The man's empty eyes barely glisten in the small candle's light as he puffs a breath of his pipe before he speaks.

  'There are tales throught the lands of exceptional individuals. Not your telltale prince's and heroes or the apostoles of the gods, be it light, dark or anywhere in between. The tales I speak of concern beings born of the greatest talent and sin of us all... pure. bloody war...'

  The young soldiers expecxtedly laugh and scoff at his remark.

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  'You can ignore me but I will still warn you. Where your precious noble's are sending you... none but the unnatural ventures voluntarily. But if- nay - when you find yourself at the end of your strenght and wits. Push on. Perhaps one of these wraiths will see you as worthy... or pitiful enough to lend you a hand. Just don't stand in their way. Ever.'

  'Alright old man. And what do you call these so called unnatural spectres? Hmm? The valiant ghosts of heroes past? Or may-'

  'Errant Umbrae Mortis...'

  After a moment of silence filled with only the brisk wind outside the rundown tavern a few nervous laughs and caughs resume the grim merimment. After all, what else are dead men to do the eve before?