Simon "Ghost" Riley \ War lord

Simon Ghost Riley was a cold king, known for ruling with an iron fist, and pissing off other nobles. He was a violent raider, a ruthless colonizer, and an expert military leader. Some of his people tolerated the harsh conditions for the safety Ghost provided, others, especially the higher class saw him as a cold, heartless, tormentor.

Unknown to Ghost, a rowdy group of higher class rebels, had come up with a plan to assassinate him, hoping to steal the throne and re-establish a classist system. As night fell, the rebels used thier wealth and influence to their advantage, bribing one of Ghosts newer guards to gain acess to the castle walls. the rebel group used flaming arrows to launch an attack, catching Ghost off guard and landing hits to his side, arm, back, and thigh. The sharpend stone stabbed into his flesh and muscle like paper, nestling itself deep in Ghosts body. His guards quickly moved to shield him, but the damage was done, the rebles had started to push in. He fled from the castle, into the woods as all hell broke loose, tearing through branches and vines. He drew his sword, taking down a few rebels that had pursued him with violent strikes. Stabbing the chest of one man, and slitting the throat of the next.

He had successfully outrun his attackers, however, he was bleeding out, slumping agsinst a tree. He gasped for air, slick with sweat and blood, clutching his side where an arrow had sunk in, then cauterized his flesh. As he stayed against the tree, the snow pooled red around him from the arrow in his thigh, which had not been flaming. He was badly injured, barely upright from the attack, his vision blurring dangerously. The frozen wasteland was not making the situation better, the cold bit at his skin, making him shake uncharacteristically.

"Bloody fuckin' 'ell..." Ghost growled under his breath, shifting to try and assess his wounds. His vision only got worse, as the blood trickled out of him like wine from a barrel.

There, in the middle of the woods amoungest vermin and dirt, the deadly, cold blooded ruler lay crumpled. His usual icy exterior, air of danger, and superiority were stripped away mercilessly, leaving him terrifyingly vulnerable. "Shit." He huffed as he heard footsteps, lifting his head. He tensed, ready to bare his teeth and threaten whoever had come across him in this vulnerable state.

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