The Rider had been back in Ondolond only a few days. The first and second had found him alone in a dark Inn room brooding over his situation, but the third had found him out and about finally. While he was definitely not in a peaceful, pleasant mood, he was making the best of it all. He found some entertainment and pleasure as the town wound down their mid-summer festival, as well as a well-paying job. Because of the War the local militia was depleted, and the guard was spread thin about the town, so the leaders had called in mercenaries to help police the streets. Seraphiel, the Black Rider, had found himself a fine position for now, and had met interesting new people, but thus far it had been uneventful and he was growing restless.

This was the fifth day, and he left the now closed, White Raven Tavern and Inn, with about six bodies strewn across the floor. Taking a moment, he removed the sign from the door, and then he was on his way. He’d gotten what he had come for. When he had entered the tavern only an hour earlier the town had been quiet, sleepy, which was why he had endeavored to make such a mess, but now it was getting ready to roll for the evening, and he needed to be on his way before someone saw him.

Luckily most everyone in the town was at the festival and his arrival down in the town square went unnoticed as he joined his fellow mercenaries. They greeted him with impassive nods, for the Rider dwarfed them in more ways than one. He stood several inches higher than the tallest mercenary, and his skills were greater than their strongest. They knew it through merely observation, but luckily he didn’t have to actually show it.

So, they all stood together eyeing the area. Seraphiel noticed a few men who were acting suspiciously, but he knew why. They had been some of the ones who had survived his first encounter in the White Raven. He almost hoped they had come back with some friends to cause some trouble, for he was more than ready for them, and actually had a few more tricks up his sleeve than he suspected they knew about. It brought a twisted smile to his pale lips, but he merely turned away while the men walked away grumbling, and occasionally pointing at him.

Seraphiel left his group a bit later in the evening, for a strange feeling was overcoming him. It was not one of sickness, it was merely that he felt something was about to happen. He found that he could feel the animosity in the air growing, which was causing large amounts of tension in the environment. People were singing and dancing, and vendors were handing out food and drink to all who passed them by, but beneath the pleasant celebration the Rider was feeling rather disturbed. Those men he had noticed earlier had disappeared from sight, and he was growing anxious. He finally found a place beside a small tree, and crossed his arms over his armored chest. His hands hanged down, finger tips inches away from his blades, which were strapped to his hips. Obsidian eyes scanned the crowd as dusk was slowly gathering on the horizon, and despite the peaceful nature of the evening he could not help but feel something was amiss.

Festivals weren't the sort of thing Winter usually enjoyed, she preferred to cut herself off from most social gatherings and tended not to mingle with people, in fact she would avoid contact as much as possible. However she'd been given no choice in the matter at present, since she needed to visit Ondolond to search for a few more supplies, and to ask for any information on certain vampires she had grudges with. As she walked she looked up at the pass, remembering the encounter that took place not too far from it.

She heaved a sigh and carried on, already hearing the sounds associated with festivals and parties reaching her ears, she wasn't too keen on them at all. As the sounds grew louder she considered just forgetting the whole thing, there were plenty of 'black markets' she could visit and they probably had much more interesting stock, however this was probably the only place she was likely to find what she was searching for. Upon arrival however, it was almost impossible to find anything in the mass of decoration and festivities dotted about the place, this barely did anything to heighten her mood, especially the cheery faces waving at her.

She ignored them and moved through the pass, looking about to see if there was anything worth looking at, but most things now sold jewelry and food, not the sort of thing she appreciated. The surroundings were beginning to get on her nerves, so she moved away from the main hustle, disappearing down a side street and away from the festivities, only then did she stop to relax, leaning against the back wall of a small tavern, currently closed. She swept her hair out of her eyes and sighed again, she didn't seem to be getting anywhere, and certainly wasn't achieving what she wanted. She screwed her eyes shut and balled both hands into fists, frustrated at her slow progress, it didn't help that there were such events in life that hindered her progress as well, the last decent fight she'd gotten was from a practically inexperienced fighter who concentrated more on jeering at her and knew practically nothing about actually fighting.

