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Dread slowly crept into the mind of the Noble as he followed the stairs to their bottom. A feeling of foreboding that was only just within his mind minutes ago.
Yes, it was in the dream. After he had witnessed the dead scattered across the battlefield he had seen a pair of figures standing against one another. From a distance he watched as one of the figures fell upon the ground while the other simply flicked his weapon of the blood that coated his blade.
A deep gutteral tugging pulled on the noble. So strong was it that it threatened to stop him in his steps towards the set of wooden doors that separated the main keep from the courtyard before it. His knees gave in an instant and the noble only caught himself on the rails that were slammed into the cobblestone wall. He could feel his heartbeat creeping up his chest as it became more and more erratic.
Three rapts of thunder shook his world. The child looking towards the barred doors with terror as he knew his father would never have bothered knocking like a peasant. As the dream and reality became one the youth began crawling upon the ground towards the object of his terror. As the beating of his heart rose towards his neck he rose once again upon feet that were shaking in terror.
He could see it within his mind’s eye but wished he could deny it. His hands rapt upon the wooden barring with such a tremble that it his limbs threatened to throw him upon the ground once again. Yet he managed enough control of himself to pull the wooden log upon the ground instead.
He looked up towards the victor of the battle. Haloed in white light was an armor as black as ash with gild trimming going across its body. Upon the chest of the warrior was a prominent symbol that promised a violent death for any who had witnessed it.
Upon his head, a Raven.
Willeme looked down at the side of the Knight, seeing the livery that coated the corpse. It was a dark yellow striped peerless white, only for both to have been stained with dark lifeblood that could only come from the most grievous of wounds.
In that battlefield, not wishing to believe the truth, the Knight to be had reached down and picked up the head of the knight who fell. Within his hands was his father, the head of Baron Budapest.
>>Note that you guys can write your own warnings ontop of this vote.
>Let his Father talk
>Give him the warnings
>Simply give the casket and close the door
