War of Glory

Storm Riders

    His sprint soon turned into a paced run on his effort to beat the orange light back to the spot of his awakening. He eventually powered himself to the spot with a black ring etched into the dirt before the orange light did. Minutes later the orange light came close enough for the man to notice that it was several smaller orange lights. Soon the orange lights began to spread out, and the man realized the orange lights were the flames atop torches. The torches were carried by men on horses.

    The men came within distance of the man and spread out to circle him, staring him down through metal helmets that looked as if it was a second skin, with small horizontal slits for the eyes and vertical cuts for the mouth. The man counted eight of them as the steadied their horses around him. The man turned his attention to the one helmet that stood out, same as the others, but it had horns the came out in the front and curled back like a rams. The man with the horned helmet tossed his torch to the ground, where the black ring left from the blast erupted into flames. The horses whined quickly, and the man covered his eyes from the unexpected light.

    The flames lowered but did not disappear, showing the man in the middle in full detail. He was a tall, well built man. He was of lighter skin tone with dark hazel eyes and shaved hair that has seemed to have spent its time growing back. His muscles were not very large, but above normal size and defined.

    The rider with the horned helmet was the first to break silence.

    “State your name” he commanded, his voice was deep and echoed from inside the helmet. The man opened his mouth to respond, but he stopped and closed his jaws. He didn’t have an answer to the simplest question. In fact, he couldn’t remember much of anything before waking up where he now stands.

    “I do not know of my name” he stated. The man behind the horned helmet let out an amused laugh, and then sneered.

    “He doesn’t know is own name” he said coldly to the rest of the riders.

    “Sir,” the rider of to the man’s right spoke up, “look on his forearm, he has the mark.” The man lifted his left arm in curiosity, only to find a series of numbers tattooed on the inside of his forearm.

5646-371

    “And so he does.” His voice dropped off and almost sounded sad. He nodded at his men and they dropped their torches and unwound lengths of chains from around their bodies. The man in the center took a deep breath and slowly let it loose.

    The first rider whipped his chain toward the man, and the rest followed suit. The man’s reaction was faster than they expected, catching two of the chains and dodging the rest. He yanked on the chains, bringing the riders off their horses and on their backs in the dirt. The others had pulled back their chains and whipped them around again, this time aiming to where he could move to, cutting him off.

    They managed to catch him around the legs and he fell to the ground. The riders dismounted quickly and drew their swords, closing the ground on the man on the ground, while he tried to unwrap the chains that bound his legs together. He managed to pull a leg out and sprung to his feet. The first rider within striking distance did so, slashing his sword at the man. He threw up the chains at the rider and jumped backwards to dodge the blade, only to land in the waiting arms of the rider behind him. The rider wrapped his arms around his neck and held tight. The man’s face began turning red and the gasps for air became louder and far between, but yet he still fought, kicking the other riders back while they attempted to bind him with the chains.

    Suddenly the arms around his neck were relieved of their duty, and a breath of fresh swung down into his lungs. He turned to see what had freed him, only to be looking at a swinging boot belonging to the rider with the horned helmet. The boot swung forward with force, landing on the side of the man’s head. He was knocked off his feet and landed on his face with a thud and a small dirt cloud shot out from below his body.

    The riders approached carefully, sword tips pointed down at the unconscious man. Realizing he would not wake, they bound him with chains and tied him into the saddle of an empty horse. They threw sand and dirt over the flames to kill them, and to cover the black ring, before remounting their own horses.

    “Ride out, Storm Riders!” shouted the man with the horned helmet. As he set his horse back on the path they came from the other riders fell in behind him, the horse carrying the unknown man took the middle and followed as if being controlled by its rider. They rode brisk but at a slower pace than which they set to arrive, in no hurry to return back to where they came.

    The man with the horned helmet held slowed his pace while the others kept theirs until he was riding beside the still unconscious man. He reached over and felt the chains that wrapped around his body, making sure they were still secure. His chest rose and fell beneath his leather armor, and a large sigh escaped with his breath.

    He pulled a chain out from beneath his armor and rubbed the sweat off the crescent moon at the end. He held it up to his lips and began to whisper a prayer. “Goddess Ariel of wisdom and truth, please show us the insight as to why another one of your kind has fallen from our skies. Has he come to bring the Light out of hiding or to help God Lukan of terror and lies continue his reign for which he does not deserve.” He kissed the white artifact and slipped it beneath his armor, and took his place back leading the pack.