Jeremiah, Aaliana, Bappy, Ysabel, Kiichiro Kat and Daven were on their way to Swanford fief. At the last minute, the Senshi chose to join them and at any rate, someone who was familiar with the anvil and forge was welcome to Aaliana. It was always a possibility to try and replicate or even improve the Templar's gear.

To the Warrior, the beautiful countryside went unnoticed as his nose was buried deep in on one of the many hidden books of the Knights Templar's lore and legends. It was the harvest season so the fields would usually have been abundant with crops. However a disease has ravaged the farmland leaving the fields of wheat and orchards of orange dead and withered. The ground surrounding the orange trees were scattered with the dead fruit; they were speckled with a sickly greyish - green hue.

Fortunately, Jeremiah wasn't concentrating on this sight. He absolutely adored the popular delicacy of citrus.

Aaliana took the lead, stoic as ever. She was a daunting figure, impressive nonetheless, even with her nondescript traveller's shield and the huge broadsword hung onto her back, accompanied by the unstrung longbow and its quiver which belied her true profession. A bulky sack filled with the legendary Templar's armor clanked at her horse's side.

The sun had already begun to set and fortunately, a village had become visible. It was always welcome to enjoy a hot meal within the safe haven of a crowded area. A fire would have been too risky out in the open and with such a prestigious group of people, lighting a cooking fire would be welcoming capture for ransom.

After a hot dinner over a muted atmosphere, the party went to their respective rooms within the inn. Aaliana and Ysabel slept in one room while Bappy and Jeremiah stayed in the one neighbouring them. The grizzled Senshi then opted to stay with Daven.

…

Jeremiah of the Bear had plenty of dealings with the dark. This was no exception. People say that there is a sixth sense, intuition, and that it should never be ignored. It could be said that his senses were screaming at him to wake up.

Jeremiah rolled quicker than thought, catapulting, himself off the side of the bed and collided with an unnaturally cold body. That small realisation was good enough for him. As he spun, he raised his elbow in a vicious strike which slammed into the intruder's snout with a resounding crunch. Whirling to his feet, he seized the Morg's slender arm which gripped a dagger, poised, to deal the killing blow. The familiar sound of steel scraping on wool was audible as Bappy had his sword in one hand, already drawn, with a lit candle on the other.

Had this been the average Morg, even the mighty Warrior himself would have struggled subduing it. This Morg was different. It shared the same feral features but its horns were shorter as if it were those of a billy goat rather than a ram. As he held the creature against the wall, Jeremiah noted the lean muscle within a wiry frame. The beast was covered in dappled, grey cloth and daggers criss - crossed its body within a multitude of sheaths. Both Jeremiah and Bappy have dealt with this type of soldier before: an assassin. But never in this bestial form.

The Warrior was practically nose to nose with this new breed of Morg - close enough to smell the stink of its fetid breath.

"What are you doing here?"

The beast snorted in derision with some difficulty. Black, tarry blood sprayed from its broken snout onto Jeremiah's nightgown.

"I have underestimated you, but no matter. You're still here and another of your enemies approach. They will raze this village to ash and fire and it will be your doing!"

With a heave, Jeremiah tossed the Morg right at Bappy's waiting sabre.

"You go warn Aaliana and Ysabel. I'll call Daven and Kiichiro Kat. Tell them to get ready for a fight."

"There is no need. We heard what happened"

The rest of their group stood at the door, now open. All of them were fully armed except Aaliana who promptly continued.

"I checked the stables. That Morg you just killed probably hid my Templar's armor but I can sense it so I can join you soon enough. Just take the fight outside of the village and into the forest and be extra careful. I can feel something malevolent, dangerous."

Daven was silent for the majority of the journey so it was a surprise when he spoke up.

"That's a good idea but we should stop by the inn's kitchen first."

All of the warrior types in the group stared at the druid in confusion so Ysabel broke the silence.

"I second that notion."

Aaliana relented. "Alright but make it quick."

