Year of Our Lord: 1191 AD

Night had fallen at last over the Valachian forests, gripping the valley like a deathly shroud. The yellow crescent moon lit the traveller's way, shining through the shadows of leaves and branches above. And with darkness, the hordes would assuredly follow.

Yet, there was a quiet calm in the valley, as the horse covered wagon slowly came to a stop at the peaceful clearing. It had been raining hard since late noon, and it had certainly been difficult for the former squire to coax the horses into action along the muddy slopes and uneven terrain. It was a small miracle alone that the wagon itself had held together as long as it had, having had numerous close calls where one or more of its wheels became lodged in the silt and mire, robbing the journey of hours of progress. The roar of the stream did little to assuage his unease. Whilst it was loud enough to cover his arrival to most, he feared it would mean little to the supernatural senses of the creatures of the night that prowled these lands.

Releasing the reins, the cloaked man moved under the canvas shelter of his wagon, glad to at last be out of the rain. The two stallions responsible for pulling it grew restless, sensing something unnatural about their surroundings, and pawing the muddy ground in discontent. But their master paid them no mind. Instead, upon lowering the hood of his drenched cloak , he reached into it and withdrew a letter, the paper worn and smudged from tears and bloodstains. For what must have been the hundredth time he'd done so for the past month, he began to read, deaf to the roar of thunder far above and the drumming of the downpour.

"My dearest Chevalier…"

Despite his ever present worry for his longest and dearest friend, he could not help but muster a smile at that. She always did have trouble in using his god given name, and whether it be borne her desire to fluster him, or a mark of her friendship, he knew not. He continued, expression souring as his eyes met the elegant cursive script he knew so well, even rushed as it was.

"Words cannot express the sorrow I feel when I think on how we parted. And how I may never be able to set things right. My time runs short. Legions of the damned have laid siege to this place, likely seeking my research on the twin stones. I fear it is only a matter of time before they breach the defenses. The townspeople speak of hiding in the catacombs and tunnels underneath us at night, and the priests and holy men do the best they can, but I fear it will not be enough. The dead already number in the hundreds, and the few who survive the raids are either taken away to the vampire's Lord, or worse, left behind to turn into flesh eating ghouls. We managed to send a boy named Mercury for help from the Church and the Empire's army, but I doubt it will ever arrive. If he still lives, I have instructed him to see that this reaches you, and if you are holding this letter in your hand, then I may at least die knowing that you know that I am truly sorry for driving you away and hope that the next life is kinder to you and I.

With all of my love and heart,

C.

Jaune Belmont held the paper desperately, deep in thought. That had been almost a month ago now since he had received the letter, and he had heard nothing from the town of "Cordova" the messenger boy, Mercury had informed him of, since he had left. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep, bar the dreamless periods where exhaustion occasionally overwhelmed him. Every waking thought was consumed with finding her, dead, or worse. Her research into the alchemy stones was frankly an obsession of hers, and a source of many disputes towards the end of their time with one another. An idée fixe that had consumed her almost the entire time he'd known her.

The mania it evoked within her been more than a regular source of worry for him in the past, watching her rife through hastily written notes of magic and dark arts while she thought him asleep in their days travelling together. He knew why she sought them of course, or at least he thought he did. But the road to hell had always been paved with the good intent of would-be sinners.

At least, thus was the view of his now former tutors.

The rain had died down, at least momentarily and his destination was still some distance through the valley yet. The recent attacks had, according to Cinder's letter, forced the people of the town to lock and barricade their gates at nightfall, so even if by some divine intervention, he did arrive there intact, he would be trapped outside until daybreak, with no way to reach Cinder even if she was still within the town walls, to say nothing of the fact he had no weapons save a few daggers, two bottles of holy water procured from a village monk, and of course,the whip.

Quietly making the sign of the cross, he brought his free hand to his waist, his frost-numbed fingers making contact with a gnarled and blackened leather whip. He closed them around it with all the strength he could muster, praying that the Lord would forgive him his iniquities. It had been a gift from Cinder bestowed upon him long ago, and whilst he knew of the heretical nature of its origin, imbued with magicks and sorceries most offensive to the Holy One and his church, Jaune had kept it for many years, hidden from even those who were to be his brothers in Christ and battle. Whether it was sentiment, or some other desire, he simply could not bear to part with it, even if he had never been able to bring himself to use it.

