When leaves fall red and nights grow long, beware the rider riding wrong.

They took his head, they damned his name, and sent him forth to ride in shame.

No bell can call, no grave can bind, the soul that mercy left behind.

The sun has set, making the already chilly October day even colder as the sky darkens. Woods near Speyer are no exception. Yet one soul cannot rest, and join others in their sleep.

Far from the asphalt, where once crossroads were pointing to the city, buried under soil and piled up with red and yellow leaves. A body stirs. Higher power rouses the spirit and reanimates the body as a weathered set of brigandine armor with a breastplate rises from its unmarked grave. The hooded revenant gazes towards the sky and brings his hands together in prayer, though the remnants of the energy fail to illuminate the dark void under the hood. "Vater unser, der du bist im Himmel geheiligt werde Dein Name. Dein Reich komme. Dein Wille geschehe wie im Himmel so auf Erden. Unser tägliches Brot gib uns heute. Und vergib uns unsere Schuld, wie auch wir vergeben unseren Schuldigern. Und führe-" His night prayer is abruptly stopped as the revenant senses the stirring far away. Black courser materializes near him from the same mist. The hooded figure mounts his steed and rides towards the source. The hunt begins.