She looked up at the sound of approaching voices, very loud voices at that. Her eyes narrowed and her small, slit like pupils watched the place where the sound was coming from, daring them to come any closer. When the party emerged she noticed it to be a small gaggle of apparently drunk men, laughing about something or other. Winter turned her face away in disgust, hating them for their arrogant way of living. However it was a little obvious that they had no such views, upon noticing her she heard them fall silent. She imagined one of them pointing at her and making a daft comment closely followed by a roar of laughter, she spared them a brief and uncaring glance, but gave no greetings towards them.

One of the men drew closer, wobbling slightly in his drunk state, until he was almost right next to her.
"Evenin love," he said drunkly.
He moved to place one arm around her shoulder, however Winter's own arm snapped up and she grabbed his wrist.
"Oi!" The man jerked his arm out of her grip, she let it go gratefully "that's wot I get for tryin' to be friendly is it?"
Winter gave him a piercing stare.
"Did I ask?" She replied reproachfully.
She'd never really like drunk people, they were always full of themselves, and on top of that usually complete idiots. It didn't come as much of a surprise to her when the man aimed a bad punch at her, she moved out of the way effortlessly, resisting the temptation to draw her weapons.

The man went for her again, this time Winter dodged sideways and used the opportunity to perform a spinning kick right on the back of the man's neck, knocking him to the ground. His companions, who had drawn closer to egg him on, didn't seem too pleased with this. Winter turned her gaze to them, keeping each one of them in a safe view. Sighing slightly, she reached up and slowly drew one of her katanas from her back and held it loosely to one side.
"Anybody else dumb enough?" She asked "I could use some stress relief."

Seraphiel found his mind wandering as alarms went off over and over, and a flow of images consumed his thoughts. Before anything had happened, and as the celebration continued, the rider saw what was soon to pass. In actuality he never saw the initial interaction through his own eyes, merely his mind, and he was moving towards them before anything had happened. To him that was a way of life – there was nothing significant about his response to the action. His sixth sense was battle hardened, and it didn’t really register that he had seen the man’s punch moments before she had.

From his position, the rider had a distinct vantage point. His obsidian orbs watched the sudden flourish of the crowd, and the growing interest in a particular young woman. Those eyes had turned there just as it happened. He did not look to his partners, but they looked around for him. He was already in motion for he was much closer than the four of them and they held their positions knowing full well what was in store, and what could happen should the rider become involved in the dispute. However, before he got close enough it seemed the fighting would begin, and another man stepped up to the young woman, so he had to be quick.

Seraphiel planned to spearhead the dispute quickly, so he entered into the scene without drawing his weapons, which turned many heads towards him. The rider stood taller than most everyone in the growing circle, and he was heavier than most everyone without his armor. So, he easily pushed the men aside with his wicked fists, and stepped into the middle of the ring like a god. His fur cloak swept behind him revealing both of his exquisite longswords and his blackened shell, and many who had been calling out were suddenly silence by his presence, as well as the demonic looking horns protruding from his head, which spiraled in opposite directions forming the symbol of infinity. However, the festival did not halt on their account, and music still played and people still danced. Theirs was a minor dispute.

Seraphiel recognized one of the men, the drunk, for he had run like a coward away from the rider when he first entered the town. The man stumbled back a bit, and the rider forced himself not to grin, but they were instantly up and ready. Perhaps he should’ve held back, he thought suddenly, for around him several other men had joined. They were not as drunk as their friend and were looking for a fight, so the rider put his hands on his sword belt and pushed his sheathes back behind him so they’d hang against his backside.

“Look ‘er, the merc’ wants in the scrap too!” one man said, and that brought a grin to the riders lips. That man would be the first to find the backside of his gauntlets, he decided. However, he would not be the first to make a move. Seraphiel flashed the girl a look as if he was ready for the fight if she was, and he looked back at the rest of the men. He didn’t think there was really any point in denying it – this fight was ready, and he felt no remorse in pounding a few heads – especially drunks. So, he lifted his hands before him, intertwined his fingers, and pushed them out causing them to crack loudly.

“I’m game…”

Winter stood back from the small gaggle of drunks, hearing the tell tale signs that other people had noticed the commotion. She almost rolled her eyes at the typical reaction, however the last thing she wanted was a one man war against all Ondolond's drunks and militia. She looked at each of the men in turn, giving them the same cold, hard stare, daring each one of them to step forwards.

