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For Rastheme, Aneuhl and Machaon:
No fanfare bade farewell to those whose task it was to save the world. No dignitaries came out to wish them luck and a hasty return. Indeed, if something had to be said of the departure of Rastheme, Aneuhl, Machaon and Armus then quiet would have described it best. Not even the about half a dozen guards at the Western Gate said a single word as the four riders left the city of Dosrothon behind them.
The birds and beasts in these parts were still oblivious to what was happening barely five days riding to the north, where their kind fell in masses to the deathly hand of this mysterious disease. It was a hot summer day, the early afternoon sun beating down heavily on any who travelled across the open plains.
Our four heroes chatted amicably, getting to know each other, for they would most probably be travelling partners for long weeks, possibly months. They cared not of the perils they would come to face for they seemed to be still far away, several leagues to the north.
The miles seemed to fly past and slowly the landscape changed, groves of trees, forebearers of the forests to come, began appearing, breaking the monotony of the grassland. The heat was starting to lessen and the sun two-thirds of the way on its journey towards the horizon, when Machaon spotted a group of riders rapidly moving towards a group who seemed to be travelling on foot.
Moving at their current speed the group of four will most likely reach these two groups in about fifteen minutes, maybe ten if they pushed their horses slightly.
[ 05-14-2006, 06:44 PM: Message edited by: dplax ]
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