Here we go:
May 1770! Germany! Left bank of the Rhine! Mountains that disappear to the distance like a herd of buffaloes riding into the mist, (how poetic). Highest of all is Mount Thunder, garlanded with gothic ruins, and creepy as all hell. Riding up a steep incline we see a man in an Arabian horse named Djerid, (the horse, not the man. The man’s name is a mysteeeery. For now.) The man is in his early thirties, of a dark complexion, (perhaps Italian?). He has a finely formed foot. People used to care a lot about "finely formed feet" and "shapely ankles back then."
After arriving at an EXTRA-creepy place in the mountain, the man gets off the horse, puts his sword in the saddle, and unloads his pistols (sexy!)- obviously he’s advertising to any unseen spies that he’s unarmed. Whatcha know, as soon as he takes a few steps further up, shadows detach themselves from the general darkness and lead his horse away. A magical torch appears in the air before him, guiding him on, very will o’ the wisp.
“All right,” says our man.
“Shut up or we’ll kill you,” says a voice behind him.
“…” wisely says our man, and allows the unseen specters to bind his eyes with a wet linen.
He reaches out like a blind man, and grips the bony hand of a SKELETON!!! YIKES!!! Our man does a magnificent job of not freaking out, latches on, and he keeps on walking. The blindfold falls off. BAM! He’s at the summit of Mount Thunder.