Flyers begin to appear around town

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    A man walks through the fog covered streets of Aftermath. His hood hanged low over his face, and his clothes flowed gently against the cool night air. Gently he placed peices of blood stained papers all over the sheets and walls of the city. On each paper finger marks of blood appeared to be dragged across each sheet some more defined than others. On each paper read this:

    Midnight lightning in the sky
    Man in black he passes by
    It seems to me he is out of place
    With the look of death upon his face

    Can’t see his eyes, no soul inside
    Although he walks, he is not alive
    Followed by a pale white horse,
    The one called death, he holds his course

    The demons gather about his feet
    Thunder abates, the lightning streaks
    For the hand of death, all souls he seeks
    As he paces, paces up and down the street

    The fog it creeps, it settles in
    In front of a homes, his search it ends
    In the still of night, a breath of wind
    He climbs on his steed and rides again

    Did you hear the small children cry?
    As it took the last breath of lives?
    One he lives, and one he dies
    As away on a pale white horse he rides.

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