The ground was cold, and a bit of wool and the tanned hide of a spring buck tied to some sticks did little to change that. Being asleep in the encampment was barely so as not only did the cold bite at your back as you lay, but the muttering and various snorts and snores of the multitude of soldiers around you did little to lull one into dreams. Gabriel felt a familiar gnaw at his gut, one he had felt once a day as far back as he could remember. He may have been forced to sleep with his men, but he wasn't about to use the same latrine.

He wasn't about to stay in the woods all night, so the lumbering fellow simply slipped his boots and grabbed his sword to steady himself in the thin snow. Gabriel wandered out into the cold, looking for a bush or tree that he fancied, preferably one with nice, soft leaves. He glanced at a cedar tree and shivered. Damn, he thought. He had wandered further out than he had planned. The camp fires looked weak from this distance.

Finally! Around a knotty walnut was a feltleaf bush that had not yet withered in the cold. He started to unbuckled his belt, when he felt a change in the woods. He shivered, a deep shiver that shook him to his very core. He felt a prickle within himself as if a part were dieing inside him. His brow furrowed and he grimaced. Something was wrong.

Gabriel looked at the feltleaf. The leaves were no longer shaking in the slight breeze that had accompanied him out of the camp. The wind had dies, and the woods sat dead in the cold, leaving the woods silent as one's last breath. The feltleaf started to wither slightly. A pang hit Gabriel in the gut. Fear ran through him. He quickly grasped his sword by the cross guard and ripped it out of it's long sheath in two wide strokes. His eyes searched the woods under the bright half-moon, weaving through the openings of the trees. His mind told him to rationalize, but his gut told him to look behind him. Part of him wished he hadn't.

There stood a figure from him some twenty feet away from Gabriel. He was exceedingly tall and thin, like some fell scarecrow. He was dressed only in baggy dark leather leggings that bellowed out, making him appear bottom heavy, but wore not another stitch of clothing. He wore his hair, past his shoulders. This hair was black as pitch, a shadowy curtain over his cloud-pale skin. His long, emaciated arms hung lazily to his sides, one bearing a weapon that was little more than a long and rusted iron bar with rivets sticking out of it, apparently that once attached it to something securely.

Gabriel's fear spiked when he noticed something about this strange fellow. The light of the night's moon seemed not to hit him. He was dull, no sheen nor slight reflection as natural things do. The light snow and wet bark sparkled slightly in the moonlight, yet fell dead on his flesh. He seemed not to breathe, but then he spoke.

“I am willed to end you,” the stranger said.

Gabriel's mouth quivered. Words were beyond him.

“You seem surprised,” he said. His words seemed as if he were chiding Gabriel, but he spoke them with no hint of inflection. “But that matters none. You are willed to die.” Then the stranger left forth.

Gabriel barely saw him take the gap between them. In a leap and two long strides he was upon him, swinging the bar of iron. Gabriel, not having time to line up a proper block, threw up his sword in front of him. The bar caught it in the ricasso,  leaving a deep mar in the bronze. Before he could retort, the stranger threw downward another blow. Gabriel, stepping backwards, slipped in the snow, narrowly avoiding the grunt of the blow. Instead, the rusted iron scrapped down his bicep. He bull rushed the stranger, attempting to knock him backwards. He planted his shoulder into the chest of the stranger, shoving him back slightly. Rather than knock him down, he was greeted with the butt of the iron bar to his back. He gritted his teeth. This guy wasn't about to go easy.

The stranger gabbed Gabriel's arm and threw him backwards. He hit the knotty walnut with a painful crack. All of the sudden breathing became very painful. The stranger showed neither compassion or emotion. His sharp, cool voice was absent. Gabriel raged at his foe. It was one thing to try to kill him, but to treat him as the sheep for the slaughter?

Gabriel went on the offensive. He made a diving slash, aiming for the stranger's chest. He thought the strike hard and fast, but the stranger lazily flicked it aside. His sword was thrown upwards, and he saw an opening. He brought all his weight downwards, connecting at the wrist of the stranger and severing his hand.