When one of them did, it wasn't until after the eager egging of his companions, most of them evidentially planning on taking advantage of Winter's gender. When this thought occurred to her she narrowed her eyes and glared up at the man, keeping each limb in plain sight, not that he was sober enough to use them. However when she looked up after a quick evaluation of the man a soldier pushed his way through the gaggle, she looked up at him, surprised by his presence but not immediately intimidated, however he was much taller than her and better built, and the horn pattern almost freaked her out.

She took a few steps backwards, better to keep this man in view as well, she hadn't wanted to have to fight with anybody associated with order or protection, she was just having a bad day and needed to take it out on a large group of people. However when the large man spoke he did not seem to be addressing her alone, merely the other people gathered round to watch. It struck Winter that she hadn't noticed them till then, almost yelling out loud to her than she was easy to sneak on once she found a single target to focus on. However despite this she turned her attention back to the taller, more immediate threat.

The man cracked his knuckles before speaking, and when he did it wasn't to try and restore peace or stop her fighting, in fact the words that did escape from his mouth somewhat surprised her:
“I’m game…”
It took a few moments for her to register this entirely, and once she was sure he wasn't going to turn on her for starting a fight her attention turned to the man in front of her, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

Apparently noticing this the man didn't seem to have much choice when he charged at her, he was taller than Winter certainly, and had larger arms. However when he charged Winter merely crouched down, cat-like, and once he was close enough leaped into the air just as he aimed a punch, he stumbled and fell forwards, Winter fell down, landing behind him now and kicked out behind her, catching the man in the small of the back and causing him to stumble forwards more. Winter had never liked killing, she had only drawn her weapon in the first place as an intimidation tool, so she now replaced it in the X shaped scabbard strapped to her back.

She sighed as she did so, the man wasn't as sober as she would have liked and he had collapsed from an attack that would only cause a slight stumble. She looked down at him, disappointment clearly showing in her face. The man got to his feet, laughing drunkenly, apparently amused by her assault. Winter's face portrayed a look of confusion until she registered the sound of quick feet behind her. She leaped up automatically, jumping a good five feet into the air and landing a little way from where she's jumped. She looked around and saw a more sober man, though still under alcoholic influences, laughing at her. She looked down and saw a small knife in his hand, realizing she'd almost let him sneak up on her again, if he hadn't so clumsy.

She glared up at the man's face, a vengeful look in her eye. She ran at him, drawing one of her katanas as she went, once she reached the man he lashed out. Seeing the attack before it came Winter strafed sideways, putting her in the perfect position to take a slive of her own. Her blade cut along the base of the man's thumb, causing him to drop his knife, she then landed her foot in the side of the man's head, knocking him over.
"Coward," she muttered.

Seraphiel found himself calling out, “Any taking the life of another today will be held responsible for their actions!”. It was as much a warning to not the men around them but to the woman as well. He would have no deaths on his conscience this day. Then, moments later, the two burst into a flurry of motion at the same moment the young woman had, claiming the element of surprise for the two of them. He counted nine in all, three of whom were drunk beyond their ability to fight the two sober fighters, and they would be no problem he was sure of.

Instantly, without giving their adversaries time to coordinate an effective attack, one of the men closest to him bent on fighting was leveled. The man fell to the ground as the Rider’s outstretched hand retracted back, and blood exploded from his broken nose. Seraphiel assumed that he wouldn’t be getting back up, but before he could continue to strike further on he was assaulted from two sides.

One man jumped upon his broad back, and threw his arms around the rider’s neck. Another man who had drawn a dagger was suddenly before him attempting to jab his pathetic blade into the kinks in the huge man’s armor, but he could find not. There were what appeared to be openings, but the man could not penetrate the black armor in any important areas, so he aimed lower towards the rider’s thighs. Suddenly a knee shot up, however, and clipped the man’s descending dagger. The weapon grazed the side of Seraphiel’s leg, cutting his pants open and digging into the skin, but it knocked the weapon out of his hand, and so the rider merely let out a grunt and continued on.

Although he was larger and heavier than most of the other men present, the man on his back was giving him some problems. His hands were groping at the rider’s neck, and he continually tried to choke him. Seraphiel couldn’t shake the man loose, so he lurched forward causing him to slide a bit. His hand reached up, managing to get the back of the small man’s shirt, and he again lurched forward. This time he rolled his shoulder forward, and sent the man plummeting over his head and onto the ground. As he hit the rider kicked forward, and planted his boot in the man’s side. There was a loud crunch as his ribs broke upon contact, but an even louder crunch when a fist hit the rider square in the jaw.

