The wylds proved a daunting place, every where one turned, a threat lied in wait. With vicarious eyes they peered through the veils of shadows, teeth bared with ambitions unrestrained. On horseback a man dared to tread, with no sense of fear within his heart. Confidence birthed not from the folly of arrogance, rather from the callous hands of experience. Who was he who dared to tread over such darken lands without terror in his eyes? He was a serpent, a member of a famous house. One whom many thought to have been but raw legend, idle gossip used to invoke a sense of dread amongst monsters. And the delusion of safety among the oppressed and hunted. The moist dirt road proved little challenge for his beast of burden, on his right belt loop could be found a severed head of a large apex werewolf. One whose humanity succumbed to the feral beast within us all, far too long ago. Ahead of him was another, who bore the insignia of the king. Plated armor meant to withstand any arrow or dirk. However his keen, unnatural eyes knew all too well the chinks in his defense. The king had hired him, to slay the beast that prayed on man and farm animal alike. The contract proved easy enough, such a ravaged creature left quite a potent trail for him to follow. And in it's final state, consumed by an undying hunger and wrath. It could do little to fend off the organized, tactical assault of Regnier. Like all factions, Regnier bore an insignia to prove his position within his house. His armor, light and scaled; yet able to fend off any dagger and short sword with impressive results. Had on it a crest, a shield with a snake slithering up the middle. On each side a few words, in a dialect few could understand. If that was not enough, the scars all over his body also boasted his unholy creation. For Regnier, like many of his kinsmen; are the product of vile sorcery and alchemy. Taken from birth they are subjected to a series of painful, and unmoral experiments. Those that are weak fall, whilst those that have a strong will Survive. Those ancient scars, often burned a hole into his soul. Even now he could feel them scorching away at his sanity, a insipid reminder of his past. Finally after traveling a great distance through the moor, they found themselves halting near a group of guards. All of which seemed to be taking sadistic pleasure in beating a young, defenseless woman. As one of them noted their arrival, a guard would subdue the young lady, shooting his arms between her own. Pinning her shoulder across his metal chest as his hands wrapped around behind her head. "Look what we 'ave 'ere boys!" One of them bellowed, his voice like grinding gears proved unpleasant to Regnier's ears. "Even a monster like him, is subject to our grand king!" He proclaimed, his sense of elitism was nauseating. Regnier watched as the man who lead him unmounted from his own steed. Begrudgingly Regnier unclipped the severed head, tossing it on the swamp ground. It's chains causing the muddy water to splash in the air. "I sup'ose you want 'ur gold then?" The man inquired into with a arched brow, before tossing a small bag of coins his way. With eyes closed Regnier caught the currency, strapping it to his belt loop as a heavy sigh parted from his cracked lips. "What has this girl done?" Regnier questioned, his nosy inquiry causing a few of the men to hiss. "She be a witched, why does a devil like you care?" Such claims have been abused before, and his keen eyes and senses could detect no unholy aura embracing this one. "What proof do you have?" His retort only worsening their relations, as the guard barked at him like a feral dog whose bite couldn't match it's growl. "Shove off devil, 'ur time here is done. Our king says she is, therefore she is. This whore will be beaten, tortured, degraded and than hanged like all of her other sisters of the coven!" Regnier would pat his horse on the head, as it began to march off. The serpent found himself conflicted inside, he knew this woman was a victim, unjustifiably labeled and soon to be put to the death. While her captors took sick pleasure from the spectacle. His order had only a few rules, the biggest of which included a tenet. No human, no matter position in this earth, were to be harmed by their blades. No matter the bounty offered or the injustice, they were to walk away. Their place in this world was to slay monsters, not men. This was the dogma preached to them for years on end, however never did it sit well with Regnier. The steed came to a abrupt stop, as the serpent dismounted. Petting the wild mane of his friend he'd peer into his eyes. As the mutant slipped into a deep state of thought. "Am I to ignore the lesser evil? Should I cast away my heart and gut, do what is expected of me at the cost of my own honor? I was born and bred for a single purpose, to slay monsters. But what monster is truly more terrifying or destructive as the hearts of men?" With this silent thought he peered over his shoulder as they continued to beat the woman without restraint, laughing all the while. "Into the fray I must go, down the spiral of chaos and betrayal. I will be hunted for this...but during such a trying age I can only follow my heart." With this silent thought Regnier tied his horse to a nearby willow tree, "I will be back my friend." He whispered, before pulling out his ornate silver scimitar from the sheathe strapped on the side of his horse. With a sense of purpose he made his way toward the men. "Devil! Why are you still here our business is done?" One of the other guards inquired into, Regnier could only grin. "Hunting monsters of course." The men laughed, as they let the woman go, assuming he meant the witch. "Very well, let's see what you can do?" Another replied, Regnier marveled at their ignorance. But knew better than to wait. His resolve was unwavering, his path set. If there ever was any doubt in his heart regarding this path, it dissipated as soon as he peered into those frighten eyes. The eyes begging for a quick death, the eyes of a battered and broken soul. The eyes of this woman... "Five, five total." He thought to himself as his nostrils flared. With a quick fluid motion he pulled out his throwing knife, and with a simple flick of his wrist sent the knife hurling through the air. The projectile met it's mark, stabbing the last one who spoke in the throat, as it gracefully slide between the crack between his plated armor and his helmet. What followed next could only be described as a dance of death, as foot work and sword play became one. Throats were slit, artery in the arm pit stabbed, and eyes gauged with his scimitar. What had once been four, now was one. The first man to speak to him, the leader charged him. Regnier deflected his swing with one of his own, sending the heavy sword skyward. Without hesitation he took the opening, grabbing his exposed face as he tossed the man on the ground. With a powerful stomp he knocked him out. Once the man awoke he found himself bound, with a rope around his neck and his feet on a block of wood. "You are free to do as you wish." Regnier replied to the woman. "Spare him...or kick the block over and watch justice...The choice is yours." He concluded. Leaving the horse behind for the woman to flee, and the gold tied to it's saddle. "Serve her well my old friend." Regnier whispered as he passed his horses side. Making his way deeper into the moor, setting up camp at a nearby clearing as those wild eyes of his peered into the crackling, roaring fire.