Steady jingles could be heard ringing through the air as the blue-haired elf made his way through the holy city. The blue and gold jewels on the elfs clothes rang in the air, but softly; almost relaxing as the jingles pulsed. The elf's eyes were very narrow as he remembered his holy upbringings. Raising his head into the air for a moment, he breathed deeply through his nostrils. A sweet smell filled the air, and it was quite pleasing to Avennian's senses. Children from memories were playing on the street, and Avennian smiled. Yes, this was his home. At least, it had been. Now, he had no home as he traveled the lands in an attempt to spread the way of holiness; purging all evil came before him.

Some hailed him, yes some thought that Avennian was a hero. They saw him as a majestic and indestructable cleric that would never bow to the will of evil. The latter was true, for Avennian's heart was submerged and bound into holiness. But, no one ever seemed to consider the fact that Avennian was mortal. People expected him to continue this way of life with no faults. Oh, he would not dare be defeated, but that was inevitable. Avennian anticipated the day when an evil would come upon him that he could not defeat.

The elf sighed as he continued to walk down the streets. He always walked upright, and his composure was impecable. Avennian remembered his father's fellow priests. Ever since he was a child, they always said that he was destined to become a priest. Well, Avennian had not disatisfied them; for while he had chosen not to be a priest, a cleric he had become. And gods did they cheer when they discovered his paladin status.

"Avennian, the holy warrior!" They would shout. By no means did Avennian detest the way they responded to him. He only wished for them to treat him as he was; a mortal. Pushed into the holy ways as a child, Avennian's future had been pre-destined. Still, Avennian treasured holiness to the fullest extents of his loving heart. Having had to discover his father, a priest's, own unholy ways, Avennian had learned at an early age to deal with evil situations. What was he looking for in the holy city? Simply put; rest.

However, it did not seem that rest and relaxation would be his own on this day.

One would assume that in a city so pure and holy, evil would not dare show his face, lest he find himself surrounded by numerous foes that lived and breathed for his demise. Still, Death had never allowed anyone to prevent him from going where he wished, and he wasn't about to stop now. Even in a city as great as this one, shadows appeared where he could hide from the sight of mortal men. Despite the guards that patrolled the city, Death had had no trouble entering the city and finding a temporary place in which he could wait for the best time to emerge. How it would shock these people, to find a source of evil in the very heart of their city. Standing beside Death were two figures as dark as he was. They said nothing, simply stood there and waited for the command of their master. They both held staffs that were about seven feet tall, a full foo taller than the two of them. They would serve a useful purpose in the time to come. Raising his eyes to the heavens above him, Death watched the sun, waiting until it was at it's zenith before finally turning towards the street. The alleyway was narrow, but Death walked through it like it was a grand hallway, and his minions followed without a word.

Without looking left or right, Death stepped into the main street, ignoring the stares he received. Finally, when some of the people recognized who he was, whispers spread like ripples in a pond, carrying word of his arrival. Doubtless guards would arrive in moments to attempt to deal with the threat. Stopping in the middle of the street, Death turned to face the crowd around him, his eyes shining brightly out of the cowl of his cloak. Slowly, he held out his right hand, and a wave of darkness spread from it, forming itself into a tall scythe that he held with ease. From his waist hung two daggers, one simple, the other deadly. Most likely, he wouldn't use them today, unless things went drastically out of hand, then he might need to use the poisoned one to aid his escape. Still, he doubted that there was anyone in the city that would be a match for him. Soon enough, sounds of people running reached him as the expected resistence began arriving. Without any visual signal, the two minions turned and faced the opposite direction of Death, ready to prevent him from being attacked from behind. A whisper escaped the cowl of his cloak, one that nevertheless was heard throughout the crowd, "Let it begin."

Avennian stood in front of this place. Memories conjured themselves as images in his mind as he looked on. "My father's church." he spoke softly to himself, almost as if he spoke too loudly, the very stones of the church would crumble. It was an old church, and was one of the smaller ones in the holy city. However, it had produced one of the most dedicated fighters of holiness in the land.

Aven's eyes held no expression, and his face followed suit. He slowly walked to the steps of the church, but did not proceed any further. He saw his child self as a memory burst from the doors of the church, laughing with such a joy and happines. As he ran down the stairs, his mother emerged from the church. She too, was smiling. This memory made Avennian smile, though he did not notice this gesture.

