The Horseman
 
      The dry desert country went by in a blur as the man rode. His horse was lathered in sweat,
      and was breathing raggedly, but the man wouldn't let it stop to rest. The man was tired
      himself, and in pain, but he wouldn't give in to himself.

      He kept looking over his shoulder, as if expecting some sort of pursuit, even in this barren
      wasteland. There was no one in sight, but his imagination spurred him onward nonetheless.

      With a grunt, his faithful horse died underneath him. The man jumped off the saddle just in
      time to avoid being crushed by the massive beast. He landed hard on the baked ground, his
      leather armour saving him some broken ribs, though the red dragon insignia emblazoned on
      his chest was marred terribly. 

      He tried to get up, but couldn't. He looked down to see his leg twisted at an unnatural angle.
      His mouth went dry as he realized that he was out in the middle of a desert without his
      mount, most likely being chased by his enemies.

      Setting his teeth, he wrenched his leg back to what it should have looked like, and slowly
      crawled to where his horse lay upon the ground. He drew a long knife, and cut the straps to
      the saddle. Removing the girth, he wrapped the broad leather strap around his broken leg,
      around a piece of deadwood he found rotting nearby. Just enough to survive to find a priest.

      Cursing, and still glancing back towards the north, the man quickly took off the saddlebags,
      and strapped his sword to his back. Glancing around, he saw his spear flung away, against
      some boulders some distance away. Cursing the name of the Goddess yet again, he crawled
      over and retrieved his spear.

      Using it as a crutch, the man returned to his horse, and twisted the saddle-horn until it came
      off. Concealed in the saddle was a small ivory message-tube, marked with some lords' seal.
      The man furtively tucked the tube under his tunic, making sure nobody was about to see him
      do this. 

      Now, forgetting the dead horse, he began staggering to the south. He still often looked back
      the way he came, but now he wore a resigned expression, rather than a desperate one. The
      man knew that he was going to die, barring the intervention of the Goddess, but when he
      did, he was going to take some of that golden scum with him. 

      To the north, dust clouds were stirring, marking the approach of horses, the same horses
      that had chased him for so many miles. The man looked around for cover, but saw nothing
      but the barren plain, with naught but a cactus or two.

      Committing himself, the man loosened his blade in its scabbard, and readied his spear. I'll
      die the way I lived, he thought, for the Empire.


      -Onaeus(DE)
      Praetor of Draconia
      Patriarch of the Druids
      Duke of Nova Q'lynnesti