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[Kaylor]

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The daemon comes to Stonegate in search of his slave. Instead he takes Merci with reason little more than self-righteous need to procure his possession. Such retaliatory rage warrants but the same in return . . . and so he shall have it! Xoriah will reveal to me where it is The Oracle has been taken. I shall then gather those who are willing to ride into the fire to find her.
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*Even if you be otherwise perfect, you fail without humility. ~ The Talmud*

[Kaylor]

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Kaylor bolted to his feet from the marble floor, his body covered in sweat, shaking with an internal sensation of boreal chill. It was a dream more real than any, captive within a corporeal void. To his right a blinding beacon of light. To his left a deep chasm of amaranthine obscurity reaching outward to lure him into its rancorous hue. Between stood the horseman, ebon robes shifting both fluid and solid at once.

Translucent flames frozen in clarion luminescence arose from a sudden ethereal mist, enclosing him within the impassable trammels of their icy confines. He lifted his hand to discover a stygian dagger manifesting upon his palm. His fingers forced, they closed in on the weapon, its acicular obsidian blade painlessly penetrating his willing flesh. Rivers of viscid amethyst fluid rushed from the wound. Cascading over his wrist they raced down his arm transitioning resplendent, radiant, scarlet, as his sacrifice prevailed consecrate through ablution by way of his own vital fluid.

"The slow burn of rage demands eminence," he whispered through the staggering darkness. "I deny it's desire no longer!"
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*Even if you be otherwise perfect, you fail without humility. ~ The Talmud*

[Kaylor]

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Kaylor lifted an arm to shield his eyes. For as far as he could see through the driving winds and sleet were bare slopes and peaks jostling against one another reaching to the heavens. He slowed his steed to a steady trot, lost in thought beneath the flat gray sky. His gauntlets bore no sanguine stains this day. No wretched pains tore through his sinews in payment for life taken without cause. He was but alone inside the pervading gloom of perdition's casualty, whether by invitation or resignation he'd lost certainty.

What he'd once believed necessity now held him in the clutches of encroaching doubt. As he warned Agostino when they met last eve, darkness had a way of consuming those who sought its destruction. The gypsy had quoted scripture in reply - words from a tome long set aside and seemingly forgotten. His conviction that virtue was nothing more than a facade behind which true evil lay realized little credence within their conversation. Agostino stood strong argument that honour never left a man who'd once held it sacred. Alas, how many hours had he spent in honour's futile search? A Templar gone, The Black Knight given rise to flourish in his stead.

He shivered, huddled in the darkest corners of his mind as the wind sharpened its claws and the sleet pommeled horizontally across the vale. Mayhaps there yet existed some small beacon of light not so fully extinguished as to have exceeded the possibility of rekindled brilliance.
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*Even if you be otherwise perfect, you fail without humility. ~ The Talmud*

[Kaylor]

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*Journal Entry*

Clouds gather foreboding before the storm. Winds threaten tumultuous upheaval. Darkness and light collide. I ride into the fire.
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*Even if you be otherwise perfect, you fail without humility. ~ The Talmud*