Out there in the wilderness he rides silently. Through brambled thicket and bloody daze. Listening to the voices of past generations like warlords on the winds of fate. He rides strong and with no malice upon his enemies that lay in refuse. In his minds eye he can see himself die a thousand times, in his soul he has long since been dead. Here in the brambled thicket through bloody daze he wanders, stalking and ready for war. A war that he will not fight, a war ended long ago.