The White Man Cometh

Author: c0052254 <c0052254[at]>

Rating : NC-17

A lonely soul tries to find peace

I do not own the rights to BtVs.

This story takes place after the Parker incident, everything after that did NOT happen.

Chapter 1

Xander was sad. And frankly that was not a big surprise, after all why should he be happy. He was living in a rat infested damp basement, that looked as his soul felt.

They had all left him, Buffy, Willow even G-Man. Xander smirked as he thought of that name. Though to anybody watching it was more of a grimace. He would never admit it, but he had looked up to Giles as a father ... not any more.

'You fucking whore' the abusive words came from upstairs, and Xander looked up at the ceiling from his position of the bed. The cobwebs in the top corner seemed as silver strings in the dim light of the room.

A crashing noise was heard, the breaking of glass shattering upstairs so familiar. So very familiar.

He wondered where the bottle had hit this time, but before he could even finish the thought another noise was heard. A thump hitting a floor. His mother most likely.

Xander merely turned his head, a lone tear flowing through his eye. The tear was born of pain and disgust. Why couldn't he fight his father, after all he fought beings that were four times faster and stronger than the average person? Why was it that he froze up whenever HE was around?

Why? Why? Why? His mind berated him over and over again. Coward his conscience whispered. Hypocrite his mind screamed. Is your mother worse than the people you save? You are leaving her to that monster; you are as bad as HIM. And the mantra continued in a never ending cycle.

Why? Why? Why? Why?

Xander yearned for the answer to that question as a starving man yearns for food. The only answer he could give was that he had not left her. He was still here living in the basement, just to be near her. The answer like always sounded pitiful. Just like him, his inner demon taunted.

It was as if a damn had burst. And the tears would not stop. His grimy, dirty pillow, felt as if they had been put through the washer. Xander almost laughed at the thought of his house having a working washing machine, instead of laughter his body sobbed.

Once again the thought of simply ending his life came. But he knew he could not do it. Even the thought of him leaving his mother in this position made a tight not in his stomach. And the guilt became even worse. Xander knew he could not leave her like this intentionally. But if he died fighting a demon, if he died 'accidentally', well then it was not his fault.

But in the dark recesses of his subconscious he knew it would be his fault. His fault because he did not jump in battle just to save Buffy's life, but to also end his.

The sobs finished.

The mantra continued Why? Why? Why? Why?

Xander used his shirt to wipe the tears and suddenly whipped his head towards the door.

It was an instinct born of countless battles. An instinct that had saved his life on more than one occasion ... something bad was going to happen.

The clock on the wall sounded as if it should have wakened the dead.

Tick-Tock --- Tick-Tock --- Tick-Tock --- Tick-Tock.

Xander's heart raced faster and faster with each noise. Until it seemed as he was going to start to hyperventilate.

The clock suddenly started chiming. And Xander looked at it startled.

Any other person would have laughed it of. But Xander continued to look at the door.

Tick-Tock --- Tick-Tock --- Tick-Tock --- Tick-Tock.

The door opened, moving slowly. It seemed as if the hinges were screaming for Xander.

Slowly by slowly a large man stepped forth, his size was such that he covered the whole door. The room had been dark, but the stairs the man had used were lightened. The light shined at his back, making him look ominous. His dark beard making him look like a wild man, but it was his eyes that drew the attention. They were tiny beads of pure undiluted evil.

'Hey boy' it grumbled.

'y,y,y,yes d,d,dad' Xander stuttered

Anybody who knew the boy would have been amazed at the way he looked at the moment. Like a abused dog that knew it was going to be kicked- or more appropriately like an abused child.

Xander's father stepped towards Xander. Each step a slow motion testifying his drunkenness.


He was 6 foot 2, though at this moment in Xanders eyes he was a looming giant. Dark unkempt hair came to his shoulders. A fork shaped beard, that was showing a few streaks of gray covered the bottom half of the face. A dirty blue flannel shirt covered him, as well as dirty army boots. And despite the small pot-belly, which should have been huge if it was to testify even a tenth of his lifestyle, women would have flung themselves towards him. Calling him handsome, a macho man. That was of course before they looked in his eyes; once women stared at his eyes, they could not get away from him fast enough.

There was something unnatural about the eyes. Not unnatural as in magical. Those eyes were of a man that was of a totally different bread. This man would put Hitler, Bundy- Angelus, to shame.

