The lovers young, their little tryst behind the old oak, the night clear and cool, they are kissing in a wamr blanket, the birds of night sing their little tune, the crickets make their song as well, frogs croaking in the pond.

He comes, the mists gathers about the lovers, he brings Death, he brings horror to their young lives. They are innocent, their blood shall feed the ground this night. He comes as silent as a Tomb, death on two feet.

The birds and frogs and crickets sing no more, they grow silent, the ground and sky obscured by dark, cold mist, which seems to grab at the young lovers in their tryst. Their hearts pound with fear, their faces pale as the mists surround them. There is no sense of time or space, the stars, the moons all gone now.

He lurks arround the two, he can see them clear as day, he laughs, he whispsers to them, his voice cold as a grave, hollow as a dark void. His words bring fear, all that is seen is his deep green glowing eyes and his blade of death, as he strikes the young man, the blade goes deep into the chest, ripping through bone and muscle, blood, warm and thick sprays upon the girl.

The young man screams as his blood flows, he gurgles, as his body is ripped, torn and cut through, he feels his life ebb away, he sees his attacker, his murderer, he screams. The girl, who has lost her lover, screams, covered in blood, tears fill her eyes, she runs, but tis of no use.

He who walks the mists finds the girl, his other prey, she of deep red locks and blue eyes is to join her lover in death. He confronts her, stands before her like some dark giant, he reaches out to grab her neck and starts to crush it, lifted her off the ground. Bones crack and snap, she begs through tears. But is of no use, her neck snaps, she breathes no one.

When the day comes, shepards find the two lovers, their bodies hung from a tree, both their hearts ripped out, their bodies mangled. Crows feast upon the lovers' corspes, dried blood and the stentch of death did linger here. The bodies were taken away, the families of the two lovers angered and mournful.

The tree seen as being tainted was burned, but its now dead, burnt husk remained, as a reminded of what happened here.

The priest and his peritioners in the little church, thay gave thanks to the deity they worshipped with praise and hymn. The priest warned them, some 20 in all of the evils of the world, and to stay vigliant.

There was an evil there, he who walked the mists did come, their prayers awnsered in a way. The mists filled the little church, with cold death, and cruel fate.

The priest and his sheep were frightened and prayed to their deity, and asked for deliverance, but no succor came, no angelic guardian to protect them.

The Hunter did smile, and heard their useless words, he laughed as he struck down each man, woman and child in that place. He used his dark voice to curse some with the Red Death he had been spreading. Others were torn into by his dark blade.

Their cries, their screams, the blood and fear, Death walked this Holy Place, no sanctuary, no hiding now from he who walked the mists.

The Priest he was the last, he prayed to his Deity, begged and pleaded, for this nightmare to end, for his flock to be saved. But such was not to come of it. The mists did part, and the priest did see the Hunter, in all his dark form, and this did drive the priest mad.

The Hunter did grin, his eyes glowed their sickly green, he spoke with hollow and grim voice

"your flock is dead, and you have failed, their blood upon your hands, marked and damned you are, your mind shall be undone"

That voice did echo with a dark power and carried itself into the soul of the priest, he was cursed, and want mad, he took a candle and with the lit end, burned out his eyes, his screams wild and terrible.

When a rescue of town guardsmen came, they found the flock dead, and the priest with burnt out eyes, babbling and mad, covered in blood, they took him away and did close that once holyplace.

A woman did sit in a Cafe, she was drinking her wine, awaiting her lover, it was a cool day, overcast with grey, the waiter came out to take her order, but she said she would wait, until her lover came. And waited she did, nearly dark it was, she got a message, her lover was with someone else, and did not care to see her.

And so she walked away, this Jilted lover, tears in her eyes, clutching that note in her hand, she did run, run down that darkened street. She did not notice the Mists that swept up arround her, and engulfed her. Cold and of the Grave they were, whsipers, moans and shapes about her, clawed hands reaching out to grab her, scratch her.

