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Flames licked at the horse’s feet as it trod through the blackened town. The man atop the black horse held a crimson blade in his blackened hand, and the dark reigns of the horse in the other. His cloak burned at the edges as he surveyed his work. Pleased with himself he rode out of the town and sat on a near by hill to watch the town burn to the ground, and listen to the screams of the townsfolk as all they held dear went up in flames.
He awoke in the morning; surrounded by armor-clad men. They ordered him to surrender willingly, or he would be taken by force. The man spoke not a word, but drew his long, gleaming blade from its scabbard. The armored men looked into his eyes; they seemed to flicker like the fire that had engulfed the town. The men attacked. The man danced around the armored men, while swiftly drawing his blade through their flesh. When it was all done the man stood silent, as he watched their blood collect in a pool around their bodies. He then mounted his horse and went off in search of the next town on his list. Agamore: the sign read as he rode through the town gate. The man wondered to himself if what he was looking for could be found here. Several folk seemed to eye the man, for he was blackened from head to toe, with ash, and there was a collection of bloodstains on his garb. The man entered an Inn, and paid for a room, still uttering not a single syllable. He washed himself in the bathhouse, then his clothing. Once he had finished he went out to the local tavern. He sat at a table in the corner of the room, and ordered a lemonade, again, not saying a word. Some of the regulars sneered, and snickered, at his order. He drew his blade and laid it across the table. The men saw the fresh blood on the blade and went back to their nonsensical drinking songs. The man beckoned one of the wenches to come to him. He had her bring him a rag with which to clean his sword. The long groove down the center of the blade now shined brightly as the mid-day sun. He sheathed his blade once again, paid the wench and left. He walked the streets, trying to find his prize. He stayed out all night, searching, but once he decided that his prize was not in the town he went back to the Inn and retired.
He awoke the next night, just after sunset. The sky was black, and the air cool, but the man knew that was about to change. The man went into the tavern, though it was closed, he managed to get in. He took all the rum he could carry, and began to plug them up with rags. Then the man left the building and mounted his horse. He lit the rags afire and tossed the bottles at buildings, spreading flames across the wooden buildings. He smiled as the town became illuminated, and the cool air replaced by a stifling heat. People came from the buildings, and began to attack him. He drew his blade, and lopped of heads as he rode through the town, cutting down those who stood in his way. After a he made his way to the edge of the town, he murmured, something about a boy then left the town, not stopping to admire his work this time. He rode all night, until he came to the next town Hemrolith. He slept outside the town that day.
As soon as he woke he entered the town, and immediately spotted a boy. The boy seemed to be playing with some sort of contraption. The man approached the boy and asked what the item was. The boy called it a Zippo. The man, must have looked confused, so the boy continued to explain that it created fire, but twisting the flint. The man told the boy that he would like to take the object from him. The boy looked angry and told the man that his father had given him the Zippo before he abandoned him as a small child. The man then told the boy that he’d like it back. The boy’s eyes grew wide, then he embraced the man. The man smiled and told his son he hadn’t spoken a word to a single soul since he left him, as punishment for his actions. The boy held his father in his arms, then they both left the town, never to be seen again.