Finally, with his aging body still in painful protest over his armor's weight, amplified by the exhaustion brought on due to his merciless march, he found himself nearing the massive gates that could open the way to what he prayed for every night. The way was lined by well-kept flowers whom he would have beheld if he had the wishes for such left.<br/><br/>As it was, he approached the gargantuan doors, head bowed in fatigue, armor clinking with every step, he finally rammed the underside of his mailed fist repeatedly against the door in the hopes for someone to grant him entrance.