Then he came, the DarkHand, walking Death, his eyes their corpse green did shine bright, an evil light they were, he struck her body with his dark blade, tearing open her chest in one fell swoop, her blood and organs spilling out, her gasps covered in grugling from lost blood. She tried to run, but it was of no use, she was dead as she hit the Earth.

A wicked thought the Walker entertained, he took her remains and with a dagger most foul, he stuck a note to her chest, and tossed it through the window of a place known as the Red Dragon Inn, after some dark fun. Where upon brave fools read the note, and as thought out before hand, the corpse rose and did attack some poor young innocent, her screams most sweet to hear.

He watched the fun, until some woman gave a blast to the undead beast's head with some sort of firearm. That made him upset some, he was having so much fun. He would remember the face of the brave one, and save her for another time. He walked away, upon his trail of Death and Blood.

A family from the north came to sell their crops to market, Father, Mother, Son and Daughter, people of the Earth, hard workers, who gave their all to bring forth bounty of the ground. Bright cold day it was, but it was their last, for you see the Harvester of Souls came to reap them.

The Mists came forth, and engulfed the family from the north, The Darkhand first struck his blade deep into the Father's chest and ripped bone and flesh, sundering the man in two, blood and gore spewed upon the ground, his screams cut short.

The Mother and her children did try to run, but was no use, slice and cut, the young girl of but eight winters let out a terrible scream, her belly torn, scream for mommy she did, but no such comfront came, as dear Mother was next, her head taken in one quick blow to her neck, and off with her head.

However the boy, he somehow found a way out, was he special somehow, or did the Darkhand let him go, to play some more. Prehaps the latter, but it was not out of mercy for sure, as The DarkHand hath no mercy, no soul.

Three days later the boy was found again, half starved and with fear in his heart, he came to seek help in the Inn of the Red Dragon, but found none, for none in that place seemed to care. The DarkHand came, and in bold move he wrapped his deadly chain round the boy's neck, with a quick snap, the boy lost his head. No one ever escapes the DarkHand.

Soon after the boy returned to unlife, head in hand to haunt the streets of the jaded city at night.

And The DarkHand did watch indeed, never one to stay from a battle, he loved battle, and this was one he would not miss, i was time to show these living beings what fear and terror really was. The Plague was not enough, nor were his random attacks, he wanted results.

The first waves were to test the defenses of the city, and the resolve of the Living here. That was what he hated about the living, their damned stubborness and willingness to live.

He directed his undead soldiers, by his own dark well, through hidden commanders, Vampires and Ghosts for this. Not just Zombies would he use, oh no indeed, this DarkHand knew many Necromantic rites, he sent out squads of skeletons, though not as meanicing, and a bit more fragile, these skeletons had a nasty surprise for those fool enough to attack them.

He made a multi-prong strike, five fronts into the city, he would do anything, sacrifice as many minions and troops as needed. The nice thing about the undead, they never complained and always fought to the end.

"Ah poor Rhydin, your doom is upon you, as promised by Plague and Blade i shall lay you low, your jaded city, full of pride, Death has come, shall you sit by? or awnser the call you have in your living heart and face the Dark?"

Khoss did find himself an ally, a Dragon, named Seleste, she was a hatchling when he found her, and though young, her heart was full of Darkness, and much power indeed. He offered her a new life, a free one, to live as she wished, and made her older, an adult.

Seleste, how he hated that name, he would insist on her having a new one, in time, though her future he did see, dark and great it was. But that was to be in time.

She would be allied to him and his cause, and for her service, great treasure he would bestow upon her, and let her live as she was, when The Dead would rule, that too would be in time.

In time, Seleste would gain her title DarkFlame

Then there was a voice strong and loud that screamed over the entire army, both of them "Enough!" It shouted. The undead and the great shadow wyrm were more than enough to attract his attention. Theron was one of the good guys and he called himself a defender of Rhydin. He had expected the others to stop this before he got involved, but they had not. He wondered what had happened to them, but now he had to deal with this mess.

"I Am Theron, and you are finished. You can retreat now and keep your pathetic and worthless forms now, or I will destroy you all."