Seraphiel stumbled back, momentarily stunned, and enraged that the man who had stabbed him had the nerve to hit him. He held his jaw tightly, standing strait to confront the man. His rage seemed to mount, creating an illusion that he was much larger than before, and the attacker shrank backwards with wide eyes. The man moved backwards at Seraphiel’s advanced, but bumped into someone. He glanced backwards – his mistake – and turned back just in time to see an armor, Aesserian fist coming strait into his face. The rider merely laughed to himself as the man crumpled at his feet, and then stood tall, turning his attention to the woman. Apparently they didn’t want to fight the large mercenary, and seemed to be moving towards her with malicious intent. He merely watched. She had her weapons drawn, and seemed to have the situation under control.

Winter looked back at the first man, who had raised his fists and was jumping from side to side, taking the off punch at thin air and laughing. Winter didn't know if she should sigh or kill him, since he was beginning to get on her nerves, however the mercenary fighting behind her had stated her wanted no killing. Winter's hands balled into fists and she clutched the katana's handle tighter, half tempted to attack him, but thought better of it. She turned her attention back to the man in front of her, since he was unarmed there would be no need to use her weapons on him, since he had no defenses however unarmed combat wasn't her thing.

She thought about the situation and decided it would be best just to incapacitate the man as quickly as possible. So she ran forwards, keeping her katana out but not raising it for an attack. The man aimed a punch at her and she ducked low to avoid it, ramming into the man's stomach and winding him. The force of the blow knocked the man over, Winter halted and staggered upright, rubbing her skull. She looked down at the man clutching his stomach, he wasn't going to be fighting again for a while, she sighed and turned about, suddenly noticing three individuals running at her. She leaped into the air again, landing behind them men and drawing her second katana. She stood up straight and turned about to face them, from the looks of it they had also almost succeeded in attacking her from behind.

Winter glance behind her, checking to see if anybody else was having similar motives. When she saw the rest of the drunks wrestling with the mercenary she decided that nobody else would be making such cheep tricks any more. She turned her attention back to the three men now running at her again, all three with their shoulder's forwards and a stupid grin on their faces. She sighed and ran at them in turn, since they seemed to be planning to knock her to the ground and was busy thinking of a better plan, their formation was made from three, hardly sober, men with no weapons or fighting skill at all, and she was perfectly sober, skilled and armed.

They were outmatched in everything but strength, something that Winter lacked. However they were inferior in tactics, since their minds were evidentially contaminated they would have no sense of improvisation, meaning that once they began they couldn't stop. As soon as they were about to run her over, Winter mad another leap into the air, jumping just high enough to skip over their heads. She landed on the shoulders of one and propelled herself off again, pushing the man over and sending the other two men tumbling to the ground, weighed down by their fellow. Winter landed behind them and looked about as they picked themselves up, groaning and cursing. She wasn't about to use her weapons just yet but her hands felt naked without them, and she simple had to fight with them in her grasp. She waited for the men to make their next mistake and for her to take advantage of it.

Stepping back, rotating in a full circle, the rider saw the apprehension in the eyes of those around. They had no intention of fighting him, but the woman – that was a different story. He had put four men on the ground with relative ease, and had come out unscathed, but the rider was a vicious fighter and did not really care whether he lost a little blood as long as he beat the snot out of his adversaries. However, now the ring was shrinking, and he had no adversaries of his own. Well, he thought, I’ll just have to go cause trouble.

By his count there should’ve been five left, and when he made his count he realize she was down to three – three drunken men who had little sense. It brought a smile to the General’s lips when he thought about it. Ah, the days of being young. He recalled many adventures through the streets when he discovered alcohol, and he remembered the scars it had left on him. These men already appeared to have several scars in the making, and as he eyed the young woman he thought that they may have a few more in the making before it was over. However, he was still wary; the rider didn’t know this woman, nor what she might do, or even whether she had heeded his warning, and he didn’t want to see any blood.

