Chester Jorr was sitting at a table inside Cie’Awll’s inn. He nursed a beer as he contemplated getting to the next test room. It was through the massive wall that he had to pass, but after talking to several people in the town he had become very uncertain about the safety of the area. He was not a coward, but no one would ever call Chester hasty. Every thought was measured to maximise his survival, and his current predicament was based around that.

The entire town knew about how the wall was haunted. Supposedly there was an army garrisoned at the wall and one day they had just stopped requesting supplies. When the townsmen visited the base they found very little, except some blood stains in a few rooms. They left it be and told the Frontier Guard all about it. The captain in charge of protecting the town obviously knew something and immediately sent most of the troops in the area to cover the hole in the wall, but they never returned either. It was said that they were all slaughtered in the building by those who wanted a scare, but those with more sense thought that the guardsmen had been sent on a suicide mission in the Wasteland, but they failed and the captain couldn’t bare failure. Either way something odd had happened in the garrison, and Chester did not want to run into whatever it was that caused the oddity.

He rubbed his bald head, thinking about how he would need to shave it again when he heard the door to the inn open. The bell had a nice ringing sound, supposedly it blessed people with good luck, but luck was not something Chester ascribed to. In through the door walked a child in a black monk’s habit. The child was an odd looking boy, with sickly white skin, deep-set blue eyes and bright orange hair. He walked up to the counter and began talking to the Innkeeper. Chester thought nothing of it, but needed to urinate, so he stood up and walked to the outhouse. In the outhouse he finally decided to risk the odd rumours of ghosts and go to the wall. He needed to anyway, but he was still a bit hesitant. Rumours like that usually occurred for a reason. Once he pulled up his britches, he checked his sword was firmly attached to his belt and walked back inside the inn, to witness a terrifying scene. The innkeeper was dead on the counter and the boy in the monk’s robes stood on a table saying, “Thank you for the meal.” Then began breathing in.

Thin wisps began coming out of everyone in the room and travelled towards the boy’s mouth. Eventually these wisps became thicker, taking the shapes of the people they were coming out of. One after one the people dropped to the ground, first the weak, the sick and the ill of heart or mind, then the normal, then finally Bill, the muscular man who was known all around the region for being strong. In the end only Chester and the monk were left alive in the room. The boy had a rather smug look on his face until he saw the bald man.

He frowned, “Oh, I missed one.” He tried breathing in again, but it failed to work for some reason. “Huh... I guess that means you have a reservoir then! My name is Peter and I am going to remove your mana reservoir with my fingers.” He sighed lustily at some thought or other. Chester was finding it very difficult not to cut the child down right now. He had a rule to never hurt children, but this disgusting sounding creature was obviously some demon in a child’s shape. He drew his sword and Peter cocked his head to one side. “You’ll wish you hadn’t done that...” Pausing momentarily before continuing. “Not that I was going to let you live anyway.”

“Back foul demon! I curse you in the name of all that is holy!” Yelled Chester. Defeating the boy seemed like the only viable option out of this situation, but Chester still weighed his options. He could still run and just leave this town to its doom. Peter laughed at Chester’s cursing, and that broke him. He could deal with many things but even though he was a cautious individual, he still had some pride. He began using his sword style, «Amaethon’s Blade». The style always began with a low cut to the legs, because it was based on how you reap wheat and harvest other crops. This manoeuvre led straight into a thrust towards the opponent’s chest. With the reduced manoeuvrability due to dodging the slash the thrust almost always hit its target. Generally speaking the style was a simple way to a quick victory.

Peter saw the blade swinging towards his shins and just ignored it. The blade smashed against the top of his lower legs and just stopped. The force had been entirely nullified and so Peter began his retaliation. Before Chester could even react to the fact that his sword could not cut the boy, he felt his head get wrenched back and heard his bones pop from the torsion. All he could see was the room, then the roof and then the maniacal grin of the demon child. There was a sharp pain in his abdomen, a deep sucking sound and then everything faded to darkness.