The Journey to Avendor

In the days leading up to his departure, Sir Roland was oddly absent from New Dawn affairs. Only his closest confidents could reach him, and most said that he was in deep prayer. When he did give orders, it was usually to muster men across the New Dawn's territory to repel potential Red Dawn strikes at the villages protected by Roland and his knights. The situation across the western half of Pendor was tense, but luckily there was still no open declarations of war.

When the day came for Roland to rise out, he was met with a goodbye fit for a king, with many of the common people of Valonbray out on the streets to wish him luck. His own knights, the ones not out on patrol, met him and his seven chosen riders at the gate. Sir Roland made a few blessings upon the people who gathered to see him off, before he departed the city.

For hours after they left the city the only noise known to the riders was the sound of their horses tearing up the ground beneath them. While the knights could have spoken, it was evident none had anything to say. They were on a mission, reach Avendor as swiftly as possible and try to negotiate a peace with Sir Aranor against their seemingly common enemy of the Red Dawn.

All of the knights were alert, but none expected to actually see any enemies on their journey, and four hours in it looked as if things would pass uneventful. However, a call came out from one of the knights;

"Up ahead! I see about a dozen riders!"

"Roland, I can sense the.. taint about them. Heretics." Spoke another knight, next to the Grandmaster.

Roland could sense it too, the taint. It hung about the riders ahead of him like a dense fog. They were Heretics without a doubt, and likely ones who shared their body with a Demon. Before he could make a decision though, a third knight spoke.

"Sir, we could slip past them. Their horses are strong but slow, they'd never be able to catch us."

"And leave the like of these to find some village to massacre?"

Replied the Grandmaster, a great anger overtaking him. An anger he always felt when faced with true heretics, enemies of Astraea. As her champion, it was Roland's duty to protect the common people from the Heretic's taint.

"No, we ride onward! Astraea's light guide our swords this day, charge!"

And with that, there were no more words spoken. The eight riders grabbed their lances and charged straight for the formation of riders ahead of them. In turn, they were met with a dozen lances of the enemy. All the remains was for the two groups to close the distance between each other.

A distance which was vanishing at an astonishing rate, as the horses of both parties pressed onward at full speed, blissfully unaware of the death that awaited them.

And then the two parties met.

The sound of lances snapping and horses screaming filled the air simultaneously as the two formations of horsemen crashed into each other. Sir Roland's own horse was killed beneath him, while his own lance clipped the shoulder of a heretic's horse and sent it crashing to the ground on three legs. Roland managed to keep a grip on his steed as it went down, and wasn't thrown several feet away, unlike his opponent.The paladin of Astraea struggled for a moment to regain his balance and bearings, before drawing his sword from his dead mount's saddle and turning to face one of the dismounted heretics charging towards him.

Roland stood his ground, and parried the overhead strike of the possessed heretic, grunting and his arms absorbed the massive force of the strike. However, he didn't allow himself to be put into a position where he could only defend. Roland returned the blow with one of his own.

And then the two exchanged again. And again. While around them the battle raged onward, with both knights and heretics dying. A shout of "More riders!" rose up into the air, but Roland ignored it. An opening presented itself in the heretic's defense, and Roland pressed his advantage, batting away the possessed man's sword and leaving him open to attack. Roland raised his sword to strike, but instead his legs went limp beneath him. Astraea's champion crashed to the ground, confused, and trying vainly to stand. After a second though, he saw it.

The blade of a sword stuck out from his chest, the rest of it lodged in his now numb back. Blood leaked from the knight's mouth, and breathing became difficult. He looked up, and a shadow fell over him, and saw the heretic he was fighting a moment ago, whose sword was raised for the killing blow.

"Astraea's light guide-"

And then the sword fell.