It was no wonder Xander still felt a chill climbing up his spine, when he thought of the phrase 'the eyes are the gateway to the soul'

Every instinct in Xander was screaming at him to do something- anything.

Xander though was not listening to his instincts. If he was doing something it was trying his best not to show his face. The last time his father had caught him crying. He had looked at Xander and whispered lovingly in his ear 'real men don't cry'. Then his father had started to beat Xander till a white blankness took him into the safety of pain-free oblivion.

He had been seven.  

Today though it was harder to stop the tears from flowing. His friends had betrayed him- NO not friends. Not anymore.

He was alone now.

'That clock you got in your room ... bit behind ain't it'

A fleeting thought passed through his mind with an image. The thought was that he deserved this. The image his mother's battered face looking at him, and then glancing away. Shamed that her son had to see her like this. A site as usual to him as the sunlight on a cloudless day. Yet still he did nothing.

Why? Why? Why?

Coward, hypocri..

'You listening to me boy, or you think your old man not worth listing to' the man snarled, bringing his face prodigiously closer

'Yes dad, the clock is a bit slow' Xander replied, quickly and meekly. Trying to stall the inevitable.

'Well then, guess its time to congratulate the birthday boy.' As suddenly as the whisper finisher, Xanders head felt weightless, a sensation quickly followed with screeching pain.

Blow after blow struck Xander. And suddenly it was over

A few minutes after Xander heard the door shut closer. His unconsciousness welcomed him

His last thoughts though were surprisingly not to do with the beating his body was taking.

They were 'at least somebody remembered'. His mind replaying what he had overheard in the afternoon.


Xander walked towards Giles house wondering what presents he would be receiving. God he was so happy that it was finally his birthday. No that was not true. He was happy because of Buffy. His smile got even bigger.

Only in the hellmouth- Xander thought ruefully. Replaying last night over again.

The stander by had to wonder at the boys state of mind when he jumped in the air, punching his hand to the sky. Shouting 'wooo hooo'. Things like that did not happen- infact that did not happen: the Sunnydale denial syndrome suddenly kicked in. As familiar to the locals as the use of mathematics when shopping.

Xander wondered if she would blush when she sees him. Of course the thought of Buffy blushing did not excite him at all.

Nope not at all. He was a '90s' man, who shunned the stereotypical view that his gender found women wanting sex something to be proud of.

Yeah right. Xander could not wipe away the silly smirk on his face.

The prehistoric part of his brain which told him things like 'Hungry. Need. Food' now was doing the snoopy dance singing 'I. The. Man. uh-hu uh-hu. I. The Man uh-hu uh-hu'.

Boy his brain really sucked when it came to making lyrics. Xander commented to himself.

Suddenly a small voice whispered that good things like this did not happen to him. Xander crushed the annoying voice. Nothing was going to ruin this day for him. Nothing.


When Giles house came into view Xander thought of a wicked idea. He would climb on the pipe and enter Giles house through his bedroom window. Then he would startle them all.

Xander groaned at the thought. It would be nice surprising them all using the back-key. But Buffy would certainly hear him.

Of course he did not have to do this. The Sunnydale population would probable ignore somebody climbing up a building, but it was going to be hard to climb up there.

Of course Xander being Xander could not just back down.

One of these days you're going to regret doing stupid things like this, his inner monologue supplied.

What Xander did not know was that today would be that day.

Xander was in Giles bedroom, all out of breath. I have got to quit my job as the ice-cream man, he thought.

Slowly Xander walked towards the door.

Small whispers of voices could be heard from downstairs.

Xander decided to crawl to the balcony and hear what the gang was talking about.

He knew he shouldn't. But then again it is my birthday; a goofy grin appeared on his face as he thought of the many ways to convince Buffy that what he did was not necessarily a bad thing.

After yesterday, he believed he could convince Buffy of anything.

The grin became a full fledged smile.


'Do I have to? I mean its important that I stay to guard the hellmouth, so that nothing helmouthy happens' Buffy's voice said.

'Yes Buffy you have to go to England for the ceremony. Frankly I am most displeased with the lack of enthusiasm..'

'Oh cut it out Giles' Buffy interrupted

'Buffy why don't you want to go' Willow asked 'I thought having a vacation from the hellmouth would be something you'd like'.

