[i]
Verdun is on fire. 

Smoke rises out of great pits rent in the earth, strewn with bodies,bullet shells and ashes. Mass graves don’t even begin to describe the scale of the carnage Justin sees as he whips the reins forward. His steed neighs nervously, hooves coming to a crawl in front of the shelled neighborhood. 

“ Easy there, my companion,” Justin rubs the horse’s cheek affectionately, trying to calm him down. The trotting becomes faster from its once inexorable pace. Good. They had to get there in time before the Germans - 

The sound of the air screeching is the only warning he has before he is sent flying off his horse along with the entire block being leveled to a pulp. He hears the sound of frantic whinnying. He tries to move but his ribs dig into his chest like spears when he tries to raise himself up. His ears are ringing and - 
[/i]

[hr] 

[center][color=yellow]SHINING KNIGHT - FELLOWSHIP 2.1.2[/color][/center]

[hr]

“ - Oi, Justin. Wake up! I said, wake up!” 

Flannegan’s hand slapped his back heartily. The sounds of bustling conversation and faded pop music combined to awake Justin from his slumber. Wiping away the drool on his lip, Justin realized much to his embarrassment that he’d fallen asleep on the bar counter. Flanagan had invited him to a night out in the pub to celebrate his new promotion. He accepted the invitation in spite of the fact that alcohol and deep drinking had lost its effect on him in the 19th century. 

He downed the last dredges of ale in his tankard before observing the television above that everyone paid rapt attention to. The reception was horrible, resulting in grainy images that were cut off by bursts of static randomly. Justin could make out a racing track as the camera zoomed in on a line of eight horses with their riders on the back. The sound of gunshot erupted and Justin’s ear nearly bled at the roar of excitement in the bar, cash held in white knuckled grips as attendants were both praying and gnashing their teeth at the animals they had bet their entire life’s fortune on. 

“ Beggar’s Chance is coming fast behind with London’s Bridge behind her. We’re rounding around the last turn now. And, what’s this!” The announcer’s voice became ecstatic as if he had witnessed a miracle in front of him “ Winged Victory is leading! I can’t believe it. Another tally in the twenty year long streak - “ 

It was a white palomino horse that broke through the line, outstripping the other horses. Whilst the other bar attendants were busy alternatively celebrating their wins or mourning their losses, Justin stood up and observed the winner of the race. He noticed something odd that others didn’t. The rider wasn’t in control of the horse. He was a spectator, merely making an illusion that he was controlling the horse, pulling the rein in unnatural ways and spurring the horse onwards when it didn’t need to. 

“ Flannegan, who’s that?” 

“ Winged Victory? Crowd favorite. He’s been on the scene for about two decades at this point. “ Flannegan quirked his eyebrow in thought and took a long drag from his beer. “ Surprising he hasn’t retired yet. Most horses retire at 10. Bless his trainer for maintaining that stallion as long as he did.” 

Justin considered Flannegan’s words for a silent minute before sliding his bar tab forward and pushing himself off the stool. The trainer wasn’t responsible for that horse’s long life. Something else was. 

“ Where are you going?,” Flannegan called out. 

“ To find an old friend,” Justin replied back, pushing through the crowd and buttoning his trenchcoat to wander into the cold night.