Beregond stepped forward as the torches from the path slowly dimmed then went dull in a snap. He picked up the armour slowly as the torches around him brightened; putting the dark suit on piece by piece. "The armour of Derald the Hated... yessss it suits you." The voice echoed from the deep. This was perfect... he could now go forward as planned.

It only took a number of months to walk to the North coast of Bretonnia unnoticed. It was at an abandoned port the ship from the mist came forth. A great dragon at the front of it, fire contained in its mouth, as the back end was designed as a tail acting as the rudder. A number of Norsemen were aboard and nodded to Beregond as he climbed aboard without hesitation. "To the North Lands." He said vigorously as he looked condescendingly at the marauder sailing the ship. Into the North he would sail... yes... there he would fulfill his duty.

Summer, 1537... records tell of 6 ships sailing out from the ocean at Gresdale, Lyonesse. The ships docked unauthorized and from it poured the black filth of Chaos. Beregond's feet touched and tainted Bretonnian soil again as the foul Chaos did not even form ranks but simply rushed a guerilla style assault on the castle. Ladders were carried by several and up in moments.

Caught off guard, Lord Forésen panicked in his castle. An order was up to get to the defense as quick as possible, but even then it was slightly too late. The Norse had made ground in the castle. Beregond himself bashed down the reinforced gates with the battering rams followed by marauders. The march in was quick as the Knights assembled to counter them, but they were cut down by throwing axes before the marauders even made it into combat.

"Light it." Beregond demanded as the marauders began to burn the fortress to the ashes. He marched through the courtyard into the main hall where the panicking Lord was seen. Beregond dismissed his marauders as he approached him. Forcing him back to the chair, Beregond caught him at his throat. "It seems we need a distraction and you are it, my friend." Beregond whispered darkly into the ear of the Bretonnian as sweat dripped slowly down from his forehead. He gulped for only a moment before Beregond cut his throat.

It was there upon the wall that Beregond found the piece of temptation he was looking for... yes... the purple and green shield of the Marcel house that he had burned down so long ago. He adorned it on top of the spikes upon his shoulder, smiling thoughtfully as he headed outside. Gresdale burned with a bright red flame... the Gods would be happy. He continued outside as marauders approached Beregond; "A yeoman has spotted us my lord... we will be hunted for sure."

Beregond thought to himself for a moment... putting together all his thoughts and all the words of the Dark Gods. Yes they had tested him... he had passed... thus he should trust them, or should he? They had given him directions- maybe he should follow? Or maybe he should fight them for his own personal gain, yes... appease them but have his own way with them!

Turning to the marauder who had just reported to him he pulled his helmet on and slyly smiled at the man. "The Gods wouldn't have it... any other way." He said, laughing. It was only moments later that the knights from Roiglan were seen upon the horizon, one young one now old among them. Beregond smirked "It's about time Jean... it's about time."