Vacation? England? Ceremony? What's going on here, and why can't they wait for me to show up before they started their conversation Xander speculated.

The thought that they did not want him here for this conversation not even being considered.

'Oz would you like to go to London?' Willow said 'I mean I know that whole werewolf in London movie was not very good to werewolves but what if we wanted to go to Paris and what if another werewolf movie was made and we were living in that area would we move not that I'm saying all werewolf movies are bad because their not'

Xander could not see the room, but had the feeling that they all were smirking as he was. His thoughts were confirmed when Willow said 'Oz your supposed to stop me when I start to babble'

'Sorry' a male voice, obviously Oz's said

'Trip sounds good' the voice said in a cool voice.

Well there goes Oz's contribution to the conversation Xander remarked. Wondering if he should just shout surprise and join in the conversation. Buffy's next words stopped him.

'Xander won't come with us will he?' The words sounded too casual

Why don't you want him to come with us to England Buffy? Giles queried, hearing something in the tone of voice.

A silence fell through the room. Buffy not wanting to answer that question. But Willow obviously saw no reason not to answer it.

'Oh I know' Willow answered. 'It's because Buffy's afraid Xander might do something to embarrass us'

It was as if somebody had punched out the life sustaining air from Xander's lungs. And he waited for the next words, unable to move. Just as a passerby is unable to look away from a hideous car crash.

Xander had heard worse from his friends, but he was in the room then. At this moment they were talking about him to behind his back

Is this what Willow really thinks about me? My best friend?

Did she still blame him for the fluke incident? She said she had forgiven him the darkness inside of him whispered that she had nothing to forgive him for. He did not force himself on her. What they had done, was mutual. If anything she should have apologized to him. Oz and the entire gang had blamed him, and she had just let them.

Another thought entered his mind. Did last night mean nothing to Buffy?

'Your right Willow' Buffy's words confirmed his suspicions. Bringing forward his insecurities.

Loser that was the word his father, teachers, school colleagues, passerby's called him. And know his friends were confirming that this is what they thought of him.

It was worse than the Sisters of Jhe incident. Because then he had at least had the small ray of hope that his friends were just afraid for him.

'I mean come on, I like Xander as much as anybody. But you know all he'll do is get in the way. Isn't it enough that we have to have him following us around like a puppy.' Each word to Xander felt as a nail was being hammered into his coffin. 'Giles you have no idea how embarrassing it is when he shows up in college. I'd feel sorry for him, but you can't feel sorry for somebody who is just asking for it. Even remembering the Hawaiian shirts give me a headache.'

'Buffy did you and Xander have an argument' Giles queried.

But instead of Buffy answering Willow did 'Well Giles they did. You see Buffy was patrolling yesterday with Xander, and like always Xander threw himself at a vampire. Who threw him back making him land on the tombstone head first. And then Buffy had to concentrate on the vampires AND make sure that no vampire came near Xander. And then Xander kissed Buffy. His just a poophead'

That was not how it happened Xander wanted to shout

'Every time I take him on patrol I have to look out for him Giles. How am I supposed to do my job as the slayer if I'm looking out for him....... If I don't take him with me he starts whining like a little baby. And if I do he just gets in the way.'

Xander could now and again see the head of Buffy as she came into view. Her pacing speeding up.

Xander was shell-shocked. He was beyond upset with the conversation. But now. Now it looked like Buffy and Willow were disgusted by him.

'Buffy' Giles spoke in low voice.

Buffy's pacing stopped. The silence was echoing in the room. Each knowing instinctively something monumental was about to occur

'Perhaps it best we simply not allow Xander to continue helping us' Giles spoke in a leadingly calm voice.

'You mean kick him out of the gang?' Buffy answered. As if the thought had not truly occurred to her

'I am afraid Buffy' Giles spoke 'If we allow Xander to continue even research, he will not be able to restrain himself from getting involved.'

Willow now spoke in a voice so low that Xander had to concentrate on her next words 'Well it would solve all our problems Buffy.'

'Lets do it.' Buffy told everybody. Her words spiraling towards Xander

Oz spoke once more.


Xander crawled towards Giles window. Eased himself down the pipe. Oz's words haunting his every step away from his so called friends

'We should have done this a long time ago'

Nobody had disagreed.

Chapter 2

Diary of Xander.

