Darkworld
The shaman awoke in the damp, cold cave. He stretched his aching legs and walked to the entrance. He looked out over the bleak, grey skies. Morning, at least as far as he could tell. There was no longer any physical way to tell the difference. The shaman went by his gut feelings.
He went out to the secret place he had consecrated days ago. He made a small circle and defecated in it. Then he urinated around the circle and prayed to his ancestors.
After praying, he built a small fire and stoked the flames. Sitting in front of the fire, he inhaled deeply the smoke. After many minutes, he began to receive visions. They were coming. Heroes from the other world. The dark riders. An epic battle. His prayers would be answered.
As a smile broke across his aged face, he felt a something enter his back and protrude from his chest. Looking down, he noticed the tip of a sword protruding from his chest. Blood covered the end of it. Blood flowed from his mouth as he felt himself lifted up off the ground by something stronger than he was.
A Dark Rider captain. Black armored, with fiery eyes shining from his helm. The captain lifted his kill up and flung him off into the distance with little effort. "One true order." he spoke before mounting his ride and charging off to whence he came.