The undead and the monsters refused to yield, but the living forces of the river cheered him on, where ever he was. This world belonged to the living and the undead both, they would have to learn to share. Theron, though really had no interest in saving people and individuals, he was interested in saving the world from the forces of darkness.

"I banish you and your forces in to history, here and now!"

The river itself lurched into the realm of the living, the undead trapped within its waters were crushed insantly and destroyed. The water itself floated in the air, not the entire river, but a formless sphere of water would floated in the sky. The sphere began to glow a bright white color.

Thirixial, the monster dragon may have been powerful, but it was not a stupid beast by any means and it could feel the pure Holy energy being called from all over Rhydin for this. Theron had fought worse forces than this, he had friends who were meaner than this. There was a slight moment of silence, then the attack began.

Rays of Judgement and destruction for the undead began to strike out at their natural and hated enemy. Their flesh burned and smoldered in the very presence of the light, the holy light was not enough. Those rays vanquished their foes upon contact, in silent screams.

With in minutes the undead army was broken. The Shadow dragon would have been the next target. How do you fight pure holy energy though? The beast stood its ground at a distance and avoided the rays that made short work of the other undead monsters. The vampires and spirits would have known better to give up their immortal status and would have retreated at the first sign of trouble. The undead were many things, but the ones who would willingly join such a force would be the kind that would also turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble, and this was one hell of a sign.

The shadow dragon too, knew when it was out matched in power, but to drive the point home the massive energy cloud burned its wings with blast of power. The monster would retreat.

"Creature of Darkness. I know not who you are, or what you think you were planning, I demand you get out of Rhydin, forever." Beams of energy blasted the ground around Khoss's steed and the holy energy would sizzle his flesh due to the intensity of the power.

The living forces knew they had won the day. And any remaining zombies walking around would be easily dispatched with honest steel.

Once the last of the undead would have retreated or had been destroyed, that mysterious holy energy would return to it's normal places of rest.

Khoss had taken over 1500 souls from Rhydin city, a heavy price indeed, all these souls taken to Darkon, to feed the soil and the mists. But if this kept up, there would be nothing of the city left. So Khoss directed his minions to the outlaying villages and cities, this world had much life upon it. The world had grown in population since Darkon was taken from it into the Dread realm of Ravenloft.

And so the Red Death spread, like a slow sickness across the lands, and it would begin to fester and grow, taking the living as it did in Rhydin. And those lost to the plague, their souls would be drawn into Darkon. And the land would begin to be sated.

All of this to keep Darkon and its Grim King free...

Reinhardt had a most important task ahead of him. Command of a corps of the Nighblades, and the overseeing of a hidden outpost fortress near the city. Both Azalin Rex and Khoss, had a great deal of faith in the Vampire Nobleman and Knight.

To lead troops into a battle, with his Cesca at his side he would have it no other way, she was his most trusted advisor and companion. She would fight at his side, no matter where he was sent.

In their hidden lair, Reinhardt got himself dressed in his finest breastplate armor and clothes. He also took with him the De'Moune ancestrial sword, some 700 years old, though it seemed brand new.

He turned to his bride and kissed her deeply.

Sighed in bliss at the sweet deep kiss and lips of his beloved Cesca, though what was wrong with her, concerned him still. He thought prehaps she should consult the Grey Sisters, though wicked, flesh-eating Hags they were, the three sisters were the most powerful seers in the land of Darkon, their visions near perfect. Even their royal highnesses, Azalin Rex and Crown Prince Khoss consulted them from time to time.

He shook his head of thoughts and looked deep into Cesca's eyes, and caressed her pale, soft face, and spoke with gentle voice.

"Yes i am sure he will my love, and hopefully he and his Majesty, Azalin Rex will both be pleased. The initial invasion has gone well, the front lines of ForsHall were broken through. But there is much fighting to be done still. And as i lead my knights into battle, i want you at my side, my love, as we have always done before."

He kissed Cesca deeply again, and prayed she would be alright, he did not care about anything else, but her, without Cesca, he was nothing.