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Somewhere in Wales a dark cave is lit only by the torches of the angry mortals, trudging their way within. Ten men, all unimportant except for the man that leads them. Owain ap Ieaun, a devout Christian, holds aloft in one hand a burning torch. In the other, a silver cross, four inches by four, the silver chain dangling from the top. A ruddy brown cloak embraces him. Beneath are poor tattered brown pants and a loose white tunic.
....The small mob were the only ones from their village to come to this cursed place to slay the demons within, four ungodly men with an uncanny power to seek out ones weakness and exploit them. Enough to bring men to tears or run. Or even worse, a heart attack to the older of their victims. Owain's dark eyes on the ground before him, only vaguely aware of the others walking behind him, his mind intent on his purpose and the banishment of fear.
....Coming upon an antichamber with half broken pillars and eroding stairs and walls, water trickling down the side of the wall to their left, Owain extends his arms, motioning for the others to stop. He gives silent commands for them to light the few torches lining the walls of the circular room. The now lit room reveals an alter in the center of the chamber, probably used for Heathen rituals. Across the room is a stone stairway, lining the wall to a door fifteen feet above the ground level.
....Without hiding their presence with their supernatural cloaking abilities, six men enter from the shadowed doorway. Leading them is a man, taller then the rest, with sandy brown hair. He was well built and sturdy. Behind him are four others, and a very thin and gaunt man with shoulder length black hair in wild and unkempt curls, laughing hysterically to a joke none other knows. Descending the stairs slowly, the Baali eye the mortals, who in turn draw their weapons fearfully.
....Rushing forth with the anger of the women and children from their village they seek to protect, the mortals brandish their farming tools, and occasional short swords to meet their aggressors in battle. Owain holds his cross aloft, and indeed the Baali seem to back away throwing their arms before their eyes in fear.
....Owain fends off his adversaries well, swinging his broadsword in wide arches, keeping them at bay. The others, however, begin to fall one by one. Four of his companions already slain, yet another stares at one of the Baali, dropping his sword and walking to meet his doom. With only two Baali apparently slain, the mortals are obviously losing. "Fall back!" Owain screams as two more of his compatriots fall, leaving him and two others.
....Covering them as they run, Owain trails behind, only to see the other two meet their death to three Baali, who had apparently slipped past them to stand beside the only exit without their knowing. Alone in the dimly lit room, the Baali begin to laugh, and put out the torch fire. Taking the only lit torch from the hand of one of his fallen comrades, Owain holds the only light and form of protection in the room.
....Walking around slowly as the repressed fear begins to take him, the sounds of laughing rings and echoes throughout the room occasionally. Holding his cross tightly, he feel a danger nearby. Looking up and right, just in time to see a large piece of a broken column to come down on him. Weighing nearly four hundred pounds, the stone slams against his side, bringing forth a series of resounding cracks as several of his ribs are broken. His cross, torch, and sword leave his hands and clatter against the ground.
....Defenseless and wailing in pain, he sees nothing through his anguished tears but metal and blurs. All that he hears through his cries of pain are the sounds of more battle. Vaguely aware of the remaining three of the Baali running away, he looks around for his savior.
....Cradled by an elderly man with a greying brown beard, the elder knight clutches Owain close. Feeling comfort in the mans embrace, he allows himself to slip into unconsciousness, only to be awakened by a sharp pain in the neck. A cry not forthcoming, he succumbs to the pleasure coursing through his body.
....A hot, thick liquid pressed to his mouth, and thirsty as he had never before experienced, he drinks from the offered wrist before becoming aware it is blood he swallows. His eyes open wide, but he continues to drink out of need. A moment later, and the elder knight pulls away his wrist, Leaving Owain to stare up at him.
....His next moments are those of pain, of the likes he's never felt before, well more than the stinging and burning he previously felt in his side. His mind racing with questions he'd have to wait for answers to. The elder knight takes Owains hand, speaking soothingly in indecipherable words. The night passed, taking with it the terrible pain, and his humanity.