It was one thing to simply hold something of that nature, but soon, he feared, he may need to call upon its powers and more if he meant to protect that which he loved.

As one who had desired in the not too distant past to fight Saracen heathens in the Holy Land in the name of the Lord and the Holy Sepulchre, this was no easy sacrifice to make. He himself, no matter how he tried, could not reconcile himself to the papal doctrine. Surely, if used to save innocent lives, magic and alchemy were nothing to be feared? But within his heart, he knew those he had called brothers, the bishops and holy men, would be deaf to any entreaties he made. Just as they were when he had pleaded for permission to be here, to save innocents from the unholy, refusing to send even the minutest aid. Either out of fear or unwillingness, even when he had begged at the knee, they remained steadfast; The Saracens were the priority, and they had no time for one small town or two, or the opinions of a mere squire, save a few prayers as an afterthought.

Jaune snarled at the idea. Did the Lord not teach that "faith without works is dead"? What good is prayer, without action? What would the purpose be for fighting for Christendom abroad, if it meant abandoning one's neighbours to their horrible fate? It was then that he came upon an unfortunate truth. So many of those whom he trusted, revered, and sought guidance from, cared more for the affairs of men, that those of Christ, picking and choosing their principles as one would flowers in a field. The thought made him sick to his stomach,

And so, in his fury, he had done something rash, forswearing his chance to become a holy knight, with all the boons the title entailed spitting in the collective eye of many who would have granted him renown, honour and glory, things he had long sought after.

Jaune could not help but wonder if he had truly made the right decision nonetheless. He had been taught that only a fool is sure in his convictions, and this was a truth he had indeed found evident over the years. Was it Christ's compassion that guided him, or his attachment to her? And what of the whip? To wield such infernal power, even if for just cause , could mean, at best, excommunication, banishment from all forms of civilization. The alternative of course, would be death, either at the hands of the demons, or the Church, to say nothing of what may happen to his immortal soul.

'Enough.' He groused under his breath. All of this debate would mean nothing if he lost his wits here. Let the future fall where it may, if he did not focus his attentions on the present, he may not draw breath long enough to be concerned by such dilemmas. And neither would Cinder, or the innocents of Cordova. And if he failed here, maybe even the rest of Valachia.

With this sobering thought, the Belmont turned his thoughts elsewhere. He would not fail. He had no other choice.

The mountain town he had travelled from in the early hours of the morning was too far away to turn around for the night even without the various mud pits, narrow bridges and other obstacles that had delayed him in daylight hours with even scarcer visibility. It was unbelievably frustrating but he knew full well he had little else in the way of options. So he resigned to rest where he was, resolving to make headway as soon as dawn's light broke through the darkness. He prayed that she had remained hidden, and that she had not succumbed to her fiery nature and done something brash in the meantime. Whilst he had not laid eyes on her for many years, he knew her better than to think she would ever take any challenge or threat lying down, and he certainly had the bruises and scars to validate his judgement.

Bundling up the thick furs that a kind trader had been generous enough to provide him for his journey, he laid them out as best he could in the small space, and wrapped them around himself, prepared to settle down to wait out the hours until daylight.

In spite of his misgivings and fears of what may happen should his vigilance falter, he soon closed his eyes, lulled by the warmth of his coverings and the exhaustion of the day's journey, allowing himself to fall into Somnus' peaceful embrace. And then, he dreamed.

Manor D'Arc, Normandy: Years earlier….

The blonde boy ran through the meadow of barley, laughing with childish glee. The scorching summer sun at its zenith, far above him in the cloudless sky. A cool wind blew gently as he sprinted, feeling the wind against his face as he sprinted towards the horizon.