So the two dashed down the inn stairs while Jeremiah and Bappy suited up. Ysabel and Daven bumped innkeeper who was in his nightgown and looked less than pleased.

"What is all of this racket?"

The courier grabbed the man by the front of his nightgown and commanded him:

"Warn the village to lock their doors and stay inside. We're under attack and we will try our best to help."

And without another word, the two gone into the kitchen.

Ysabel and Daven instantly went to the spices cupboard. They both went for the salt and pepper. While Ysabel stuffed her breeches' pockets full of them, Daven added the condiments in a grinding bowl with some fresh chilis which he ground with a pestle. The exotic fruit made his eyes water but he continued. The resulting paste was red and black in colour and it practically exuded a stinging air. And with that, the druid picked out three small kitchen knives.

The courier looked at the little knives doubtfully.

"I'm sure those little toothpicks won't be able to harm those monsters."

Daven grinned mischievously. "I know. But it will sure hurt like a bastard if I added this onto them," he said as he used a spoon to coat the blades with the chili - salt and pepper paste he just produced.

"What in the blazes are you doing in my kitchen?!" A candle lit the innkeeper's face which was red with fury. It didn't help that he carried an intimidating blackwood club in his other hand.

A massive form loomed over the furious innkeeper; an ominous shadow was cast over his rigid form.

Turning, the innkeeper screamed and dropped his club. Jeremiah, hefting his razor sharp battleaxe, filled the doorway behind him. The axe-head glinted menacingly in the candlelight. It didn't help that three other fierce - looking individuals were piled behind him.

"Don't worry. We'll pay for it. You'd better lock yourself in here nice and safe. Things could get messy."

And without another word, the party left.

The chill night air came as a shock and everyone felt it. A cold, dead hand stroked each of their spines. Powerful dark magic was at hand. Aaliana had sprinted down the main street to find her Templar's gear. Within the heat of the moment, Jeremiah had totally forgotten about Ysabel. He couldn't possibly put the courier in harm's way.

"Ysabel, get back inside. Aaliana's just going to find her armor and we're going to lead the fight into the forest."

"You old dolt! I can take care of myself," Ysabel retorted.

Jeremiah knew it was futile. It would only anger her further if he mentioned the fact that she was less capable as a warrior. Before he could make up his mind, the Morgs arrived.

There were at least fifteen of them - some of the biggest and most brutish that any of them could have seen. They must have been the alphas, the elite. An assortment of swords and spears bristled from the ragged line that they composed, a ragged line that slowly and cautiously advanced towards the tight group of humans. But they weren't the cause of the chills. It was the robed figure behind them.

Like a wraith, it casually strolled past the Morgs. No. Glide was a more accurate term as the humanoid lacked a gait. Its smooth, confident steps belied the power and experience of an immortal. Death emanated from it, leaving a blackened trail in its wake.

"Jeremiah of the Bear." Its voice was deep, ancient, timeless.

"I've heard a lot about you. Legend has it that you are no ordinary human."

Jeremiah stared the creature in the eyes - if he could call them that. They were two orbs of pure white, sunken deep into grey - blue flesh. The skin radiated like moonlight on green swamp water over its hollow cheekbones. Its long, thick hair glowed silver.

"You're Reivynn, I assume?"

The entity snorted, a condescending gesture. "No. Not even close but I still have more than enough power to destroy you."

Without turning, it called out to the Morgs behind it: "Kill the Gallican and the Nihon - jan and capture the lady as well as the old man. The Warrior is mine. When we're done, we'll find the last known Knight's Templar. They are a plague that needs to be destroyed."

With that, the wraith surged forward, too fast for even Jeremiah to properly react.

…

Aaliana could sense it. Every suit of Templar's armor was magically crafted and forged specifically for the user and their abilities. One could say that a Templar had a natural affinity towards their gear.

Her instincts lead her towards a farmhouse on the outskirts of the village. The building was larger than the average settling which intrigued her as to why her armor would be hidden there. Kicking the double doors down, she scanned the large, dark room. Runes and symbols, covered the floor which bathed it in an unnatural purple. The Captain knew better than to step on it.