I wake up from the beatings HE gave me, I've woken up from a lot of beatings. Not just from HIM, but from my time with the scoobies.

This time it's different.

There is a blinding pain I have in my head, and I know. I know with every sense of my being this is not like any pain I have ever faced.

This is a pain that is telling me that something has broken.

And that the fact that the pain is coming from my head, frankly I'm scared. And that's saying a lot.

The pain itself, it feels like ---- like when you've eaten a cold ice cream really fast and your head is about to freeze --- Only this pain is a 100 times worse.

I try thinking about the pain, something to focus on. Because as long as I focus on the pain I don't have to acknowledge what every hard earned instinct in me is screaming.


Stopping myself from feeling or at least reducing pain is a skill I have learnt by necessity. If it wasn't for that skill, then between HIS drunken tantrums and my midnight lifestyle I would have been in a constant sense of pain; I have never felt betrayed from a skill I have learnt --- Until now.

To accept your own doom is a very hard thing.

I've accepted my dad thinking I'm a loser, teachers thinking I'm a loser, class mates thinking I'm was a loser, strangers thinking I'm a loser, "friends" thinking I'm a loser --- including Buffy --- the woman I loved. The woman that last night kissed me and made me believe in happy endings--- thinks I'm a loser.

Compared to accepting that, accepting that something in me is broke, is not so hard.

Not hard at all.

I stare at the floor. Where a few minutes ago I vomited.

It's amazing how red, blood truly is......


There are moments in life that are monumental. It could be football game. A meeting with a lover. A painting.

Most of these moments are not planned.

This was not the case for Xander.

He had walked to the Doctors office with the knowledge something life changing was about to occur.

He had tried to delay the meeting by resting and then writing in his diary.

But finally he decided to walk towards the Doctors office.

Perhaps he was mistaken. Perhaps the stress of living his life in a constant war had gotten to him.

And perhaps Xander thought it didn't matter.

Before he knew it Xander had reached the Doctors office.

Xander stared at the Doctors office and decided it was time.


Dr Charles turned his head at the door when the youth walked in the door. No not a youth, Xander stopped being a youth a long time ago.

The image as always of something attacking him on a cold, windy, rainy night filled his thoughts.

He was 70 years old then and thought he knew the world.

Those thoughts turned to dust just as the 'thing' that had grabbed his neck.

The child holding the stake with old, wise eyes forever burned in his memory.

Now the child had become a man and was in trouble.

The analysis was done, not by the pasty white skin, or the bags around Xander's eyes.

No it was the vacant dead eyes which stared at him, and the body language that formed his analysis.

Never had he seen Xander introduce himself without a smile on his face.

Even the night of his revelation Xander had smirked and said 'What's up Doc'

Something was very wrong.

The thought was confirmed when Xander fell unconscious.


Xander woke up with a groan and pain filled head.

Flashing white lights streaked around his eyes.

He was lying on a couch. The Doctor was staring at him with sadness and a Jack Daniels in his hand.

Doctor Charles had stopped drinking years ago. Infact he told Xander he only drank when he discovered he could not help the patient from a terminal diagnosis.

Xander slowly smirked. Surprisingly the smirk reflected his anguish and pain.

'I don't know why I'm so sad. I've survived more times than I should. And death is something I've been craving a long time'

Doctor Charles said in a low voice 'No smart ass one-liner'

Xander answered in a weary voice 'No. No smart ass one-liner'   

'Xander I've told you before you had begun to display the beginning of a brain hemorrhage.' The doctor suddenly tried to delay the inevitable.

'Have you been suffering from migraines, dizziness, vomiting with blood, uncontrollable shaking of the hands and...'

Xander cut him off and spoke in a quite voice that reverberated around the room 'how long?'

The Doctor was about to say something and then changed his mind

'If you are hit in the head even once there is a great chance of paralysis or even instant death. If not... If not perhaps three to four months'    

'I'm so sorry Xander. It's too much damage. You never allow me to do a proper check up, even when I tell you the possible dangers.' Doctor Charles looked like he had the weight of the entire shoulders placed on him.

'I should have made you do a REM scan, I should have forced you to...'

Xander stopped him once more. This time with a gesture of the hand.

As he walked towards the door he whispered 'Perhaps part of me didn't want you to find out.'

