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[Sabain]

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***As you enter the tavern you look around and smile inwardly at the familiar faces. In the corner you see a lone figure, sitting alone with a pitcher on the table and a mug infront of him. As you watch he raises the mug and drains it, pours himself another and motions to a passing barmain for a refill..... on the pitcher. The lightning from the raging storm outside flashes and you see his scared, wisened face under his hood. This is a fellow who has seen his share. Your curiosity spiked you sit down across from him. After you greet him, moments pass. He didn't even blink. You begin to think perhaps he is deaf when suddenly, he shivers.***

"It's nights like this that remind me of them." He mutters, nodding to the barmaid.

"Whom?" You say, completely enthralled by this stranger and his... stranger behavior.

He blinks, seemingly to notice you for the first time. "The Riders." He says simply. Expecting him to continue, you motion for him to when he does not.

"Curious are we? I can entertain... if you cover the bar tab." he says with the smallest of grins. He is obviously far beyond drunk and nearly stupid for it. What do you have to loose? You cover the pitcher and flinch when the barmaid asks for the full balance. This crazy man clearly can drink.

"Thank you. So I guess I owe you the story" he pauses dramatically and opens his eyes big, "of the Riders."

"It all began one night at a Tavern in Malaas. I'm sure you know it, the one south from that one paladin town. It was a night similair to this. Stormy, lightning all around. I guess [/I]they decided it was time for a visit. They barged in through the doors on their cursed undead mounts, howling like banshees loud enough to wake the dead. Under their hoods sat the darkest night, a blank spot that no light could ever penetrate." With each passing word this stranger seemed to come more alive, reliving what was obviously an alcohol induced halucination.

"Suddenly people across the land were seeing them. Some disappearing, others falling ill... a few were even posessed. All the heads of the ruling guilds met then to see if something could be done. An investigation was launched to find where and why these things[I] were. It was almost as if they were aware of our efforts. The following visits were made even more... disturbing by the sudden appearance of cackling laughter. Laughter that was accompanied by the sounds of clildren laughing while at play. The sight of these creature, the hollow sounds of their moans and the laughing children were far too much to bear. Even the bravest warriors turned and ran."

He pauses only to drain yet another mug and refill it. How much can oen man drink in a night?

"After following what sparse clues we could find, we uncovered a few things about these creatures. They were servants of an ancient deamon named Azazel, hell bent on revenge after he was awakened by dark magics. His summoner was killed out right by the beast, proving once and for all even summoners are not safe from their own creations. They mocked us still, leaving vials of blood at the doorsteps of appearently random people. Those whos door was visited disappeared, consumed by the deamon in an effort to truely reincarnate himself. You see, while in summoned form, he lacked true power and could not fully influence our world. Only through his minions could he harm us so we began working on ways to defeat them. I know not what happened then."

Blinking back your surprise, you look at him like he just polymorphed into a walrus. "What do you mean?"

"I left these lands in search of a way to solve this problem. I have now returned and you have shown me that you know nothing of these beings, therefore they must have somehow been defeated after I was gone." he shrugs, finishing the last of the pitcher.

"You begger, how dare you fool me into buying your drinks only for a foolish tale like this. You were obviously foolishly drunk most of your life! Your scars are probably those left by people swindled as I have been!" you shout, standing up.

His blade appeared from no where, point touching your throat. "Never, if you value your life, call me a lair again, sir." All heads, by this time, have turned and all conversations have stopped.

Noticing this, the strangers sword disappears from sight. "Sorry, I'll take my leave now."

Untieing his mount from the front of the establishment, the stranger rides off into the night, oblivious to the rain and lightning.
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Some people protest why we're at war. Some people go to war to give others the right to protest.