Not far away, his comrades were looking at him with some concern. He looked at them carefully, and nodded to them. This had gone on far too long. So he reached down, his left hand grasping his jeweled longsword, and he moved towards the three men. The blade slipped from its scabbard slowly. The dull shing echoed alongside of the music, and drew looks from all around them. Seraphiel was no longer playing. He had an intense, icy look in his obsidian hues, and any who met his gaze fell away quickly, but before the three men could take note of him he was standing between both them as well as the young woman.

Immediately they shank back, and the rider took a step forward. He pushed them back until the crowd that had gathered around was moving back to accommodate for the drunken men. That’s when they heard the thunderous voice of the rider ring out.

“This fight is over,” he said, “You should help your wounded up and leave, for I will not see blood spilled tonight.” The men were not apprehensive about leaving either. The woman was strong enough, and he could see how threatened they were of her, but these man had a lot of pride and weren’t about to back down from a female. The mere fact that they would also be fighting the rider too, who was formidable without weapons, was more than enough of a reason to run. Although he knew they ran, the rider did not turn to watch them flee. He could hear them scurrying away like the insignificant dogs they were, and could hear the disappointment of the crowd as it dispersed around them as well as they sighs of relief of his comrades. Finally, the rider turned around to face the woman, and slid his blade down into its home moments later.

The three men were dumb but they weren't going to repeat the same mistakes twice, this time they didn't run as a solid wall and approached her from different angles, all three aiming to tackle her and this would prove affective, had Winter not been able to tell almost exactly what they were trying to do. She ran forwards, towards the smaller of the three and drew one of her arms back before lunging forwards with her katana. It sliced through the man's shoulder, spraying blood across his face and causing him to yell out in back, Winter drew her weapon back out of the mans wound and kicked him backwards where he stumbled, one hand grabbing his shoulder and a bitter look of vengeance on his unclean face.

Winter now turned her attention back to the other two men, they had stopped having seen their companion's misfortune and were possible thinking of an alternative tactic. Winter lowered her weapons, since she barely needed them against these morons. However almost as soon as she lowered her guard the nearest man charged, attempting to take her by surprise, if Winter hadn't had the reflexes she possessed he might have succeeded, however she jumped backwards and out of the man's reach, landing a good few feet away and then charging at him.

Taken aback the man made to retreat, Winter made a downward slash, cutting the man's shin with on of her blades and sweeping her foot underneath him, tripping him up. His companions ran over to him, ready to try and take revenge on the person who had just severely wounded their companion. Winter raised her katanas again, waiting for them to charge recklessly, however there was soon something in the way.

Winter looked up and saw the hulking figure of the mercenary blocking their paths, looming dangerously over them. He had his weapons drawn, and was blocking their paths to each other. The less than sober men certainly didn't look like they wanted to argue, they shrank back, fear welling in their bloodshot eyes as they stared up at the figure. Winter however was less intimidated and far more annoyed, one of the things she hated was people getting in her way, whether they were trying to stop her or help her. Reluctantly she replaced her katanas back in their scabbards, pausing to wipe the blood of one of them.

She saw the mercenary stowing his weapons away too, intending not to fight her. At this she didn't know whether to feel disappointment or relief, she would have proffered to fight him rather than try and talk her way out of this, even though he was far taller and better built than her, her only advantage would be her speed in a battle with him and she never liked running.
"Well?" She began in her usual empty tone "going to arrest me then?" Sarcasm wasn't something she normally adopted and hearing herself use it made her feel almost stupid.

A small smirk appeared on his lips, but it was barely visible beneath the mane of inky black hair, and the spiraling horns that framed his face. He gave a rough snort as he gazed at her dispassionately, and shook his head, allowing his black eyes to be seen a bit more easily. There was no emotion in them, but his voice thundered powerfully as he seemed to scrutinize her tiny form.

“No. You did nothing wrong, but I can if you really want me to.” he said calmly has he turned to scan the area. He turned his attention from her for a few moments and whistled loudly to catch the attention of his companions, the rider drew a circle in the air with his index finger, and they nodded seeming to understand the unspoken code. The leader of the small group slapped the youngest on the chest and told him to stay and then the rest scattered and moved away from the diminishing crowd, and caught up to “escort” the men away as the tried to escape. He watched the hauled down the street, and when he looked back to her he merely shook his head again just before saying, “Lets take a walk.”

