He stood, by the edge of the cliff. Weapon sheaved. Arms hanging by his side, and as usual, with the cowl worn on his head.

The mild wind pressed his cloak outwards, giving an impression of a ghost. A dark being. Despite the slight rain falling onto his face, not did he once flinch or give any indication that it affected him in any way.

The Nightwalker's mouth curled upwards as he thought of past events, like those three men he had destroyed before. They were good, but not enough.

He flexed his fingers, they were coarse, rough from their many years of usage. But still, they were well trained. As were himself.

He felt the stones beneath his well worn sandals, both round and sharp, but that footwear that he wore, was just for sentimental value. He could, he knew, be lighter, faster, without them hindering. 

Pausing to take his breath, he took a single step backwards, concentrating his both his body and his mind, willing them to be one.

Three steps forward.

And the wind was rushing past his ears.

-Alson