Xander walked out of the Doctors office. With Sunset about to show Xander realized he must have been unconscious for hours.

He continued walking 'three to four months' 'three to four months' 'three to four months'

Suddenly a twist of his body found him face to face with a pissed of slayer

'I know about the lie you bastard'

Suddenly a fist collided his face, and the another.

The fist was joined by kicks.

As he fell to the pavement he thought he could hear Giles voice

For the third time in 24 hrs Xander fell unconscious


If the soldier memories were like silent rainfall before. They were like a Tsunami now.

It was as if Xander was not just seeing a movie, but reliving a life.

The life of the fatigues he wore on Halloween.

The fatigues worn were of Captain Frank Jesuah Harris.

Not the man, that came out in Halloween. That man was infact a boy. A 15 yr old who had spent his entire life in the slums and had lied about his age to be drafted quickly.

A boy who was being shipped to "the Nam".

Cpt Harris, had done four tours in Vietnam. The first few weeks placed him in the attention to the Special Ops division leading him into wetwork. He was sent back to the field, because he was seen as too loud. The real reason was even the professionals were afraid of the boy nicknamed "The Reaper".

The battle-lust in him, was not just seen in his eyes, it was felt. A living force. And men, even men who played with death. New "The Reaper" was a different breed. A breed that belonged in hell... or Vietnam.

Cpt Harris though, was just glad to keep on killing.

Cpt Harris was a hero. Cpt Harris was a survivor. Cpt Harris was a man who stories of the "cool bad ass" were based on. The Reaper though was something entirely different. He knew even though he came in Vietnam to escape the police, he would come back to a Vietnam, because he "needed" war.

In the first tour Cpt Harris found there was something in letting his rage out that made him feel at peace. Something about walking in the jaws of death that made him feel alive.         

The second tour of Vietnam, introduced him to the true reason why the Americans could not defeat the Vietnamese.

It wasn't just the heroic people of Vietnam. Men of courage and honour, that should have belonged in another era. An era of knights.

It was the Vampires, and Demons. Who would have guessed that even Vietnamese Vampires and Demons wanted the Americans out of their country.

When Cpt Harris found about this in a briefing, like the rest he did not believe. Though unlike the rest when he was shown the captured Vampires and Demons, when he saw them die. He smiled.

At last he thought gleefully.

Cournal Spears who was giving the briefing saw his smile, and the battle-crazed madness in his eyes. He too smiled.

That very day. Cpt Harris too began to call himself "The Reaper"    

Days turned to weeks. Weeks into Months and the Reaper was sent from assignment to assignment.

He learnt that though there were things in the jungle faster and stronger: vampires, demons, even the ninjas. None could stop him.

None of them could stop what they couldn't see, hear or sense. Usually this was done by a head decapitation caused by a bullet, sometimes bombs. Sometimes the Reaper was able to use a knife, and look into the victims eyes as the life slowly bled out.  

Before this tour was over, the Reaper believed in what had been growing in the back of his subconciounce.

The truth of his existence... No-one was deadlier than the Reaper.

When he was given time-off before beginning his second tour. Between the drinking and whoring he killed four men in a bar fight. When Cournal Spears asked him why, like always the Reaper told him the truth.

The Cournal understood him after all.

It wasn't the fact that they deemed to show the Reaper little respect. That was part of it though. It was the fact that it had been twelve days since he had been in conflict.

Some men need to take drugs, others need to make the fast buck. No one who knew the Reaper needed to guess what he needed.

There is a saying that "God made man in his image"... When he made the Reaper he must have been pissed.

A lot of strings were pulled that night. The judge had a problem letting a felon like Captain Harris walk, no matter how many medals he got. He was convinced to at least talk to the convict.

The overweight, jovial judge took one look into the Reapers eyes and decided to sign the papers.

He had learned through experience to judge a man with a look. Perhaps the wrong attitude for a judge, but he believed it worked.

Rapists, murderers. Those people now seemed like little puppies compared with a huge, cold, calculating, wolf.

And like a wolf, the Captain was not evil. He was what he was... somebody you don't fuck with.

The second patrol in his third tour patrol was attacked.  The Reaper was like a man possessed. He was death incarnate. He was battle-lust made flesh. And as the blood fell from the sky, he looked into Lt Napowski's eyes. A new recruit, just out of boot camp.

