The Four Knights

[Nailman]

T H E   F O U R   K N I G H T S

P L A G U E
Oh-but fear what stands before you, reaching nine feet in height.
Something so bizarre, as it's made in a wickedly serpentine way.
Each of its movements follows a gracefulness you can't explain.
It makes you question what is the origin of a being in this wake.
Of something you are sure. No matter the answer it's not good.

Just looking at it you can already tell, it is not made to be here.
What can you do about it? A zillion of things, you might guess.
As it is, a hero needs to take arms and do what's right, but ...
Each second passing, the eeriness never stops to even rest.

And with the eeriness so present, it's a mark that its conquest ...
Is here.

W A R
A face hidden in a black veil provided by the large hat.
A sorcerer of eld turned into a vessel for forces beyond.
A mask obscuring whatever expressions lie behind.
A powerful aura of destruction follows it around.
A sickly, impotent being.

Heat follows wherever this being treads.
Death lies in its wake.
Its aura is almost challenging, beckoning for any heroes to take a stand.
To hold their ground, and reply with utter violence to protect their world.
To feed directly into the being's intent.

No matter the means, it is obvious;
Destruction follows.

F A M I N E
An oppressive atmosphere surrounds this imposing figure clad in rust-stained armor.
A suffocating presence, lungs straining just to breathe.
As baleful eyes glare, fatigue sets in.
Limbs trembles, knees buckle.
Did you never realize how frail you really are?

With each ponderous step the earth wails and cracks.
Grass withers, even as roses bloom.
A wasteland of ash and thorns left in his wake.
Only blood-red petals disturb the grey expanse.
Is it not beautiful, this end of days?

All shall prostrate themselves within the fields of dust.
Fingers worn to the bone as they scrabble for sustenance.
The mighty brought to heel, the proud made to kneel.
All men made equal through their hunger.
In the end, are we not all beasts?

An age of Famine is upon you.


D E A T H
A gigantic man in armor covering the entirety of his body.
Blue luminescence unhurriedly escapes his eyes.
Sporadically, faint glacial spots form irregularly on the inert body.
The temperature always decreases when he is present.

When humans are, death isn't; when death is, humans aren't.
It watches all, it is fate. It is merely passing to another state.
Eternity awaits all. The end is no true end.
Rejoice for the cold embrace, because winter is coming.


They are coming.