He had escaped his borish tutors for the day, something he was rather proud of, and had once again set off seeking adventure, barrelling through the tall grasses. Saphron, or worse, Mother, would track him down sooner or later and drag him to Father, but Jaune D'Arc was an adventurer that lived in the moment, damnit! There was no joy to be found in reciting Latin credos, being forced to read classical literature aloud for the umpteenth time, or having to sit through Father Dorin's torturous diatribes that the young D'Arc scion would bet his father's entire treasury, could wear on the patience of even the holy saints. So he could be forgiven after several hours, he reasoned, for taking advantage of the wide open window, and Dorin's utter lack of awareness once he started lecturing?

It had taken mere moments to make the decision; Trapped in the manor's grand library with thick mind-dulling tomes, stifling heat and a methusulan abbot determined to bore him into an early grave, or to run free in the open air?

Jaune's feet had crossed the threshold of the windowsill, and had touched down on the ground before he had even finished asking himself the query, sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him into the crop fields, knowing that they would prove the best cover.

Finally thinking himself safe from his imagined pursuers, his adrenaline at last depleted, he collapsed near the edge of the field's boundaries. The ground was softer than her expected, despite the days of harsh sun, and the warmth of the soil beneath him would have proved more than enough to lull him into a nap. Or it would have, if he hadn't seen the dried crimson splotches on the ground, and the sudden smell of rusted iron that assailed his senses.

Fear paralysed him. Had some wild beast been hunting here? Was it still nearby? He almost thought to shout for help before his percipience returned, To do so would assuredly lead the beast here faster than any help could arrive, and he had no weapons with which to fend it off. But as he lay there fighting a wave of internal terror, his fear began to give way to the very thing that has ailed children for millennia, and doubtless many more hereafter; curiosity. He had never seen a beast before. The dead ones that Father occasionally brought home on his hunting trips perhaps,usually roaming wolves, but never a live one. This could be his chance!

With anticipation and youthful exuberance, he began to follow the increasing large blood trail, crawling on his belly. It wouldn't do to alert the feral animal to his presence. Making slow progress through the grasses, the young child moved carefully, making every effort not to disturb the crop as he did so.

It took him little time before he eventually reached the the final vestiges at the edge of the boundary, marked by his forefathers with a mighty oak tree. Jaune groaned. The beast, if there ever was one, was long gone, and all he had for his troubles were ruined garments, and more than likely, an even bigger yelling at from Saphron. Mumbling under his breath , he used the trunk for support as he slowly rose to his feet, running his hands through his mussed blonde hair to shake any stray ears of barley loose.

While he was doing so however…

Something wet and viscous landed on the back of his hand. Jaune paid it no heed at first, simply preparing to turn the way he came in search of adventure elsewhere. Despite that, something within him made him pause, taking one last look at the blood trail's end. It seemed… different than the rest of the evidence he had seen, but he could not yet say how.. Curiosity again began to consume him. As the inquisitive youngster went to take a closer look, he made a horrifying discovery.

This patch of blood before him was fresh. Theories and conspiracies tore through his head until another revelation came upon him. Trails do not simply vanish into the ether. If this was indeed the end, there should be a carcass, right? Or at least something. Unless…

Slowly, and with the resignation of a man at the gallows, the boy raised his head and his eyes skyward into the boughs of the great tree.The last thing Jaune D'Arc saw was raven hair, and a glint of silver steel.

Belmont awoke with a start to darkness, distant screams and the smell of burning flesh on the wind. How long had he been asleep?! The spooked horses brayed frantically, attempting to buck themselves free from their harness. Rapidly shaking off his furs and the vestiges of sleep, Jaune scrambled for the reins, snapping them audibly in the hopes that the sudden noise would sharply bring them both to heel.

Unfortunately, this did not work as planned. The stallions bolted, nearly throwing him clear from the wagon as they galloped. With the luck of Lucifer himself, the young man was able to grab the edge of the cart, leaving himself hanging precariously from the side as the panicked horses hurtled along the forest trail. Shoulders and muscles cried in protest as he struggled for purchase on the wet wooden frame. the horses charged along the forest path relentlessly, every bump and ridge the cart's wheels hit on the uneven forest floor coming tenuously close to shaking him loose. As he had begun to make progress, the animals suddenly veered hard to the left, sending the wagon sailing to the right and slamming Jaune's back against a tree trunk with a solid crunch.

