The wind stirred some of the branches below the weeping tree. The leaves and surrounding grass started to turn brown and wither. Slowly the shadow grew and began to take shape. A image of a warrior in old styled armor became less transparent and a sword of smoke grew from his left hand. The face was a dark shadow under a ragged hood. This image of a nightmare born of mens fear grew denser. It could feel the impending evil descending on this area. Like the eye of pure hate burning the towns soul. Whether or not the inhabitants were aware was irrelevant. Death had come to them like a murder of crows to the smell of carrion.  

It knew now was the time. It descended into one of the farming villages closest to the town, greeted by the brief shrills of fear. The sword pierced their souls ignoring the meat. Their hearts stopped and their lips turned blue. The flesh on their bodies turned putrid and a dark green. His image looked real except for the space between his feet and the ground...