The full moon shone bright and huge behind the silhouette of a man wobbling down the stairs. The heavy wind made trees surrounding the stairs wave heavily and almost ghoulish. The distant howls of wolves only supplemented the gothic scenery. Down the valley, the stairs led to what looked like a small shrine. The shrine was just an inverted ‘v’ shaped roof over six pillars without any walls or idols. Each pillar had intricate carvings and supported two fire torches on the opposite sides. The fire danced brightly in spite of the raging wind. In the centre of the shrine was another silhouette of something draped in a huge ragged cloak which fluttered wildly against the wind. The only discernible features of it were two bright glowing eyes. It stood motionless, staring intently at the stairs.

The man walking down tumbled and came rolling down the last few stairs. The light revealed the man, draped in ragged clothes and covered in numerous bruises and open wounds; fresh blood drenched his clothes. The man was on the verge of unconsciousness as he turned around and looked at the silhouette (still as a statue). Looking into the shiny eyes, he tremblingly pressed his hand on the cold and hard stone floor and pushed himself up. As pain surged through his body, he let go and fell back to the floor.

Realising that he could not stand, he dragged himself towards the closest pillar. Throughout the process he kept his eyes locked on the silhouette and the silhouette kept its eyes locked onto him. Reaching the pillar he sat there leaning on it. Slowly he pulled out a dagger and pointed it at the silhouette. Realising he had no energy to keep it pointing, he dropped his hand to his side, still holding onto the dagger.

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“You think you can slay me?” The silhouette said, his voice was low, gravelly and was made of many voices almost synchronously overlapping.

“If…need…be” The man spoke in a ragged and rough voice.

The silhouette chuckled as it moved forward. Its movement was more like it were gliding than walking.

“What is a human doing in these parts? Rather how did he make it till here?”

The man breathed raggedly without replying.

“Hmm… I am unable to look into your future, it’s very foggy, perhaps because you should have been dead long by now and destiny...rather death could not catch you…yet.”

Slowly the clocked one extended a palm. The light still refused to illuminate the cloaked figure or the palm, maybe it was no silhouette but a creature made out of true darkness.

“Let me gaze into your past perhaps then I can gauge your future.”

Extending its palm, slowly it pressed its long skinny fingers on the scalp of the man’s head and its thumb on the glabella. The man groaned in pain. His eyes started to shine, the same colour as the silhouette.

“Hmm…Orcbane Swordworth; Guardian of the eastern border. Always true to your name and honour. Let us go to the day you were supposed to die.”