The Black Death

Remains splattered the walls like vast swathes of red dye, painting a grim tapestry of death and destruction.

Black cloaks danced throughout the hall with such grace and fluidity that they seemed to be made of water. They flowed in and out of existence, great sweeps of their longswords felling knights with every stroke.

One of the figures, a head taller than the rest, cornered the last knight and closed in. He stood motionless in front of he gasping knight, visage hidden by his dark cloak. He stank of death as he glided across the floor, ignoring the knights pleas. Delivering a mocking salute to the dying knight, the figure finished his last opponent.

Other figures flitted throughout the hall, making sure the job was done to absolute perfection;their master would not accept failure.

As the churchbells began to ring, the figures gathered in an outword facing circle and stood still as the rocks around them, waiting for the inevitable onslaught. The door at the far end of the hall banged open.

Let them come

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