The uneasy silence of the night was broken by the impact of a thick leather boot on the heavy wood of an old church door. The door shuddered and creaked slowly inward, but was otherwise unchanged by the abuse.
Faint streams of silvery moonlight danced over the stone entryway just beyond the door, but failed to illuminate any further within. There was a long, ragged, drawing of breath and the wearer of those well-traveled boots cautiously entered the forgotten church.
His name was William. He was 18 and barely a man. A Knight of the Holy Order, though not much of one. Not yet. He had not spoken the vow that would bind his life to service and had fled his training in the depth of night. Still, though he was untested in bloodshed, the long iron blade in his hand gleamed with a keen edge and the clanking iron plates of his armor did little to encumber him. He was broad in chest and shoulders, arms thick from the rough labors of early years as a farm boy. Locks of curled blonde hair stuck from under his leather cap at unruly angles. The lantern in his left hand was steady as he took his first steps into the darkness which refused to yield.