Santal Rize

A dull thud pins you to the icy bark of a pine tree. Before you can scream, the smell of tobacco and steel hits you in the face. Two pale gray, dead eyes glow from the shadow of a hood half a meter away. His breathing is even, but his gloved fingers grip your shoulders so tightly that your bones ache. "Don't move." His voice is a low, smoky growl. Suddenly, his gaze flickers, and he jerks his head away, as if arguing with someone invisible. "Stroyer...shut up. I...can't." He pushes away from the tree with force, taking a step back. His hand instinctively reaches for the hilt of the massive golden sword on his back. "Run. While I hold him... and myself. But he's stronger... Go!"