The ever present Mist filled the empty sockets where his eyes had once been, filled his nasal cavity and seeped through the bones of his rib cage. He should not have been able to feel the cold, clinging dampness of the Mist as his nerve endings had rotted along with his flesh centuries ago, and yet the sensation was there as always, a reminder of his unending quest.
He must find a way out of the damnable Mist if he was to warn the others. He would not, could not, fail in his purpose else all was lost. There had been an attack, that much he clearly remembered. Brigands had beset him as he traveled over the nameless pass. Attacked with such ferocity, unhorsing him and shattering bone… and yet the Nameless Knight rose once more, as he had so many times in the past. He would know no rest until his quest was done, of this he was sure.
Through dark sockets that somehow perceived the world around him, the Knight spied his warhorse standing soundlessly nearby. Like himself, the beast was a fleshless skeleton somehow animated, bound to the Mists and the quest as surely as the Knight himself was. The brigands had stripped the steed of its chainmail barding, and for the first time in many years, the Knight had a new purpose. He could not let the insult stand.
The skeletal figure paused in sudden contemplation, as this new purpose filled his consciousness. The Mists would have to wait. Vengeance must first be served. It was somehow invigorating, these unbidden thoughts. The Knight had forgotten his previous life, his name, his homeland, everything… had thought of nothing but escaping the Mist these many years past, but now he suddenly had a new purpose.
Suddenly, the revenant could sense his quarry. The had traveled west, out of the mountain pass and to the valley beyond. Retrieving his broken sword from the cold ground, the Nameless Knight soundlessly mounted his skeletal steed and set off at a brisk trot, the Mist forgotten for the moment.