[center][h3][i]Erickson of the God Eaters[/i][/h3][/center]

[i][u]Armistice-East Gate-1000 HP                                                                                     	                                                        [/u][/i]

He had ridden for three days straight to be here. His horse, despite it's own strength and savage nature, nearly expired from the sprint and was only now able to rest with its giant rider stood next to it. The Giant in question was pulling soething from his saddle bags, grumbling about his horse as he did. From the leather bag, the giant produced a thick sack, opening it to produce a large piece of meat. He held it under the horse's mouth and the beast tore it from his hands, tearing at it and placing it under hoof to better tear pieces off. The armored Giant returned the sack t the saddled bags and turned to observe his new 'allies'. Erickson was tired, in a similar vain to his horse, but not nearly as tired for he was the rider. He observed the man coming down the road from within Armistice, flanked by guards, some kind of prisoner he imagined. He wore light armor, nowhere near as protective as the God Eaters full plate, but this hardly mattered to Erickson.

He ws not here to judge his allies, he hadn't ridden for three days to make allies or to care about the reason behind this mission. He was here for the express reason a God Eater did much of anything, to consume. To grow stronger, and this expedition may be his chance. They may confront one, a god in its own right, a man who magic does not harm. And Erickson would devour him, and take tht power for himself, he would be the first God Eater to do so. When he had hear of this expedition by the ICC he could not have ridden there faster, for his dream was within reach. 

The giant turned back to his horse, no reason to bother his comrades now. A giant, in a foreign land, the God Eater's sigil on the cloak at his back, he knew not how many of his companions believed in his order, and how many thought they were little more than bedtime stories to scare the young or the tales oof drunk Knights to liven up a taern. He smiled beneath his helmet, as his horse finished its small feast, soon they would all know the truth... all those bedtime stories? They were all true.