It was more of a command than a request, and as he turned away to the battleground he expected her to follow him. His attitude was stern and strait-forward, and the other mercenary who stayed behind gave Seraphiel a sly look when the rider commented that he would take her in if she really wanted him to confirming that he’d do just that if she did not follow the large man.

His long wolf-fur cloak swept along behind him as he moved through the crowd, easily picked out and distinguished from the random people. They cleared a path for him as he left, and if she kept close she could’ve gotten through just as easily as the throng shifted, but keeping up with the mercenary was harder than usual. His stride was long and quick, and the way he moved, bobbing up and down with every step, was reminiscent of a wolf. The man was a predator, ready to strike at any movement with the aid of his sixth sense, and despite his size he was far faster than he appeared. All rational reasoning the young woman would’ve been far faster than him in combat, but the mercenary was far from rational in combat. Seraphiel was wild and unpredictable, and so were his attributes of strength, speed and agility.

Moving down an alley, then another, he casually sent glances back in the woman’s direction. He was moving further and further away from the glowing night of the festival and into the darkness of the streets. Eventually he stopped beneath a lamp post, which was still burning into the night, and again he turned to confront the woman. If she knew anything of the town she would know they were getting close to the east gates – in his mind away from all prying eyes and ears.

“Now, tell me,” he began quietly, “where did you learn your technique?”

Winter had paused, considering whether or not to try and fight the juggernaut before her or wait around to see what happened, the latter didn't appeal to her attention much but it was certainly the better option, especially considering the obvious fact that he's be able to flatten her within minutes, not something she was accustomed to. However the man's answer to her comment wasn't the sort she'd expected, especially from a mercenary; he smirked. Not a lot but Winter could tell by the way his face twitched, reading the body language to near perfect accuracy. It certainly wasn't what she would have liked either, and she was beginning to wander what the man actually wanted from her.

His reply came soon afterwards, Winter still remained where she was, thinking through exactly what he'd said and wandering what he'd meant. While he was signaling to his allies she took the time to consider what her current options were. She could run for a start, however she didn't doubt the man's ability to follow her, since he was a trained mercenary and she was just a rogue fighter, her second was to engage in combat with him, however this just enhanced the exact same problem as before, not to mention he was much larger and stronger than her. Finally she decided her best chance was to stay and listen to him, if he did go onto a track she didn't like she could always make her best efforts to run.

He turned away and walked away from the scene of battle after he'd asked her to follow him, it had sounded more like a command though. Winter stayed where she was for the moment, wondering what this man wanted with her, the only way for her to actually find out though was to follow him as he'd told her so. She sighed and made after him, thinking she could always try to blend into the crowd if she needed to escape, however not many people in the crowd had bright blue hair for her to mingle with let alone two katanas strapped to their back and short slits for eyes. Throwing that plan out the window she consented to follow the man through the large crowds, keeping close behind him to avoid getting caught up within the jostle of people wandering about the streets.

Her mind wandered off slightly from thinking about the mercenary and focused more on the success of her trip here, considering the fact it had been a complete failure and that she was now following a man she didn't even know, looking at it that way she felt as though she'd just wasted another day of her life, again. Once they were well away from the crowds, the man stopped and turned back to face her. Winter stopped too, keeping just within the light cast by the lamp but keeping a safe distance none the less. She wasn't a suspicious person but she did know how to make sure she wasn't about to get caught by surprise, most of the time.

“Now, tell me,” the man began, “where did you learn your technique?”
For a moment Winter wondered why he'd asked her that of all things, the last time she'd checked a mercenary's job was to keep peace and order, not ask people how they learned to fight. Despite the simple nature of the question, however, Winter still found it pretty hard to answer.
"I..." She paused, wondering how best to put it "I didn't learn it," she decided "it's always been like that, since I can remember," she finished, sounding rather pathetic.

"Why does it matter to you anyway?" She asked defensively "last I checked mercenaries were supposed to keep order, not ask people where they learned to fight."

Another smirk found its way upon the rider’s lips, for her continued defiance was amusing. She reminded him so much of himself that he was younger, during the prime of his youth, where he could laugh in the face of any adversary and did not truly know how he knew how to fight – only knowing that somewhere deep inside he found feel it – the rhythm of battle. Even her tone of voice, which was far weaker than it had been before, confirmed his thoughts; the two of them were of like mind. The thought, however, was surely interrupted by disturbing recollections of the past. His hand instinctively rose to run across the scar that ran down his forehead, across the bridge of his nose and down his right cheek.

