The sun had well and truly set now. Dark tendrils of tree arms reached for the sky, blocking out even the submissive light of the stars just as they reached out toward the knight thundering along the muddy trail tearing his already tattered Red and Golden Tabard. His horse was tiring, and his sword was broken.
He and an elite group of men serving the Alliance had passed the last frontier nearly six hours ago, and now, they were all lying bloody and torn in the mud of the wilds.
The howls of the werewolf packs hunting him were growing louder, getting closer.
He yelled, and drove his heels into the sides of his horse, frantically praying for another burst of speed that might let him reach the road. His horse responded with a final push, and the knights tired eyes finally lay rest on the worn and broken stone paved road, he was near the border now. Close, almost free, but not quite.
"Ya!" the knight spurred his horse again, but for the last time, the tired beast tripped on a stray stone, and with a thud and crunch fell to the ground in a silent heap.
Head ringing and body aching, the knight of the lion lay in the mud, and upon finally coming to his senses pulled himself to his knees. He was at the edge of the old road now. He had one leg up, and was in the process of pulling the rest of his armored body with it when a cold and dead laugh froze his heart.
Pulling himself to his feet, he unslung his shield, and drew the remains of his sword (Now just a hilt, with a foot of jagged steel). He slid his visor down, and set his sights on the shadowy figure before him.
He was tall, dressed fully in black with long pale hair and an equally pale face. He bore no weapon, but his glowing red eyes screamed of the danger the knight was in. The knight slid into a well practiced stance, shield supported by his left leg and shoulder and the sword posed to strike gripped by a slightly shaking right hand. Mustering his courage, the knight roared, and charged the silent figure.
His shield arm felt as if it'd just been clobbed by a sledge hammer, with a twist, he swung his broken sword down in a devastating arc. But he was fighting no mortal; The vampire caught the incoming blow, in the palm of his hand. Slowly and Malefically, he twisted the jagged steel out of the terrified knights hand.
With a swift kick, he shattered one of the knights legs, forcing him down. Gently and in another setting what might have been considered seductively the vampire lifted off the knights helmet before kneeling so they were eye to eye.
The pursuing werewolves burst into the scene, but with a growl, and a few whimpers kept their distance. The vampire looked at them quietly, before raising a single finger before his pouted lips.
"Shh" he sighed, before turning back to his prey.
And the armored body of the knight never saw the light of day again.