He cried out in pain, feeling the bark splinter behind him, ripping innumerable gashes in his cloak, as fabric and flesh gave way to sharp, solid wood. It was through sheer will and God's grace alone, that he was able to keep his grip, his resolve strengthened by his began to steadily use his upper body to raise himself, narrowly avoiding being struck by more branches as he finally managed to hoist his body back into the seat.

Swearing, he tried yanking the reins again, hard to no avail. The smell of charred flesh now choked the air; and Jaune was slowly beginning to fear the worst. He had hoped he had imagined such things, his sleep addled mind simply concocting nightmares. But there was no mistaking it now. Even through the rain, he could make out the acrid smoke, and red haze around the town walls in the distance, despite the heavy downpour and limited visibility. In short fashion, the tall trees had been left behind,as he raced now through open grassland towards the burning town.

The hairs on his forearms unexpectedly began to stand on end. Crimson lightning swirled in the air around him, and the stench of death and sulfur in the air grew ever more potent.

Survival instincts kicked into gear and every muscle in the warrior's body tensed. Jaune caught a glint of metal in the pale moonlight before his body moved sharply of its own volition, ducking low in his seat.

Mere fractions of a second later, a scythe shot out of the blackness, spinning at a lightning quick pace. The deadly revolving blade sundered the air above his head, cleaving the canvas roof clean off the wagon, and narrowly missing the heads of both Jaune and the horses. The mounts, now even more terrified, picked up speed, trying ever harder to escape their harness and flee to safety. The rickety cart screamed under the immense strain, and it took all he had to keep the wretched beasts on course. At last, he did so, snarling with exertion and fatigue.

'How unfortunate…'

The feminine ethereal voice carried clearly through the roar of the rain and the howling of the wind, light hearted amusement evident in its almost playful tone. In the blink of an eye, Jaune released the reins; The horses had no need of them, their fear keeping them firmly on course, and clasped his fist tightly around one of the silver knives in his bandolier, scanning the shadows and clouds for the unearthly speaker.

Shrugging off the tattered remains of his ratty cloak, he rose to his feet gingerly, anticipating another attack. He peered forwards into the darkness desperately attempting to make out a shape through the torrent and biting winds.

The gyrating scythe, rotating rapidly through the air could still be heard through the darkness, growing louder as it revolutioned in the direction whence it had come, followed by the hollow thud of metal meeting bone.

'...That the hour of thy death draws nigh, mortal.'

A skeletal figure descended from the dark skies and hovered before him, clad in a black cloak and hood and wielding a large demonic scythe, easily keeping pace with the careering mounts.

In the hollow blackness of the skull's eye sockets, angry pinpricks glowed crimson red, though whether with anger, or sadistic glee, he knew not. But he certainly wasn't about to allow this unholy creature stand in his path or passively become a player in whatever nefarious schemes the darkspawn had dreamed up. Anger and frustration finally boiled over with an intensity that frightened even Jaune. His words were as frigid as the howling wind around them and cut through the air, sharp as the weapon in his fist.

"Begone, Fiend! I care not who you are, but there's no quarter for the likes of you or your ilk in this world! Stand aside, or be cut down!"

The creature snarled in contempt, incensed that a ephemeral creature would dare speak thusly to her.

'Insolence! You will regret those words!'

With a wave of her free hand, her scythe began to move, to cleave his impertinent tongue from his head, no doubt. But Jaune was ready for her.

He flung the knife with great force, its point striking true into the crimson light the deathly creature called an eye. Despite its roar of pain, the blow was not enough to stop the path of her weapon completely. The curved blade sailed off course, carving through the wagon's harness with deadly ease, leaving him just enough time to leap forward onto the back of one of the stallions, as the remains of the wain shattered apart, crumbling into wooden splinters and cast away into the muddy grasses.

