[center][h2][color=b5a0d2][b]⚘[/b]   Steffen Gravinir   [b]⚘[/b][/color][/h2][/center][hr]
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It was cold. There was something in this cloud heaven that unsettled him. 

An Ingvarr of natural birth was never supposed to be feeling the bumpy skins from the chilly wind. No, this wasn't natural. It started with only one bandit, and soon escalated to battle-hardened soldiers, mercenaries. And the intensity grew with each opponent, leaving Steffen no time to rest inbetween.

In the midst of the dull-colored rock plateau, the tall Ingvarr stood at the other end of an even longer spear, one coated and trimmed in complete metal, ornamented with two biased gold squares, the razor sharp edge of one end quickly deflected a dangerous axe swing and immediately was followed up with the other end, as Steffen switched his sides of attack. The blade sliced into the attacker's throat, and another follow up, this time lethal stab, into the same area. 

The opponent, as much as he could feel the flesh earlier driving the spear into him, had already fragmented, disintegrated and scattered. The ground leaving no trace of his slain enemy. It was as if their lives were insignificant, not even worth a remembrance, a prayer, a last word. They just vanished like that, only for the next opponent, a stronger opponent, to emerge and throw themselves at the Ingvarr. 

His death wasn't even significant either. The moment a spear was driven through his heart, a sword through his neck or an arrow to the eye, the echoing scream was cut short, as he was right back on his feet. All wounds healed, all pain disappeared, all armors cleaned, back to the starting point. Continuity only applies to three things: his vivid memory of the events, the encouraging cries and rallies of the legendary figures of the Iron Roses - those who had made the order and the land they lived on as beautiful as it is, and the agonizing pain in his left hip. 

That last one came later...as Steffen's breathe laboured to keep himself calm and composed, his mind too busy juggling between the fiery ever-continuous battle and beholding the trance he had been thrown into - the spear skilfully yet with great force slapped the sword away from his opponent and delivered a quick death, his next opponent was coming at him already.

White jaunty hair, red and black horns, eyes luminant in nasty intention, came right at Steffen with his short sword. The Ingvarr knight hesitated, thinking he had seen someone else, his hands tingled and cold just for a brief brief moment, and when he moved to defend himself, his opponent was already right up to his face. A few swings in and the other Ingvarr got a clean and devastating hit on Steffen's left hip.

Both his jaws gripped tight, the sound of air rushing into his mouth as adrenaline kicked back in. One of his arm gripped tightly into both wrist that was gripping onto the sword that was halfway into his hip and partially visible from the other side, and the other let go of the spear and reached for a dagger sheathed by his side. His opponent did not expect the response, and quickly fell to a stab to the throat. 
 
The next opponent came in almost immediately, however, and Steffen knew he was dead. Both weapons on the ground, having been injured, a well-known hero of the past. And indeed he fell swiftly. And unlike previous fight, the wound the Ingvarr left on him was strangely permanent. The searing pain faded to pity him, but the dull, burning pain that took its place was not much consolation.

The battle continued until sunset, the sky scorched partially from Reon's beauty but also the blood of both his and his enemy alike. By this time, he was surprised he still had the mental state to continue the never-ending fight and death, the dull pain on his side adding more salt to it. He was still, with a mountain of tenacity, taking on opponents stronger than him by all means, and still standing. 

His next opponent, out of how many he had lost count long ago, was Erich. 

The one person with no need of an introduction, but also the one whom the knights had to deal with the week before. But this Erich was no hollow skeleton. This was the Erich, the Demonbreaker at his almost full power. Wrinkles plowed his forehead, but his steps were firm and strong, his armor basked in the mesmerizing evening sun. For a moment, the Ingvarr almost wished this was real, but the unfortunate reality was that he had seen the rotted bones of the great warrior. This wasn't real.

