Ironed hooves clanged on the cobblestones beneath the moonlit leaves of dreary trees

The rhythmic sound of metal scraping over stone echoed through the woods as a mighty destrier trotted through the night. Yellow from dripped on the cobbles path below from its bridled mouth, its bow was besmeared in the yellow sludge as the creature bobbed its head variously up and down. The colossal warhorse was dark in colour, covered in a tattered black blanket and armoured in blacked iron chainmail and plate armour; shaped and wrought in the shape of bones. A fearsome sight to behold for any peasant at night who would encounter it. Even more fearsome about it were its eyes. They blazed with fury, like little flames in a fluttering wind. Yet they were not crimson or yellow flames that burned hot, these flames were blue and emitted a glow that chilled the bones. Its rider was no better. A dark knight. Armoured in a full suit of mail, clothed in frayed dark fabrics; a surcoat of black with the skull of a deer and a torn cloak of wool. Its face was covered by a metal helmet with a mask, as dark as his horse’s armour. The space behind the eye gaps was void, pitch darkness filled with eerie orbs of glowing blue light; they were cold, ice cold.

The rider was Godfrey. Who recently had awoken after a long slumber, how long it took he did not know. But it was long, he could feel it in his bones. Last moment he remembered, before the barren trance, was the fight. The silver-haired man, the carrier of Mars had fought him. The clash was short, the forest had surged with magical energy during their struggle. It was Godfrey who fell. But why? Lucifer had promised him unsurpassable strength. Was it because he wasn’t in control of his own body during the fight? It was Bator that noticed Mars and lashed out, Godfrey imprisoned in his own body after that; he could only watch they fought. His thoughts shifted to his restless dream, that was odd; he had no need for sleep, but he did. Had he died? And once more been resurrected? Was he a rag doll? A toy to play with, a trinket for Satan? Or a pawn in a greater scheme? Godfrey shook his head. He was not a puppet; he was a lieutenant in service of Hell. An adjutant that had been left to his own devices by his master, he would have all he ever needed from the gift, but it did not seem so.

“But it is so,” said a disembodied voice, which reared around him like a flying circling around one’s head, “I am awakened now.”

”Who are you? Where are you?” bashed Godfrey out with his scraping voice, halting his steed and looking around to see where this voice came from.

“I am Ægror,” hissed the disembodied voice, “stop looking around for I am within you. I am the power you were promised. I am the third Seal. You are, no, we are riding our black horse. We are the horseman of famine, of pestilence. We will do our masters bidding.”

Godfrey remained silent for a while. Trying to grasp what the entity was telling him, he still felt sluggish from his slumber. ”Then why, why speak now? Why awake now?” asked as Godfrey with a hoarse voice.

“Because of your little friend, that Bator; his presence made it near impossible to reach you. It died during the fight and allowed me to get on top and present myself to you. But enough talking, for now, someone is heading our way. You don’t have to speak to me, your thoughts are mine to read,” Ægror’s voice seemed to enter his head and its impish laughter resounded in his mind.

”I see,”, Godfrey said, followed with a strain of curses, ”that dammed Bator. I knew he was a burden.” His mailed fists clenched around the dark leather leads. ”So now I got the power I deserved?” but no answer came from the seal, Ægror remained silent.

From the shadows came a shape. Godfrey tilted his head, looking with curiosity at what or who was approaching him. He was not used to being approached; his menacing demeanour made sure of that. The shape was that of a person or so the knight thought at first. It was a woman, that could be distinguished but something was off. Something followed the mysterious woman that could only be described as a tail of sorts, the tail of a snake or lizard. Godfrey’s eyes flickered as he leaned forwards in his saddle to take a closer look. The strange figure moved closer still. Allowing him to distinguish more of her features. Long black hairs fell from beneath a hood, covering a part of her face. The hood in question was oddly shaped as if something was in the way. Her one visible eye was green. He could see her arms, or hands, clearly but noticed something was dripping from it; a dark drooping liquid. She spoke, greeting him and warning him.

Godfrey let his reigns slip out of his hands and with two hands he removed his helmet, cradling between his left arm and his chest. His right hand pushed the mail coif back, removed the padding underneath which he pushed inside his helmet. He brushed through his white hairs with his mailed right hand and tilted his head to the right. His face which used to be scared and blemished by the bubonic plague that had killed him had vanished and with that change came more as well; he looked far more handsome then he had been previously before he got the plague. He had the face of a young man instead of the gaunt face that had caused him so much hardship throughout his life. His scrawny body had also changed. Although still slender, he didn’t look like someone that would fall to the grounds with the slightest of breezes. He had already noticed that his armour felt lighter, he had become stronger too.

”Well, my name is lord Godfrey of house Ushil. I am the count of Ushil, exiled count I must admit,” he said in a hoarse voice, his eyes glared as he observed the woman before him. ”Or I capture you and hand you over the village? proposing a third option and chuckled, ”thank you for your kind warning. But they are no thread to me. So, you had some fun during your visit to the village? Blood dripping from your hands? Curious. And what is following you around so faithfully.” Godfrey’s icy eyes followed the tail’s movement. Godfrey preferred his solitude but it felt like ages since he last had talked to someone, other than Ægror just moments ago.  

Godfrey stared at the thing the woman offered, it took him aback. That was not something he would have ever anticipated, he was unsure whenever he should accept it. What use was it to be rude? It didn’t looked like a magical amulet of sorts and thus far there was little enemity between them. His mailed glove reached out and grabbed the brown object, he brought it closer to his eyes to inspect it; a slight blue huey covered the dark thing. It was not something he recognized and tugged it in a saddle bag. In the meanwhile the hooded figure showed him an scaled arm, followed by the removal of her hood, as she spoke. What followed her happened to be a tail.

Dragon, was the word that ran through his mind and Aegror agreed. Godfrey nodded, ”I see. Wel met, your grace. I have never before seen anyone, as yourself.”

Godfrey laid his head to rest upon his shoulder, his eyes blue eyes glowing fervently. ”They wouldn’t be able to stand against me any ways, if I were to unleash wroth. But I do not have a quarrel with them. Merely passing through, wandering about,” said Godfrey with a hoarse voice, ”nor do I have a quarrel with you.”