As the Kharidian sun reached its zenith, casting its dominating presence over the clear sky, the sound of picks and hammers filled the peaceful air. Vultures circled, disturbed by the noise of work and the smell of death below. Amidst the fog of disturbed sand, heavy in the air, a line of unkempt slaves toiled in the mid-day heat. Hauling ropes, digging through sand, and mining down chunks of boulder, the host worked endlessly with no clear end in sight. Across the sandy plain, position on a hill overlooking the excavation, were five men on armoured horses. The sword and shields hanging from their mounts gleamed, the steel too hot to touch and although their surcoats and head-wraps did little to protect them from the savage sun above, they rested in solemn silence.
At the front of the group, sat on a strong brown destrier, Omar Al’Hassan, their commander, gave a frustrated breath. He reached for the water skin fastened to his belt, tied their beside a gleaming ornate sabre, and weighed his options as he felt how light the object in his hand was. Supplies were low so far from their encampment and already he had seen slavers pulling the bodies of two fallen slaves away. Soon, he knew, they would have to retreat before men of worth began to fall to the heat.
His decision was made for him, as a cheer of triumph echoed from the cavern entrance before them. Omar’s emerald gaze fell back to the worksite, watching as slaves began to clamber into the hole they had opened. Moments passed, the mounted group waiting with baited breath as the slaves shuffled around the opening eagerly. A commotion arose, and the sea of bodies surged forth to aid in some matter obscured from Omar’s view by the number of men. When they parted, heads turning up to the ridge where the mounted group waited, the commander’s eyes found their prize. A crumpled Zamorakian flag.
We come here with no peaceful intent, but ready for battle, determined to avenge our wrongs and set our country free.
21-Mar-2016 22:11:51