The horse next to him took the opportunity to flee, taking its newfound freedom to diverge back into the darkness of the woods with great haste. Jaune barely had the time to lament the loss of his shelter and supplies, before the iniquitous spectre regained herself. If her anger was a bonfire before, she was now a blazing inferno, consumed with the sole desire of stripping him of his flesh, and ripping out his still beating heart. But her opponent was far beyond those fears, as he attempted to wrestle his mount under control, without the privilege of reins, stirrups or saddle. Whilst the silver may have had little effect, and he had no desire to waste a commodity as powerful or rare as holy water without the certainty of success, he had yet one more card to play. But fear was staying his hand. Was he truly willing to succumb to that?

'Filthy dreck! I will suffer you no more!'

An eldritch rune materialised between them, radiating menace and a bright crimson hue. His skin crawled, repulsed at the sheer scope of malevolence emanating from the infernal glyph. Two words were all that appeared in his mind.

Dark magic. In that instant he knew what must be done..There was no other recourse but to fight fire with fire .It may have sounded nonsensical to any right minded Christian , but amid his tumultuous feelings of fear and pain, he felt a calm wash over him, as he slowly reached for the whip on his waist.

'Die!'

A giant Avernal skull burst forth from the runic seal, roaring with savagery and bloodlust. It shot towards him, the screams of the damned emanating from its gaping maw. It raced nearer and nearer, threatening to consume mount and rider both.

Jaune stared it down, whip in hand, eyes and mind as calm as a still sea, as it came closer. Rearing back his arm, he raised his weapon to strike down the illusionary evil. And strike he did.

The sharp crack of a whip cut through the wails, the storm, and the screeching winds.

The whip struck true, carving in a brutal downward arc, and he felt a surge of power flow through his veins. The leather burned with arcane fire as it tore through the phantom skull, dispelling the demonic chimera into little more than wisps of light and coloured smoke.

'Impossible! How did you-!'

Jaune did not trust himself to answer, even if he had been coherent enough for speech. He looked on in awe and morbid fascination at his hand, clutching the leather whip fiercely, it's length still ablaze with crimson flames. They lapped at his fingertips incessantly, and he awaited searing pain, but it would never come. He watched in shock as the flames burned brightly under the moonlight hue, dancing in his palm irregardless of the rain. Was this the dark power he had feared so, for all these years? The evil that his brethren had sought to destroy?

Still wielding the coiled weapon in his grasp, he barely noticed the flames dispel themselves, nor the incensed snarls and mutterings of his unholy adversary.

'Stronger than than he described… So that is his scheme then.'*

The young warrior was in no humour for games this night. His awe and introspection quickly gave way to the return of his wrath, as he demanded answers from the creature who had attacked him.

'Speak sense or not at all, demon! Who do you speak of, and how did you know of my coming?!'

She cackled madly. The sound of her crazed yet regal laughter was as disturbing as her vile aura and appearance itself.

'I suspect you will find out in good time, insect. No matter. When next we meet, t'will not be so easy!'

With black-hearted glee ringing in the air, the spectre faded into a dark mist. Leaving warrior and his mount in solitude, fast coming upon their destination.

The beating of hooves upn the muddy ground, and the roar of the rains were all that could be heard, as Jaune's wits raced with query after query.

He could hear the grunts and howls of the monsters now, close to the walls as he was. Looking upon the once beautiful settlement, he knew the situation was worse than he had feared in his most horrifying nightmares. After a solid month of nightly raids and sieges, the children of the night had at last breached Cordova's pored through the rubble into the exposed town, their snarls of malicious joy, and howls of mirth carrying on the winds. Infernal bat like creatures rained fire from the skies in all their unholy splendour. The caterwauling shrieks of terror and cries of the innocent deafened him, perhaps even more so than those of the vermin. He could make the shadows of colossal golems within the fortifications, their forms shrouded in smoke as they wrought carnage on what few survivors the wolves and their compatriots deigned to spare.

Jaune's glare narrowed, and he spurred his mount with more vigour than ever before. Righteous fury clouded him in a scarlet shroud as he rode towards the blazing ruin. The godless darkspawn would know fear this night. He swore it. Every innocent soul that went to the Lord this day would be avenged, if it took every breath from his body. He prayed only that Cinder could hold on, if just a little longer.

Now was no time for answers. There was work to be done.

All the while, watchful erubescent eyes oversaw the young man's determined approach, unbeknownst to all, but their owners, ready to witness destiny unfold.