Avennian turned around and inhaled deeply, his blue eyes looking up at the sky. He exhaled as he squatted; sitting on the steps of the church. He leaned over to rest his elbows on his knees, causing the sides of his blue hair to fall forward and linger by his face. Normally, Avennian would have tucked his hair back behind his ears, but while in this city it reminded him of his childhood, and how his mother would toy with his hair while giving him a bath. Yes, these memories were distant in time, but nothing could tear them from the elf's heart. Avennian sat like this for a few minutes, resting his eyes occasionally, and looking up at the sky. How peaceful, Avennian thought as he breathed another time through his nostrils; this time the sweet scent filling him. It reminded him of the taste of sugar. What exactly was this sweet scent? As a child, Avennian had called it the scent of love. Whether or not that theory was still believed by the elf today, he never denied it.

Avennian fell into a tranquil state as he meditated upon his home, gathering his thoughts. It made him feel more dedicated to his cause, and that was most important to him.

Who's there? Avennian thought, as he opened his eyes. There were people around him, but someone was running. It was a young female elf, as Avennian took notice of her being from the same descent as himself. As she came up the street, Aven just looked at her; and was very surprised when she turned to run towards his church. Her rapid footsteps were soft as she ran, but noticebale nonetheless. The girl had long, flowing blonde hair. She was wearing a white dress, and Avennian's eyes were opened as she passed him; not paying him any notice. She appeared to be about Avennian's age, but he could not tell. He stood as she passed, hoping to offer any assistance that she may require. As she reach the church doors, she tugged upon them, only to realize that they were locked.

"No!" She said, quickly swinging her body around; her hair following the motions of her head. She faced Avennian now; her eyes tormented with desperation. Avennian gave her an inquisitive look, and decided to question her obvious frustration.

"The church is locked." Avennian said, stately the extreme obvious, "but I may be able to help you."

The elfess looked at him; studying him. At first, he had appeared to just be another random citizen, or perhaps a wanderer who had come to have his sins forgiven, as many did in this city. However, now that she looked upon his countenance, she realized that there was definitely something different about him. Her eyes eased as she looked at him, and replied "There's trouble."

Avennian chuckled a bit at the lack of information she had given him, "Okay. What kind of trouble?"

The elfess grew upset at his laughter, and retorted, "This is serious! I need to find a priest!" Avennian's face grew serious as well, for now she seemed to show hints of fear. He turned around as others began to stop and watch them, obviously as confused as he was about the situation. She continued, "There's... " her voice trailed off as she pondered whether she should continue. Her eyes no longer met Avennian's as she looked off to the side.

"What?" Avennian question in a demanding tone. If there really was something serious that required a priest, he would assess the situation himself.

The elfess ran to him, surprising Avennian so that he took a step back. She grabbed his shoulder and leaned upon it, raising her mouth to his ear so as to whisper, "Death"

The sun shone brightly, but darkness surrounded him and the two figures behind him. It was as if a single cloud defied the sun and created a circle of shadows upon the ground. The noise of the city continued in some places, but where Death stood was a black hole that sucked sound into it and didn't let anything out. In the silence of the street, you could have heard a butterfly's breath. Gradually, the sound of running feet grew louder as the quickest guards came closer to their doom. The crowd of people parted for three heavily armed soldiers that stopped when they caught sight of the three dark figures. Without a word, they spread out so that they were forming a semicircle. Death never moved as his eyes bored into the eyes of the one directly in front of him. Sweat beaded on the guard's brow as he met the gaze, one that promised him an end no matter what he did. For a few seconds, silence returned and reigned over the street with absolute mastery.

Shaking his head slightly, the center guard finally took action, moving forward along with the other two guards. Death's gaze encompassed the three of them, and the two outer guards faltered. The center guard continued forward with grace and determination, going closer to Death. Bravely, or foolishly, the guard attacked, a blow that was aimed for his waist and traveled in a diagonal upward path. Bursting into action, Death spun his scythe, bringing the handle around to knock the blade to the side. The scythe stopped immidiately, and rotated in the opposite direction, bringing the wicked blade into play. Unopposed, the blade stabbed into the guard's left thigh and went clean through, sticking out the other side of his leg. A full half of the blade had appeared on the other side of his leg. With a cry of pain the guard fell, clutching at his leg. For a few moments, he just lay there in pain, Death still holding onto the weapon that had injured him. Then, the scythe began it's deadly work. The guard's screams took on a more desparate note as he felt the scythe's effect. His life force was taken from his body and transfered to Death, filling him with strength and stamina.