When he heard the next day that Napowski had that very night committed suicide the Reaper smiled... He was home.

Many times the was given the chance for more promotion. He refused every time, not giving an extra thought to the privileges of higher rank.

He had all he wanted.

And if he didn't the company made sure he had it soon enough.

Some did it because he was so damn good at his job, most though didn't want the Reaper coming for them.  

Another tour passed, and he became colder, deadlier, tougher.  

In his next break the Reaper was sent to "take care" of a demon posing as a American senator due to a image changing spell. He was told to be creative, as the demons selling of knowledge had lead to the deaths of personnel high in the Army command structure.

The task required all the Reapers intricate knowledge of the "demon" anatomy, since he had to make sure each piece of flesh was cauterized quickly or else blood loss would lead to death. Twenty-three minutes within the torture the demon started begging for death. Six hours and twenty minutes later he had finally managed to completely skin the demon alive. Fourteen hours later the Reaper was still torturing the demon when its hearts gave out. The Reaper then went to sleep... The relaxed sleep of a worker who has done a job he can be proud of.

In the last tour something strange happened. A little girl was trapped by eyeless priests. He fired on the priest but the machine rifle jammed. The priests attacked like locusts. The Reaper was like a hurricane

The conflict short, deadly, bloody.

The Reaper almost felt bored. Then a shot hit him in the back. An eyeless priest had somehow survived, gained his hands on a gun and shot him in the back.

The world went red once more. And when it went to normal. The priest was missing two eyes, an arm. The arm bloody not just from being ripped out of the priest socket. But also from being used to beat the priest to death.

The girl cried out as the Reaper was walking away. She too was losing blood though this from a stabbing. And her huge doleful eyes. Much to innocent looked at him.

A choice had to be made, either he go to the base and have his wound looked at. Or he took the Vietnamese girl to the close village which he knew had connections to the "rebels". The girl he could tell would not make it to the base.

The girl looked at him, with eyes of trust. For some reason she thought him a "good guy".

Something changed within the Reaper.

He would not let this girl die.

With blood pumping the Reaper. The man who was one of the best, if not the best soldier/killer in the history of the United States Army, perhaps even the world. The man, this embodiment of untapped rage and darkness decided to walk into the jaws of death to save the life of the girl.

As he reached the edge of the village, the lights dimmed, the legs became sluggish. And he felt danger. This time though... he was so tired.

A bullet hit him, and another, and another. They seemed to fall on the Reaper as though raindrops in the Monsoon season.

The Reaper simply fell on his knees his body covering the Vietnamese girl.

As the lights dimmed he knew he could kill them all.

It was his gift.

But what about the girl who had been the only one in his entire life to trust him without fear? Whose eyes shone with light and warmth... The lights dimmed.


Most people forget that a painting is done in a white canvas. It is so very easily overlooked.

Xander though was not most people. He realized as he awakened that not only was the most powerful modern warriors residing in the forefront of his mind. But something also had come out; the hyena spirits.

The oldest of predators, like the "Reaper" was watching…waiting

He saw Buffy lying on the bed next to him and realised what he could do to her.

What he wanted to do to her.

He had never been so frightened.

With an almost supernatural silence Xander walked towards the window of the Buffy's room.

Buffy and the others had obviously brought him here once he had fallen unconciounce.

Xander opened the window.

He glanced at Buffy.

Xander jumped.


Two months later on one of the highest mountains of Tibet. A stranger walked in a village.

Many came out to see him. But all moved when a thin old man with the grace of a tiger came forward.

The old man's piercing eyes one brown and one green stared at the newcomer.

The cane the old man held slammed in the ground.

He walked towards the newcomer.

Each step having as much meaning as a word in poetry.

'What. do. you. want. white. man' The old man whispered. The English words not easy to pronounce.

The newcomer stated 'I will gone within two months. Can you give me sanctuary until then?'

The newcomers chocolate brown eyes looked at the old man. The old man wanted more. The old man's eyes demanded to know more.

The newcomer spoke in a solemn voice 'I do not wish to die without my soul.'


Half a continent away, a trainee watcher looked through an obscure text.

Defender of man he was known as
.....when the chosen one, he made two
Paladin he was cursed as
.....when the once cursed beast was free
Nothing he was scorned with
.....before he saved generations, yet to be
-Scrolls of Byzantium