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*A man gallops in on his horse. He was a born warrior. He dismounted his horse as it was still galloping. He let it go, for he knew it would return. He steped fourth and looked around. He wa a man around about the age of 20. He was strong and full of rippling muscles. his face was scared and wounded. His arm had a fresh wound in it. It was deep and bleeding badly. He did not heed it. He didn't feel much pain. He was here on a mission. A mission to create the worlds greatest warrior army. He had a sword made of real silver. And his hair hang shoulder length in a matted mass of brown hair. His clothes where blood and sweat stained, he had little armer on, but he carried a sheild on one arm and his sword held in the other. He had recently been in battle. He stepped fourth and confronted the Patriarch.*