The Night Falls,
And with it, Humanity.
Awakened from his dreams,
the knight stirs and thirst.
He shall come like the Tenth,
And upon every door...
Blood.

[i]"Lord Shane."[/i] The unfettered fiend rose from what appeared to be a growing mud puddle at the bottom of the hill where Magnus stood. Clad not in the formal attire of a charming English gentleman, but perhaps one from the days of yore. With the clinking of his boots, did Bedivere walk up those grassy steps, crushing the muddied grass beneath his heel. The rain pitter-pattered against his ancient regalia, the arms of the knight as the metal plates surround his form stopped the rain from striking upon him. A scabbard at his side, with an all too familiar blade sheathed as the darkness trailed behind the vampire lord with every dominating power stride. He wore no helm, he had no need to hide beneath a mask in battle as his white hair draping over his shoulders and back as his brows furrowed into a terrible scowl. And in his hand, no clenched fist, a standard: a battle flag of Camelot. With full commitment in his approach, the flash of red against white in the darkness of the night and wind and rain, marked the end of the beginning.

Magnus could sense it, feel it almost overloading his mental telepathy. The burning rage which Bedivere carried as powerful as the flag he bore. And more, much more than this, was the intent behind the Knight, and his flag as by now Magnus was far too late to flee from Bedivere's ire. This was the end for Magnus, as an expression of disbelief drained his face of the smile he once bore. Yet it was only perhaps for but a moment as he feigned confidence again to present himself to the elder vampire. "Heh, Bedi did you think I woul-"

That was all he had to say before a metal knee-plate floored him. It was safe to assume where precisely Bedivere hit was not the most pleasant of locations for a man to be struck by the pitiful position he found Magnus in now cast at the feet of his boots. Mercilessly cornered now, as those heels dug into a sore spot barely recovering from the sudden blow. Magnus was fast, but Bedivere was something else in the growing darkness around them. "So it seems you did have a pair, and yet you fled this battle. Most Unacceptable." The collected knight bothered not to even look at the pathetic creature beneath him, and still beneath him as he gazed into the darkness of the wind and rain. Sure Magnus was the heartless one between the two of them, but Bedivere spared no rod against incompetence. The excuse that Lady Mo had fled too was quickly dismissed with a cutting comment as he shifted his heavy weight towards his forward foot.

"So she too will gain her comeuppance, but you will go ahead of her." Whatever last smart remark Magnus had as a man was wasted on Bedivere and now whatever curses he had left were for naught as the Knight above him impaled the empty chest with the battle standard of Camelot, burying the pole inside of Magnus and tethering him to the hill they stood upon. Armageddon comes early for those who fail Bedivere, and here upon this barrow, shall Lord Magnus Shane be entombed. With a quick draw of Excalibur and an execution of the final blade stroke the Head of Magnus rolled down the hill to taste the mud from which Bedivere rose out of moments ago. So ends the unlife of a useless cur.

The lone knight upon the hill,
standard fluttering behind his hair,
And all the time he had to kill,
those beneath him should beware,
It was time to reclaim the night,
a thousand dead before first light.