With his other hand, Death reached into the folds of his cloak, pulling out a tiny hourglass filled with sand. The sand practically flew from the top of the glass into the bottom, seeming to be in a race as to how fast it could empty into the bottom chamber. The screams of the guard arrested the crowd, horrified expressions flitted across people's faces as they realized what was happening. Finally, after less than a minute, the last grain of sand fell from the hourglass, and the guard fell silent. Without a sound, Death tucked the hourglass back in the folds of his cloak and with no apparent effort, pulled the scythe out of the guard's leg. Death's eyes were practically aflame as they gazed at the corpse, looking at the once living person as his body swiftly decomposed, another state brought on by Death. His eyes flicked upward at the crowd, and several flinched, afraid of what was to come. That demonstration had only been the beginning of what was to come, and several people realized it. Without a sound, several began forcing their way through the crowded streets, heading away from the ghostly figure that meant an end to their life.

In truth, Avennian did not fully understand what she was talking about; he just thought that there had been a death within the city, which by this point was not entirely wrong. He gave her an inquisitive look, and she looked back into his eyes expectantly. Unfortunately, her expectance was met with these words from Avennian, "So...somebody died?"

The girl inhaled deeply, and she looked as if she was going to smack Avennian. Instead she disposed of her previous discretion and spoke aloud, "Death! HE, is in the city!"

When Avennian heard her say the word HE, the elf's eyes widened as he called upon his memories to fill in the blanks. The elf remembered the clerics when he was a child, they spoke of death. However, they had not spoken of death as an act of dying, which was the typical and standard definition. No, they spoke of it as if it was a being, an entity with properties of bloodshed and murder. As a child, this had scared him so that he never wanted to hear of such a thing again. Could it be possible that the very thing that haunted him as a child had come to the holy city? The fear in the elfess' eyes furnished his question.

Silence lingered between the two of them, deadly silence.

Suddenly Avennian jumped from the top of the stairs to the ground, landing in a crouch. The charm on his arm jingled from the impact, breaking the silence with an eerie tone. He did not bother to bid farewell to the girl, but he had no time for such a thing. He needed to know what was going on. Avennian's hair flung upward as he lifted his head; at the same time lifting his body and speeding forward on his swift legs. The elf's indigo eyes radiated with determination as he ran down the street; many others looking at him as if he was a madman.

As the elf made his way down the street, he began to observe strange behavior within the people. Many women were grabbing their children and running into their houses. This struck a lightning bolt to his stomach, as he realized that there was really something here. Something that shouldn't be here, Avennian thought. Soon he came upon a crossroad, and he had no clue as to which path to take. However, this did not last long, as the elf saw two guards coming from his left and run down the street to his right. At first, he was going to follow them, but something seemed to tell him otherwise.

"Hey!" Avennian called out to the guards. "Where are you going?" He ran to catch up with them.

The two guards stopped and looked at Avennian with crazed eyes. "You'd better go home." One of them spoke. He was the older of the two, as was evident in the sight of his white beard. The other had a brown mustache, and spoke as well, "There's danger in the city. One such as yourself should not be roaming the streets aimlessly."

Avennian's eyes narrowed with slight aggravation at their words, "I am a cleric," he said, also reaching for his sword to show that he was not one to back down, "I have come to find this damnation so as to rectify any detriments." Avennian spoke boldy and properly so that his message would be clear; he was not going to back down.

"But-" started the younger guard, but the elder cut him off, "Come with us." he spoke, nodding at Avennian. It was as if the two understood each other; as if the souls of both were unified for one purpose, to protect this city.

The street where the three figures were standing was swiftly clearing, a wide area around Death was now empty. No one wanted to suffer the same fate as the guard that had tried to attack him. The pure terror in his screams at the end had been enough to strike fear into the heart of anyone there. Death let the fear of the people wash over him, basking in the emotions of the people as they comprehended their doom. In truth, that was the real power of Death. It wasn't the fact that he was a skilled swordsman that made it so easy for him to end life, it was the fact that people knew who he was, what he did. They knew that he was a force that could never truly be stopped. Death came to everyone, it was simply a matter of time before he came for them. The end was inevitable, unalterable, and unstoppable.

With the sound of running feet came more guards, guards that had not seen what Death could do, but had heard news since they began their race toward the distrubance. That news, coupled with the swiftly decomposing body at his feet, was enough to still hold a large circle around him. No one wanted to come within reach of his weapon, for they knew that the first one to do so was most likely going to die. A smile covered Death's face, not a friendly one. This was the smile of a person that knew he could beat you, that knew you were outclassed in every way. The person that knew your fate before the fight even began. It was the smile that had greeted countless people as the ages passed. A smile which simply said, "You're dead."