Erich made sure Steffen was ready to fight, but wasted no time the moment he indicated his fighting intent. He might not be the real Erich, but his fighting was. His full might was unleashed upon the Ingvarr, his giant blade swinging with almost no effort. Each swing, Steffen needed his full might to even begin to contend with the infamous Demonbreaker, forcing him to rely overwhelmingly on his mobility due to his lack of a bulky armor. That combined with his magic, Steffen was surprised that he could survive to deliver some of his own counterattacks, but he knew it wouldn't take long before he was overwhelmed. 

One of Erich's sword swing managed to catch Steffen off-balance, and the follow-up swing on the other side was delivered with the full spinning force of Erich's body. Steffen tried to block with his spear, but the force was too much this time. It was a miracle that it was his polearm's shaft that collided with his body thanks to its incredible resilience, not the sharp blade and he was just pushed back significantly. But that collision unfortunately hit him right in his old injury. The Ingvarr leaned leftward awkwardly, trying to process the pain that briefly just incapacitated him for a few seconds. 

The Hero of Aimlenn didn't even take a second to figure it out.

[b]"What happened?"[/b] His voice uttered, his grandfatherly concern well-mixed in with his tough voice. [b]"Old wounds?"
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Steffen wanted to say something, but an invisible urge from within stopped him, and sealed his lips tight. His hands trembled, for once his battle-hardened spirit faltered. 

Erich had no mercy on this pitiful attempt, as he unleashed a barrage of attack, all of them from Steffen's left side, brute forcing through the Ingvarr's crumbling defense. Very soon, Erich's blade calmly and very smoothly swiped his spear away and cut right into his chest. Upon pulling his blade back, Erich looked at Steffen for a moment, now fully defeated, clutching onto the fountain of blood on his body.

[b]"Sir Steffen."[/b] He said. [b]"There is much of you to critique but from the looks of it, it may be excess."[/b] 

The Hero of Aimlenn, the Demonbreaker, the true exemplar of any aspiring knight, walked over to the Ingvarr. 

[b]"I sense a stormy youth in you, son. But take it from me, it is no use trying to keep it in you."[/b] Erich said, as he raised his sword. [b]"It kills."[/b]

Without hesitation, he brought it down upon Steffen. Death beckoned, but not before Steffen could hear Erich's last word to him.

[b]"And take this as a lesson."[/b]

The dream did not continue for long after that. The last fragment in his mind was Volkstraad.
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The pain in his hip was gone. That was when he knew he was actually in the real world. In the comforting support of his wool bed he laid, his hand careening on his vitals. All were just the sensation of a cold morning palm. His chest lowered from the air escaping his nose and mouth, finally calming down from the previous night. 

A few unusual yawn glistened his eyes with tears. It was quite rare that Steffen would be tired from a night of sleep, knowing the importance of rest after each hard day of work. If physical deterioration wasn't good enough for everyone, a clouded mind attracted negative thoughts. And he didn't need more of those to ruin his day. But his rest yesterday wasn't necessarily rest either. Maybe he could take the day a little easier. 

Upon finishing his normal morning routine and heading for some breakfast, the Ingvarr decided on what to do for the rest of the day. His paperwork were to be delayed a little back further in the day, or even the day after depending. Training would be nice, and quite necessary, but it's a quiet morning, it's better to enjoy it a little. He also wondered where Lein had went, having not seen the Hundi bugging him for a whole week, but Steffen was a bit too busy to ask. He trusted that this troublemaker knight would likely be back at some point. He wouldn't just get up and leave without saying anything to him right?

Now that he overthought about it, he did get a little worried. 

Steffen chose to retreat to the Candaeln garden with a pair of scissors and a bucket instead, tending to the flowers and plants growing there. He always loved the garden. Having visited and tended to it quite often, the different flowers brought into this world a serene and delightful fragrance. Adding in the sounds of chirping birds, the delicate butterflies swirling in hues, it wasn't difficult to see that this would be his favorite place for a calm quiet morning.