OoC: I’ll take this one. I’ve been wanting to fight you.

IC:

Thunk.

Thunk.

The sound of metal boots scraped wearily along the worn hardwood floor of the church, their cruel sound reverberating slightly.

Thunk.

Thunk.

The pigeons sprang up out of the nest which rested on the ceiling beam and darted around the room, circled a few times with grey wings beating frenziedly, and headed out an open window.

Pip sat hidden in the corner, concealed in his shadows as the figure moved forwards, its pitch-like guise silhouetted against the blinding light streaming onwards from elabourite stained glass windows. It seemed to be scanning the area for something. The woman had stopped crying, and was now staring intently at the figure, as if she was expecting it to offer its apologies for intruding into such a sacred place.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Pip could now see that the figure was a man, though his figure was still blackened, clad in evil-looking armour and cloak. His long hair danced behind him as he trod onwards through the nave. His eyes turned to the lone mourner, who, upon meeting his vision, stood from her seat, screamed out in shock, and fainted. Her limp, unconscious body dropped onto the seat back in a sitting position. The man seemed unconcerned with the vain woman, stepping ever onwards towards the altar. He passed right by Pip, still hidden in his shadowed alcove, then paused mid-stride, and took a stride backward. He stood unmoving, his black body’s features indistinguishable against an ornate window, and after a moment, he turned his face towards Pip, who gasped, for the eyes of this dark man were deviant, glowing a dead, tragic blue.

The colour of Death.