And there it was, the sack of her armor, weapons and all, dangling on the main beam which held the roof up. At the center of the room, unharmed by the violet miasma, was a Morg not unlike the one Jeremiah and Bappy faced in their room. However this one exuded confidence.

Aaliana had no choice. She vaulted and hung onto the doorframe. Planting her foot on the top of one of the open doors, she leapt and clung onto the main beam and pulled herself up. All the Morg had to do was bound on top of the beam in a single jump. Without a word, it drew a rapier. Light and balanced, it was the perfect weapon for this situation. All Aaliana had was her dagger.

"I see you aren't one for words?" The creature remained still, oblivious to her trap.

The Captain shrugged. It was worth a try. Assuming the Iberian dueling position, she lunged.

…

Jeremiah could only bring his axe up before sparks flew. The resulting force threw him a few meters back. His mouth was agape in disbelief. Did that creature just attack him with its hand? Five jagged lines on his axe's face confirmed it.

The wraith inspected its fingers with distaste. The grey flesh was torn but was already healing rapidly.

"That's a strong weapon. If it had been normal, I would have shattered it."

For once in a very long time, Jeremiah felt truly afraid of death. That "strong weapon" was Nihon - Jan steel of the highest quality. It was stronger than any non - magical weapon known to man. He doubted he'd be conscious or even alive if it had scored a direct hit. Yet he had to try. His friends were counting on him. If this new evil was left to run rampant within the kingdom, who other than Aaliana could stop it? Even that wasn't guaranteed. Not to mention that there were probably many more of these spirits running amok.

For once in a very long time, the Warrior's vision turned red. It had been decades but he remembered the feeling. More strength and fighting prowess coursed through him than any human had a right to have. He was Jeremiah of the Bear and some skeleton in a robe wasn't going to stop him. Even the mage looked surprised.

"My turn."

For once in a very long time, Jeremiah of the Bear felt truly alive.

…

"Get behind us," growled the Senshi warrior. He and Bappy took on a defensive stance, blocking the doorway to the inn. This way, the Morgs could only attack them a few at a time.

"And make sure none of them get behind us." Bappy nodded his head towards the back door, leading to the stables. which the Morgs could use to flank them.

Ysabel and Daven watched as the two expert fighters efficiently repelled and killed the beasts which were now beginning to filter in. Ysabel noticed that there were three who decided to go around the house. She could guess why they would do so.

"Daven. Get ready. I saw three coming up behind us."

The druid nodded, confirming he understood. He drew the three knives coated in paste while Ysabel scooped as much salt and pepper from her breech pockets as she could.

The Morgs burst in like a hurricane but the courier was ready. She hurled the salt right at their bestial faces. The salt got in their eyes while the pepper stung their sensitive nostrils. The Morg in the lead was too preoccupied to notice the stiletto slip into its throat.

Ysabel hissed in frustration. Her distraction was too successful as she only managed to kill one and graze the neck of the other, leaving her open to a counter - attack. The Morgs rushed forward, only to be met by two spinning knives which found their way into the chinks of their armor. The intended effect was instant. The two creatures screamed in pain as the chili oil and salt burned into their wounds. Ysabel quickly dispatched them in their torment.

Meanwhile, Bappy and Kiichiro Kat managed to kill the last of their opponents. Their eyes widened as they noticed the three dead Morgs, throats bleeding, on the ground. Apparently, all it took were two kitchen knives meant for slicing vegetables and a small, slender stiletto to defeat the three savage beasts.

Ysabel was the first one to speak.

"We have to find Jeremiah. I'm afraid he might be going through much worse."

…

The beam shook. Rapier and dagger clashed as both opponents fought for the ascendancy. Aaliana swayed precariously on the beam but she had done worse. Admittedly, the Morg was good although the adept fencers of Iberion were better.

They lunged back and forth, trading blows, testing each other's resolve. Although Aaliana had the advantage of strength, it meant little on such a treacherous battle ground. Aaliana thrust and hacked, trying to get into her enemy's guard. The Morg was beginning to give ground as the Captain was practically dancing and spinning on the beam, raining down brutal blows.

