Driven by demons, dead-beat horses pace through the night barely touching the ground. Their hooves throw sparks up from the roads long forgotten. The old weather-beaten chariot, once all silver and shiny, carries its passenger.   

There used to be times when the charioteer standed tall all the ride long – there was no sitting down for him as those were the days of valor and prowess. Now he’s hiding from the winds that chill him to the marrow inside the cabin, occasionally yelling at his coachman. A victorious warrior, chosen comfort over glorious battles. Power and money have finally overcome valiance and bravery. But tonight he’s back on track once again. A call of the Great Grimoire has stole his peace and slumber