[ WP ] A Knight 's journey through a plagued , disease-ridden land leads them to the core of the Earth 's corruption . It seems to be a young girl , and the Knight does not know what to do .

Gawain, the knight of the shimmering blade, the knight of the long lance and the knight of maiden's. He had many monikers, titles, lands and beyond all else, reputation. 
 
 Once Sir. Gawain had ridden against a prominent mercenary core, called the knights of the dark moon. Their silver and black armor contrasted starkly with the white gold shimmer of Gawain's arms. When the two forces met, one against a hundred, it appeared that a white-hot knife had cleaved through the night, or perhaps a horde of demons. At the battles peak, Gawain stood across from the commander of these opposition forces. Gawain was like a star clashing with the night, black and white blade crashed against each other to the tune of a beating drum. A swift overhand strike was parried with magnificent timing by the white knight, the repost came in a flash of silver, but the black knight was fast. Bringing up his gauntlet he caught the blade even as it sliced his hand into ribbons, crimson now coated the black, and flowed freely down white. But the obstinate moon refused to allow the star his sword. He held it there, unflinching through the burning sensation of the light. Unable to pull away, the light pressed forward. Driving his opponent to the ground, the sword slipped easily into the space between the moons armor, a fountain of crimson erupted forth in a terrible spring of holy corruption. As the spurting vein hallowed the earth, Gawain rose and awaited his next opponent. None came. 
 
 It was for these feats that Gawain was chosen to lead the crusade against the darkness that had held humanity in captivity for the past twenty years. The calamity of ash as it was called. It was a slow creeping disease; the land would turn white and become dry as a bone. When the wind came, the dust would be picked up, and the world would appear to be in the aftermath of a great flame. Where this ash was blown, beasts followed, inhuman creatures, leftovers of the primordial force that the gods had defeated so long ago. Their rotting flesh could be smelled for dozens of miles. That smell was the one warning to evacuate, a harbinger of the scythe sent to cut the wheat. It only took twenty years for this plague to spread over the entirety of the mainland, forcing the survivors into the sea. 
 
 One point five million refugees had fled to the island nation of Salstama. More than that nation could ever support, there was simply not enough farm land. Desperate action had to be taken, the mainland, and its old countries, would have to be retaken. An army of one million men was armed with whatever arms and armor could be found or crafted. When those ran out, pitchforks and crossbows were given to the rest. Former farmers now marched to purify the land of beasts, refugees bolstered by the grand vanguard of Gawain. 
 
 `` Lieutenant,'' Gawain called out to the men on his landing ship. 
 
 `` Yes sir!'' the Lieutenant replied. 
 
 `` we ’ re landing in five minutes, ready your men.'' 
 
 `` Alright boys, you heard him. Spearmen to the front, archers in the back. We have a VIP on board and you're the wall! Now stay sharp! Your orders are to capture the beach by any means necessary, establish fortifications and pave the way for the regulars. Now visibility is poor out there so stay in formation and keep your torches at the ready.'' 
 
 The first wave entered the ashen clouds that protruded from the mainland beach. Surprisingly, there was minimal resistance as the soldiers came ashore. A few dog like creatures snapped at their heels, but they were quickly cut down or scattered. 
 
 But the men of this expedition knew better. Creatures awaited in that white wasteland, they expected a storm to be coming soon. They expected to be pushed back. 
 
 It took a total of fourteen hours to land the full invasion force, the ships were sent home to bring more supplies. Lumps formed in the throats of men who heard this news. `` There can be no retreat then.'' one man said through chattering teeth. `` We win or we die.'' 
 
 It took two weeks to build up the fort defenses. Bulwarks and walls constructed, trenches dug and charge breakers planted into the ground. This was the last line of defense, a thirty-mile-long line in the sand. A thin red line to hold back the white tide. 
 
 After construction was finished, nine hundred thousand men gathered in four columns to begin the march into the world of white. Each commanded by one of Sir. Gawain's personal retainers. The march began on the first day of the third week. It only took an hour before the vanguard column ran into its first taste of resistance. 
 
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