He laughed, and it sounded like the cackle of crows before a feast. "Oh, little girl," he said, balancing easily as his horse reared, "you know nothing of hell. Mortals are cruel, but they have so little time to work with. A few short decades and your torment comes to an end." The horse landed, hooves clanging. "You know nothing."<br/><br/>He looked down at her, cold eyes meeting hers. "As for your part in this play, well, I know not." He jumped off and landed, robes billowing oddly. He was tall, and seemed to be shrouded in shadows rather than cloth. "I can assure you, however, that you will not and cannot defeat me. Not with that, certainly." A staff seemed to materialize beside him. Cold fingers gripped and twisted, and a blade sprang out. "You, little girl, have a part to play, yes, but conqueror you are not. Do not trifle with things you know not of." And suddenly he was before her, dull edge of the scythe pressed to the side of her face. His nose nearly met hers. "The gods," he whispered, voice low, "do not<span style="font-style: italic">like</span>to be trifled with."