The night had been cold, deathly so, save for the rain that drenched one and all. Behind the rider who sat atop a white steed in silver armor pushed aside the matted locks of blonde hair letting his green eyes assess the situation more thoroughly, stood two thousand highly trained men at arms each bearing his banner of war. Unblemished was his skin, so full of life and color, bronzed by the sun, and wearing the paint of war like all of his followers. At the other end of the battlefield sat eight thousand orcs and goblins, tribes united under the banner of twilight, mindless slaves to the dusk-man’s will. His enemies. The battle raged for two days within the hot gates, a valley separating northern Aesseria from the southern grasslands, and each assault was a victory for the mercenaries. In the end they won out, but by the end during the final battle Seraphiel stood with only nineteen men left, with two thousand uruk-hai and their god-chieftain standing against them. Alone the two leaders fought, and in the end victory was claimed by the seraphim general, but he lay scarred and battered on a field of death – a new wound filling him with soothing darkness…

Instantly his mind shifted back, aware of his growing delay in response. He played his flashback off as a minor headache, which only a rub of his temple and a shake of his head. He was suddenly aware of how awkward the silence had become, and how his expression had changed from calm and calculating, to immensely grave. Indeed it was only a change that incredibly traumatic memories could induce, which only heightened his need to find out more about the young woman. He could see how similar they were in attitude and method, and if anything she needed to be forewarned of what could come of such behavior. In his darkest hour, so close to death, he had called on the most occult knowledge he knew – tainting his former glory, but delivering him from evil. He became a model of what he despised most, and found a guiding light in his fight against darkness, but it came at a very high price.

Still, he could not continue on his line of thought, he had to find a place of balance where he did not succumb to his dark imagination, and could focus on the task at hand while referring to his own experiences. “Aye, indeed. I am supposed to be keeping the peace, so I guess I must be a terrible soldier,” he said clearly, slyly, a comfortable disposition overcoming him. “However, by joining your battle this night I have done two things; prevented an innocent person from being harmed, and arrested several men to drunk to find their own homes. I believe I’ve done a good job, personally.” He put both hands behind his back and went silent for a moment. “Hrm. Well I must say I find you interesting; your fighting skills are mediocre at best – you lack control and precision, but you have a vast potential just waiting to be tapped…” he finally complemented.

Winter looked away from him when he gave another smirk, his attitude was already beginning to irritate her but she thought better than to just walk away there and then. She would probably admit much later she did feel curious as to this man's behaviour towards her, and certainly how he came to be what he was now. Of course, a cirousity she'd more redily accept was how well a katana would cut through those freaky horns of his. Despite this she remained where she was, a safe distance but still able to see him clearly in the light the lamp was casting, and she could see his smirk from here.

However she couldn't deny that he was different from what she was used to, he was far larger than her for a start and the further more, wasn't intent on battling with her unlike so many people she'd come across as of late. But for the moment he seemed to have phased out and let his mind wander, for he wasn't looking at her directly. Perhaps before he came to she could walk off and leave him to amuse himself in the orange light cast by the lamp above them. However something kept her rooted to the spot that she couldn't explain, something about him.

She mentally slapped herself and looked away, he was no different than any other person born on this world, deep down he was just the same and she wasn't going to let herself think otherwise, it seemed highly unlikely that she shared the same orogins as her. Eventually he seemed to remeber where he was, and that he was currenlty engaged with conversation with her. She'd hoped he'd stay like that and completely forget about her.

She began to feel a little unsettled about him, his mind had wandered off and she was wondering why, and if it had anythig to do with the way she'd answered him before. However his reply seemed almost amused by her before it began a critisism of her.

It was the word 'mediocre' that brought her attention the most, particularly used in a sentence commenting on her skills, it caused her cold glare to become even colder than before, and her tiny pupils seemed to become even thinner.
"mediocre?" She repeated "and I suppose you're an expert are you?" Her voice seemed to grow colder with each word, it was almost possible to sense the cold glare she was giving off.
"Care to explain a bit further?" She continued "or are we finished here?"