Even so, the Morg was equally light - footed… waiting… waiting. Fast as a viper, the rapier flew and slashed Aaliana's side. She stumbled in surprise. She was overconfident and now she'd pay for it.

On one hand, she managed to hang on to the beam. She gasped as the purple mist burned the soles of her boots. Knowing it won, the Morg strolled with leisure. The rapier was pointed at her in mock salute. One last chance.

Aaliana gritted her teeth and summoned all of her reserves for what could be her end or saving grace. The dagger, still in her hand, glowed golden. The shimmering light seemed to repel the purple vapour. Her wound began to close. The Captain heaved herself up again with little effort. Grunting, she stomped; the earth itself seemed to shake.

"This is only a fraction of the true power of a Knight's Templar."

The Morg teetered on the brink that was all she needed. With renewed energy, she darted forward and hacked its blade in half; what was left of it resembled a molten candlestick. Aaliana drove the dagger into the Morg's chest. Lifeless, it collapsed on the floor below.

Aaliana nearly joined the beast in its grave as she was drained from that burst of magic. However, she managed to stay on and stagger towards her gear which lay at the other end of the building.

As she put the armor on, she felt the integrated magic within it renewing her. She needed practice. Some of the greater Templars could create whole suits of armor with that golden energy. All she could do was empower her dagger. Nonetheless, her gear would suffice.

Nimble as a cat, she leapt off the beam and into the purple mist, unharmed. Now it was time to help the others.

…

"You are strong, human. I've forgotten what it's like to fight with any sort of effort."

Jeremiah stood, bloody but far from broken, his axe scarred beyond recognition. He had put up a decent fight yet he was still mortal. Apparently this creature was a mage, risen from the time of the ancients.

"Your aura is different. Any ordinary human would have begun to rot just by being this close to me but you seem to be still standing." The mage chuckled menacingly.

"That won't stop me."

An invisible wall of energy crashed into the Warrior, throwing him back a few metres. A quick inspection told him that a few ribs were fractured. The mage stretched his arm out and Jeremiah began to glow. Tendrils of light seemed to be ripped out of him, travelling towards the spectre's waiting fingers. Jeremiah screamed. His massive pain threshold meant nothing. It was as if his entire soul and being was being ripped violently from its shell. The mage raised an eyebrow, incredulous.

"A golden aura? I haven't seen that in a long time. It is a shame that I have to destroy you before your power is ripe for the taking."

Bappy charged, saber raised. Jeremiah was in too much pain to warn him. Black mist swirled and engulfed the Gallican who recoiled, choking on the deathly haze.

A loud blast filled the air: Dragon's Breath. The iron projectile simply made the mage lurch a few feet forward. Before Kiichiro Kat could reload the weapon, a concussive wave of energy knocked him unconscious.

"Is this your court? Are these the people that helped you build the mighty kingdom of Aericanus? How pathetic. Consider it a favor that I end your miserable existence."

The Warrior's vision was dimming. Could this be it? At this point, Jeremiah's fate was sealed. He was prepared to die like this a thousand more times if it meant that his friends would be safe and alive. But alas, the gods only gave him one. All he could ask for is that he bought Aaliana enough time to find her armor. He began to feel light, too light, but when the Captain arrived, eyes aflame, he wasn't scared anymore.

…

The handle of Aaliana's axe groaned as she took in the sight of the man who gave her a second chance have his life - force and soul effectively torn from his body. Nobody deserved that death. Nobody. But there still was time to save him. She just had to act quickly.

Just as the last of the golden light left Jeremiah's lifeless body, Aaliana's axe flew and severed the mage's outstretched arm. It bellowed with all the volume and strength of a thousand voices - Aaliana swore she could hear Jeremiah's in the blood curdling wail. The entity would pay for that.

