Status: Hello everyone! Unfortunately the next five or so chapters to this story no longer exist. Unfortunately also, I don't know where I was heading with this story. Maybe rework this summer. On Hiatus
Kalameet
Weary Travels
Bleak gray skies soared above the horseman as he rode. A long, black cloak fluttered out behind him in the untamed breeze that buffeted him from all sides. Upon closer inspection, the cloak could be revealed to come from a thick burlap with many tears worn into its ancient material. The edges were ragged, near as ragged as their occupant. A thick cowle shadowed the man’s face from prying eyes. He wore simple, black leather armor and a linked chainmail. Steel plating glinted from his right shoulder and black iron covered his knees, shins and feet. His fingers were bare, rough and dirty and his hands and wrists were wrapped in thick, blood smeared gauze for ease of movement. To the simple passersby, he was not remarkable, but to his pursuers he was a grave threat.
The speckled stallion upon which he rode whinnied a soft warning and the man glanced around almost imperceptibly. Let them think they have the element of surprise, He thought warily. He was tired and his ride had been long and without rest. Sensing no immediate threat, he carried on though he kept his senses alert. Battered hooves kicked up billows of dust as he rode.
Outcroppings of rocks and dried bushes dotted the horizon and giant, ashen trees rose high around him. The landscaping left much to be desired, but held infinite danger. Lurking in the shadows could await any number of creatures, human or not. The battle warn warrior eyed each with great suspicion.
Though aching to rest, the man carried on still wary of a waiting threat. His back burned with the strain of riding for so long without respite and his legs cramped in protest to their unchanging position. He could tell that after such a long trip, his horse was also beginning to tire of the weight he and the supplies entailed. Still not feeling safe enough to stop for the night, the rider settled for walking beside his steed. He dismounted with practiced ease, though it was not as graceful as it would have been had he been well-rested. His boots clicked lightly as they met the dirt path.
Above the man, the skies opened, pelting him with freezing rain. He thanked his cloak for shielding him from the downpour, though the added effort of pulling his feet through the quickly forming mud was unappreciated. Blinking rapidly to clear his vision of the droplets pelting his face, the warrior pulled his cloak further around himself in an attempt to keep out the damp chill. Water sloshed up his back as he stumbled, gripping harder to the reins and pommel of the saddle to keep himself upright. He cursed his carelessness. It was only then that he realized the unease of his companion. The horse’s flank twitched in anxious irritation, a rippling of coat and flesh that alerted him to a rustling in the tall grasses to his right.
Too late! he thought. There was a sharp sting as the arrow imbedded itself in his shoulder. He had heard the hiss as it flew through the air and the solid thwap as it met his skin, but the pain caught him off guard. It burned and ached, filling his head with a soft buzz that clouded his judgment. The next thing he felt was anger, righteous and full, towards whoever had wounded him. He looked wildly about, staggering and bringing a hand up to the shaft that protruded from his muscled arm. The next shot took him in the calf. His knees buckled and he grunted. Blood oozed and bubbled from around the feathered projectile in his shoulder. He could only assume the same for the one in his leg. A startled neigh came from his animal companion who reared and took to the road ahead, leaving him alone.
His vision swam dangerously and he attempted to drag himself to his feet. This attempt was met by another series of wet thunks. A volley of three more arrows buried itself in his back. They ripped and tore through his skin like iron teeth, digging deep valleys in his flesh. While his armor was enough to lessen the depth of most blunt damage, it was powerless against the weighted tips and pinpoint force of the arrows. Mud and cold rain soaked the traveler to the soul as he lay bleeding in the middle of the road.
As a welcoming darkness closed in around him, he could make out startled cries and the clang of weapons clashing. The once still undergrowth came alive as the beginnings of a battle broke out around him. Bracing himself with his left arm, the cloaked man struggled to stand. His body screamed in protest, the agony from the iron-tipped arrows filling his senses. Hitting the ground once again, his breath left him with the impact. Pain engulfed his entire being. When it all became too much for him, he lost consciousness, but only after he felt himself being hauled roughly upwards.
The speckled stallion upon which he rode whinnied a soft warning and the man glanced around almost imperceptibly. Let them think they have the element of surprise, He thought warily. He was tired and his ride had been long and without rest. Sensing no immediate threat, he carried on though he kept his senses alert. Battered hooves kicked up billows of dust as he rode.
Outcroppings of rocks and dried bushes dotted the horizon and giant, ashen trees rose high around him. The landscaping left much to be desired, but held infinite danger. Lurking in the shadows could await any number of creatures, human or not. The battle warn warrior eyed each with great suspicion.
Though aching to rest, the man carried on still wary of a waiting threat. His back burned with the strain of riding for so long without respite and his legs cramped in protest to their unchanging position. He could tell that after such a long trip, his horse was also beginning to tire of the weight he and the supplies entailed. Still not feeling safe enough to stop for the night, the rider settled for walking beside his steed. He dismounted with practiced ease, though it was not as graceful as it would have been had he been well-rested. His boots clicked lightly as they met the dirt path.
Above the man, the skies opened, pelting him with freezing rain. He thanked his cloak for shielding him from the downpour, though the added effort of pulling his feet through the quickly forming mud was unappreciated. Blinking rapidly to clear his vision of the droplets pelting his face, the warrior pulled his cloak further around himself in an attempt to keep out the damp chill. Water sloshed up his back as he stumbled, gripping harder to the reins and pommel of the saddle to keep himself upright. He cursed his carelessness. It was only then that he realized the unease of his companion. The horse’s flank twitched in anxious irritation, a rippling of coat and flesh that alerted him to a rustling in the tall grasses to his right.
Too late! he thought. There was a sharp sting as the arrow imbedded itself in his shoulder. He had heard the hiss as it flew through the air and the solid thwap as it met his skin, but the pain caught him off guard. It burned and ached, filling his head with a soft buzz that clouded his judgment. The next thing he felt was anger, righteous and full, towards whoever had wounded him. He looked wildly about, staggering and bringing a hand up to the shaft that protruded from his muscled arm. The next shot took him in the calf. His knees buckled and he grunted. Blood oozed and bubbled from around the feathered projectile in his shoulder. He could only assume the same for the one in his leg. A startled neigh came from his animal companion who reared and took to the road ahead, leaving him alone.
His vision swam dangerously and he attempted to drag himself to his feet. This attempt was met by another series of wet thunks. A volley of three more arrows buried itself in his back. They ripped and tore through his skin like iron teeth, digging deep valleys in his flesh. While his armor was enough to lessen the depth of most blunt damage, it was powerless against the weighted tips and pinpoint force of the arrows. Mud and cold rain soaked the traveler to the soul as he lay bleeding in the middle of the road.
As a welcoming darkness closed in around him, he could make out startled cries and the clang of weapons clashing. The once still undergrowth came alive as the beginnings of a battle broke out around him. Bracing himself with his left arm, the cloaked man struggled to stand. His body screamed in protest, the agony from the iron-tipped arrows filling his senses. Hitting the ground once again, his breath left him with the impact. Pain engulfed his entire being. When it all became too much for him, he lost consciousness, but only after he felt himself being hauled roughly upwards.