there were spellcasters nearby, Mhorador tightened the grip he had on his sword and pulled it partly out from it's scabbard, he also began to prepare himself for the eventuality that he may need to cast spells of his own, his eyes, radiating with unnatural cold, attempting to pierce the mists that surrounded him.
****meanwhile, somewhere between Romsford, Vasildon and the Braintree****
The rider, hooded and cloaked in red rode, fast and yet quietly, down the dusty road that was lit only by the moon in the night sky. He had secured passage to Harwitch by boat from the main continent and was now enroute to deliver the message he possessed.
There the sudden sound of wood cracking to his left and the rider stopped, turning to see what made the sound. After a few moments of posting into the darkness he turned back and was about to resume his route if it were not for the sound of hooves coming from ahead.
Out of the gloom came another rider this one clothed in blacks and dark greys, and encased in black plate armour that was clearly once of elven make.
The rider in red had no chance to react before being knocked from his saddle, landing on the ground with a dull thud.
He scrambled to his feet with enough time to see the rider in black dismount from his unholy mount and close in drawing what was once a finely crafted elven bastard sword, the runes engraved on the surface robbing the weapon of any such benevolence it may have once possessed. At this close range the rider in red could see the cold blue glow that emanated from this figure's eyes, and it was then that the realisation hit him like a chilling wave, causing his skin to turn as pale as that of his aggressor as he stumbled the words out of his mouth
"Y...Y...You're one of...of...of them!"
In that same moment the red rider quickly drew a short sword, his sword arm shaking visibly in fear.
The dark figure, still calmly advancing, spoke back, his soft elven voice tainted by an echo that completed the image of a herald of death yet maintaining its sense of elven nobility.
"How very observant of you...human...Tell me this before meeting your end. Do you know the value of the message you carry?"
The red rider, quivering in terror, again stumbled a retort, attempting to conceal his fear of the figure in front of him
"What does it matter to you scum! You...you betrayed your kind when you turned. If...if we can prevent him from turning then your fight will be in vein"
The elf stopped his advance pausing for a moment as if stunned by this sudden verbal assault. A smile the appear upon his thin lips before breaking into a laugh
"Ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaaaaaa....You are clearly more foolish then I thought!"
He looked at the red rider, noting his face was looking more than just simply worried, before continuing
"You see what you, and your ilk, did all those years ago has been slowly degrading over time where the binding has never been maintained...oh yes...of course! That's because we slew those who knew how to!"
Exalting in the abject terror of his victim, the elf the continued
"And the constant exposure to dark power has only served to accelerate the process. I can only imagine the kinds of thoughts going through his mind right now"
Provoked by the words the elf had spoken, the red rider gripped his short sword and charged headlong into his opponent, showing little, or no consideration for the outcome.
In response, the elf raised his sword in both hands and uttered a single word
"Pitiful!"
Before bringing his weapon down in a diagonal arc, cutting into the red rider from left shoulder towards the right hip. The remains of the red rider fell to the floor in a crumpled mess before the elf who then proceeded to search the bloody corpse.
Vaikesh found the scroll case he was looking for and, with no effort, broke the simple seal that held it closed. Perusing the contents, he calmly place the parchments back into the case, closed it up again and mounted his steed.
He rode off, heading towards Romsford, knowing that , by mid-morning, scavengers would have picked at the corpse enough for it to be unidentifiable.
***Back in the city of Romsford***
The two figures walked, carefully through the streets of Romsford, confident that their spell of Winter's Domain would keep all but the most hardy, or foolish, inside whilst it persisted. Their pattern also suggested that were familiar with the city's layout.
As the pair moved they could hear the sounds of figures in chainmail approaching from behind them and, as one of the looked back, could see the light of their torches giving the mist an orange tint.
The two quickly moved into the nearby alley, easily concealing themselves within the darkness, despite the plate armour they were wearing and took the moment to exchange looks each remembering the colour of the others eyes that was hidden under the glow of unnatural coldness. Looking up at her companion the slight female figure stepped closer to him, speaking softly so that only he could hear her
"Are they sure it's him?"
Allowing a small smile to appear on his lips, the man looked back to her, his voice hinting reassurance
"They are. Everything reported in the last 10 years points to this one individual...it HAS to be him, there is no doubt about it"
Despite her grim appearance, the female figure also smiled. But hers was different, hers was more of relief then of accomplishment. But the rest of her face showed signs of concern and worry
[/color]
"Would he even recognise us now? It has been such a long time"
As she paused, her smile widened a little and her expression lessened before continuing
"From what I've heard though he has grown up to be a fine young man, he apparently looks like you when you were his age. I think, through all this observation, First Knight Vylera has become a little....taken...by him"
The man placed a hand on his companion's shoulder and she gently grasped the vambrace of his wrist with her other hand. He then replied
"That she may well be...but such an attachment can prove to be both dangerous and self destructive, especially with the war that is to come"
The woman looked back, her eyes narrowing into a baleful glare. She also tightened the she had on the man's hand
"And we are any different?"
The vambrace prevented the tightening grip from doing any real damage, but the intonation of her voice gave the man reason to realise what he was saying. He took a moment to consider his next choice of words before replying
"You and I felt that way long before all of this. Thinking we could avenge his...apparent...death we joined together, we trained together and we have battled together"
He paused for a moment before continuing
"and yet when we are on the field of battle we do not allow those feelings to distract either of us. I am not going to discourage her, of course, but it may not be the best course of action, considering the role he is yet to play"
Before she could answer him, he had relinquished his grip and began to move back into the street, turning his head slightly as he did so
"the militia have moved on now, we need to hurry if we are to find him. There is a...powerful...magic user nearby"
Without so much as a word, the female figure followed him out of the shadows.