The mage raised his forearm, now a charred stump. It did not heal. Slowly, it turned blazing, hateful eyes to where the axe came from. It was Aaliana, in full Templar's armour, wielding her sword and shield. A quiver was strapped across her waist and her longbow was strung. She was ready for battle. The metal plates were dull grey, but the exposed leather was engraved with protective runes burning gold contradicted its typical nature. What the mage was facing now, was a Knight's Templar, the bane of so called "darkness".

A jet of black fire erupted from the mage's remaining hand. But, Aaliana's shield was there to stop it's fiery wrath. As the flame collided with the shield, it seemed to expand downwards and outwards to its flanks. She crouched and jammed the shield's sharp bottom into the dirt ground, forming an impenetrable wall against the incoming flames. Having memorised the mage's position, Aaliana sidestepped, drew an arrow and let it loose with her longbow.

The arrow traced a streak of gold and impaled the spectre's shoulder. Seeing her chance, the Captain snatched her shield up, now shrunken, and charged.

It had been decades since the spectre felt true pain. Gritting its teeth, he snapped the shaft protruding from his shoulder.

Aaliana came in like a whirlwind, moving with a wraith - like agility that matched her opponent's. The mage launched a volley of concussive blasts which were blocked by the Captain's shield. The effect was minimal. Aaliana rammed the shield into the spectre's ribs and before it could retreat, she impaled it with her broadsword.

Slowly, the green glow emanating from the mage began to weaken until what was left was grey flesh, wasted away. He was too weak to struggle.

Aaliana spoke, her face so close to the mage's that he could feel her breath, hot in his face: "It never pays to let your guard down, now does it?"

The mage could only stare, seething. The human was right. He had gotten complacent and now, he was bested by her. The mage began to disintegrate until all was left was from its core: a radiant ball of liquid, green crystal. A single streak of gold darted within it frantically as if it wanted to escape. Eventually, it dissipated but that little bit of gold remained and returned to Jeremiah's inanimate body.

…

It was like a dream. Could this be the afterlife? It certainly was a possibility as Jeremiah strolled through the woodland village of Stagheart. In fact, his home wasn't too far from here but he must have been here for a reason. As usual, there was the normal bustle of activity. Children were running, playing games, and workers would be busy with their craft. He passed a tavern, noticing that the seat where the jongleur would usually stay and perform was empty. Yet everything seemed to be clearer, brighter than normal. Either he was dreaming or he was dead because this place had been burned to the ground.

He kept on walking until he found the place he'd been looking for. It was one of the smaller cottages and a sign hung from its entrance: the crude shape of an arrow. This was the residence of a fletcher. Jeremiah knew this place well enough. He'd stop by here quite often as a certain brother of his loved to spend time inside. Unsurprisingly, it was empty. Despite that, he had a pretty good idea of where its occupant was.

He continued into the forest and kept on walking until he could hear a lyre. Within a clearing was a boy and a girl, both in their teen years. They were seated on the grass, backs turned towards Jeremiah but something about them was oddly familiar. He froze. Could he be intruding? However, his curiosity got the best of him. It didn't help that the music was so captivating.

The boy's singing voice was high and angelic, as if the gods themselves had bestowed that gift. The way his fingers moved over the lyre was borderline hypnotic, as if they were made of silk rather than clumsy flesh and bone. Jeremiah could watch them all day.

The girl was no different, she too seemed to be enthralled by his playing. Then there was that error: a minor slip of the fingers. The mistake was miniscule but it sounded out ugly and deformed within the masterpiece. Jeremiah almost cried out in protest but the girl merely giggled and turned towards the boy; the back of his neck was bright red.

"Lance, you should really practice more often," she smirked. Her voice was unique, like birdsong.

No. This couldn't be, Jeremiah thought to himself.

And as the girl twisted her torso towards Lance, she noticed a large figure out of the corner of her eye. She screamed. Lance bolted up in an instant and stood in between the two.

Jeremiah nearly lost his balance. Without a doubt, this was the afterlife because these two people whom he knew very well were supposed to be dead. Before him was Lance, the famed minstrel, with Adara: Queen of the Hunt and the love of Michael's life.