The stump gave no blood. The hand holding the bar fell to the ground with barely a sound, withering sickly into a dried, bird-like claw. A dull, black ooze formed sick tendrils from the stump, forming a strange hand that appeared dipped in ichor. He bent over wordlessly, grabbing his old hand which still clung to the bar. His new grip crushed the old into pieces and powder. Gabriel now realized he was facing something beyond his comprehension.

The stranger wasted no time mourning his wound. He made a fury of blows, each barely able to be seen until they clanged off of Gabriel's sword. Gabriel  swung back clumsily, receiving a kick to the chest. The stranger rode the kick downwards, pinning Gabriel to the ground. We brought down his iron bar viciously, cracking into his collar bone. He screamed deep scream that echoed through the night.

The stranger went to strike again, first ripping the bar from his victim's body. The blow fell more to the right, as to split him like a log rather than maim him. Gabriel couldn't heave up his sword in time. In panic the threw up his arm, ringing pain through his collar bone. His arm deflected the blow just enough to save him, but his arm folded wrist to elbow. Gabriel's deflection caught the stranger off-guard, and he managed to follow it up by kicking his knee. This caused him to stumble, giving him just enough time to scramble to his feet and  get a few feet away. Gabriel turned, lifting his great sword a hand short to see the stranger upon him again. He started backwards, all his strength in his outstretched weapon. The stranger let out two quick blows. The first struck his sword, making it ring loudly and shake badly. The second shattered it into three pieces. One shard flew backwards, sticking uselessly into the stranger's neck. The other piece not in his hand landed a few feet away. Gabriel stepped forward. If he was going to die, he was going to do it on his feet and marching forwards.

Gabriel made a mistake. He knew it as soon as he did it. When he did it, it didn't feel right. He'd made that mistake before, as all men do from time to time. After all, he hadn't intended to be out in the woods fighting for his life against some abomination. Well, he thought, here's how it ends. I get to die broken and having made such a childish mistake that could have been prevented if he had taken but a few seconds of preparation before he set out to take a dump.

Gabriel took a step or two forwards and felt an embarrassingly familiar tug at his bot as he realized he had stepped on his own boot string. He tumbled forward, arm and broken sword outstretched. The stranger had not seen this coming and was himself charging forward attempting to take Gabriel's head. The broken point of his sword pierced the square of the stranger's chest as the whole of his body weight was forced onto it. They fell backwards, Gabriel landing face first into the cross guard of his own sword.

He looked down upon the stranger as blood flowed from his shattered nose, giving color to the mass of black and white below him. He struggled up, pulling his busted sword from the fiend, take a second to knock out the shard in his neck. He breathed deep, and shivered as he dropped to his knees. He had lost a fair amount of blood. He wasn't completely sure he could make it all the way back to camp, but he would sure as hell try. Things started to blur...

The stranger burst forward, but remain retrained to the earth be unseen fetters. He cried out in agony, emotion that hit Gabriel with fear and lucidity. Bubbles of dull ichorous tar formed in the stranger's wound, soon followed by parallels from the eyes and mouth. Shadow formed around him, making a dark hole devoid of light around him, crawling up his form as he struggled, all the time flailing in rancor. Tendrils lashed out from this circle, thrusting themselves like barbs into he flesh of the stranger that ripped him back, pulling him down despite his strength. He clawed the earth, driving the bar deep an a desperate anchor. He ripped up earth in frightening amount, letting out blood-curdling howls of unearthly fears. The nothing consumed him slowly, until his umbral hand was the only part showing, only to be consumed itself. As quickly as the stranger had came, he was ripped from existence.

Gabriel let out a primal, howling yell, one that was party in fear and part joy of life. He stumbled around the fresh battle ground, collecting the part of his broken sword and a stick to support himself. He made his clumsy way back to camp, drawing sharp breaths whenever his shifting weight cause pains in his various wounds. Before he had been too beaten down to try such a thing, but now he had a story to tell old Ebenezer. Besides, he wasn't about to rely solely on the sounds of life and death to wake the deaf ears of soundly sleeping soldiers after a hard day's work.