Kathrine stood in her own chambers, they where small and austere, but that was what she wanted. What she liked. Looking at her armour she started to put it on. The plate-mail boots, the leggins, fitting her tightly toned calves. Her chest covered in an ornate, yet dented, breastplate, a relic of her father's a paladin also in the service of the maimed god she was given it was a mark to become one as well. Well that was what she was told as a squire, looking at the helmet, the last piece of her armour she slipped it on. Her well toned, athletic young body standing in her chambers now. Leaning down she slipped her hand and arm through the leather slips, holding it tightly, the emblazoned hand of Tyr on it. Then her sword, self forged, the silver gleaming in the light, she sheated the weapon on her hip.<br/><br/>Prayed to her god and rode off, the horse's hooves clacking the ground of the old monastery first, then pounding the soft mushy earth as she came closer and closer to Castle Blood Spire. The horse suddenly stopped, refusing to go faster. Not strange.. Kathrine could nearly smell the evil. She dismounted and smacked the flank of her horse, then moved towards the gateway. Into.. the dark.