A carriage was rolling down a forest road, pulled by a black steed. Its curtains were closed, and there was no sound coming from the interior. There was a young man sitting on the coachman's bench, holding the reins with a steady hand. His skin was like porcelain, and his eyes were like glistening onyx; with nothing but rustling trees in sight, he seemed to be enjoying a moment of peace.
That peace did not last long, though.
Suddenly, one of the trees fell across the road, barring the path of a carriage, and a ragtag crowd of armed men burst from the underbrush to surround it.
"Well, well, well… what do we have here?"
Their leader was a towering man with a bushy beard, wearing makeshift leather armor. Resting a monstrous cleaver on his shoulder, he gave the gilded ornaments of the carriage a look of avarice and then shifted his menacing gaze to the coachman.
"Hey there, little friend. Where are you heading?"
A sinister grin split his face apart.
