[center][b]Derrix “Nightbane” Herchiv and Jasmin[/b][/center]

	Jasmin tossed a bundle towards Derrix, the pommel of a blade caught the sun before the man grabbed it from the air. The pommel was a unique metal of an almost smoky color, and a blazing sun was etched into it. The man swung the bundle onto his back and with a kick of his heel, Charroux jolted from it’s place by Ishmael.

	The wind numbed Derrix’s face as his destrier charged off from the group and into the path ahead. His tunic flapped in the wind as his horse galloped with pounding hooves and thick muscles. A smile creeped across the man’s face for a moment, enjoying the wind and the power of the beast beneath him. Buildings and people blurred by him as his horse quickened its pace, just allowing Derrix’s sharp golden eyes to make out faces and figures before whizzing by them.

	The wind was familiar, and as Derrix rode, his mind galloped off into memories. The buildings blurred into a desolate wasteland where many found their grave, and the road turned into soaked gravel. What perfumes of the city that had danced in his nostrils were replaced with the acrid smell of death and carnage. The sky turned crimson with poofs of grey clouds, and the sun and moon was nowhere to be seen. A dry bite seemed to follow every burst of lifeless wind, and a disgusting liquid foamed from the ground with each hoof fall.

	His tunic was swapped for valiant white armor, and a deep red cap embroidered with a blazing sun. His face was covered by a thick helmet, and inbetween his face and the metal was a mask of wool and herbs, filtering each breath with a burst of lavender. 

	The wind whipped by his covered face and threw his cape up in a flurry. Framework wings were attached to the back of his armor, and a white glow engulfed him, giving his charging figure the looks of an angel storming hell. To his flanks were men of equal dress and attire, but without the powerful white glow blazing their path. The wind whistled as it weaved it’s way through the angel's’ wings, giving their descent onto the battlefield an alien song. 

	All around Derrix arrows whizzed and sank into the unprotected civilians escaping a black horde in the distance. Screams of terror broke his ears and if not for the mask of wool, a dark miasma that sneezed from the horde would have choked his lungs as it choked his vision. Only by the shine of his own golden eyes that peered through the helmet could he witness the horrors of the beyond. 

	Women, and children, as well as men young and old were being torn and ripped from their places as they ran. Grotesque beasts of another world snagged them with their sickly claws and munched on their bodies with crackling crunches.  Black scales and slimy skin contorted around muscular jaws that held millions of teeth. The people were sawed and strewn in every direction, children and babies were turned inside out in bloody fits of aggression, all the while a sickening plague marched by the side of the evil horde that seemed to swallow and suppress any remaining hope just to replace it with terror.

	People who were no longer human, women now plump with puss and men twisted and deformed slowly marched beside the beasts, once brothers and sisters to the survivors, now turned. 

	“Hold,” was the only word in the minds of the few who sat atop their chargers and witnessed, “hold.”

	Derrix lowered his long lance, it’s shaft glowing with the power of the sun. All at once his line of cavalry followed suit, and with an unforgettable sound of wind stopping, metal grating and bodies colliding, they clashed.

	Derrix shook his head and suddenly he was in his tunic, sitting atop Charroux in an idle trot through the streets. The tight sickness in the pit if his stomach seemed to slowly fade and his nodded to himself.

“All’s clear.”