His left hand had withdrawn into the sleeve of his robe, hiding it from the view of the soldiers that encircled him. If they had been paying more attention, they might have noticed and they might have been prepared. As it was, their minds were otherwise occupied. His hand clenched inside his sleeve, summoning up the magic that made up his being. Gathering it slowly into his fist so that the change was gradual, less likely to be noticed by anyone that could sense magic. There were currently five guards in front of him, and one of them was about to die, they just didn't know it yet. They were about to find out.

Bursting into motion, Death brought his left arm up, letting loose the killing enervation bolt that had formed. The bolt was pure black, pulsating as it struck one of the guards with a force that sent the body flying, and made the closest guards step back. When the bolt was finished, not a mark was seen on the body, not a singed hair nor a bruise on the skin. He was simply dead, his eyes closed, his face contorted in extreme agony. More horrified glances passed through the crowd, and the few remaining civilians decided that it would be better if they left, swiftly evacuating the scene before them. Watching the fleeing shapes with eyes that shone, Death spoke once again. "Now that the common riffraff are gone, the real struggle can begin." With that said, Death once again held his scythe in both hands, the blade held high in the air above his right shoulder. Soon, many more souls would be joining the two that had already left this mortal plane. Still, he had to be careful. Too many souls, and it would attract the attention of the Goddess of Life, which was something he wasn't ready for, yet.

Nevertheless, this city would never again forget his passage, and the world would tremble at even the thought of mentioning the names of the Horsemen. No longer would they simply be a fairy tale from a forgotten age! It was time that the world was awakened to it's peril, and it was time that the races shuddered in fear of what they would bring. "Never again will I be bound, held in shackles for countless eons. Never again shall humans, among the lowest of the races, force that upon me or the other riders. They shall be taught their place, just as any race that stands against us." The time had come to begin their own campaign, and this was where his would begin, with the slaughter at the Sanctuary of the Angels.

The guards led Avennian down the long street. As the elf ran, his mind was flurried with fears. Not for himself, but for the people of this city. His heart pounded so heavily, it was as if someone was trying to hammer his fears. His hair blew in the wind as he ran behind the guards, and his eyes were soft and caring; determination having been slightly peeled away by fear. Why do I feel this way? Avennian thought, How can I be losing my strength when I have yet to come upon this....thing? Avennian was not thinking of his physical strength, but his mental strength. Which at the time, was wavering such that Avennian began to pre-desting his defeat. Defeat, Avennian thought, but by what?

"Elf," the eldest guard spoke to Avennian, "Why is it that you insist on coming with us? I feel your connection to this city, but you must understand that what lies ahead is something that you cannot possible hope to destroy on your own. "

Avennian thought for a moment before replying, "Would I be alone in my endeavor to fight a threat to this city?"

The guard shook his head, "You would not be alone. But understand that what has come to this city is not something that I intend to fight, for it is something that cannot be destroyed."

Avennian's eyes widened as he thought, Something that cannot be destroyed? Then he continued his thoughts in speech, "What thing would come to this holy city that cannot be destroyed. Is it a god? For no thing is immortal other than the gods; that is, if even the gods are immortal. "

The younger guard was impatient as he answered Avennian's question; tired of the old man beating around the bush, "It is death. THE death. He has come to this holy city. We do not know what his intentions are, but he has made himself known. No doubt killings will follow."

THE death, those words rang in Avennian's mind. He began to run faster, realizing that this was the exact being that he had wished against. When the elf passed the guards, the guards began to quicken their speed as well. It was times like this the elf wished that he was an angel, for flying over these walls, houses, and building would make it much easier for him to reach the turmoil that was taking place. From this point on there was no more doubt, for sooner than he thought, Avennian was beginning to see a dark cloud lying in the middle of a street. How horrible, Avennian thought.

At first, the three of them did not slow up, but as Avennian thought it was wise to do so, the guards follow suit. They were about 100 paces away from the black monster, and they would wait. Others had already reached the area before them; Avennian looked on as he prepared himself for battle. He felt that such would soon be inevitable. But for now, he was sickened by the site of this thing. No, not a thing, for he knew what it was. The darkness that surrounded its being was evil, pure evil. Avennian's eyes slowly shifted to two little mini-deaths; which was the first word to come to his mind; behind the large one. His eyes were narrow as he once again moved his eyes to death. Death, why have you come here? Avennian tossed his hair as he looked on, I will not allow you to continue any further into this city. Your terror will end here.