Crossing the Spinyet Valley

"They say we cannot cross here; that there is another bridge to the South East that we may use."

"Is that so? What was this whelps name?"

"He did not give it, sire."

With the crack of a whip, Senduin's horse bursts into a sprint, riding hard, straight towards the man ahead; his shadow rippling behind him, trying to keep up.

As he approaches, one man becomes three, three become eight, and soon he is riding towards a light patrol of what appears to be numerous guards. Now he knows why Feruk had returned short breathed.
The men, these 'guards' are wearing not much more than leather scraps; salvaged from their hunts, no doubt. They wield crude spears and bows, pouches strapped to their sides assumed to be ammunition for slings. A primitive people, eh?

Stopping several yards from the men, Senduin dismounts. His horse breathes a sigh of relief from carrying a man and his armour. Shirk was bred for war, not travel, and this journey has pressed his limits.
In one motion, stepping down, he unclips Vindication and swings it to his side. It is a polearm of a dull black composite, Senduin's pride weapon and 'friend'. It's simple appearance making those around question whether or not it is as special as legend states. Rumors say that at times Senduin has been seen speaking to Vindication and that as Toadflax stands to his left, it is Vindication, that dull dark material, that stands to his right; secretly guiding him through madness.

He continues forward, Shirk relaxing, calm and relieved. Every step placed with purpose. His shoulders are firm and his small frame caries his posture with precise movement, even in the heavy armour he wears; without clank or squeak.
With the distance of roughly 3 men between himself and the tribesman who appears to be in charge of this defunct gathering, Senduin reaches up and pulls off his helmet. His red eyes strike deeply into the tribesman as he continues. Snow white and silver hair drapes his long face and covers his dark flesh and black armour that seems to be made of the same material Vindication has been constructed from; it covers him like a blanket over his head and shoulders. People say his age only shows through his words, without a wrinkle to be seen and every bone and muscle defined under a tight young body, but he would differ greatly. Senduin notices and perhaps a lover or two, over time he has gained a wrinkle between his brow and one across his forehead. He would say they are placed there out of anger and confusion.

He pauses just steps away from the tribesman, Vindication just inches. The tense atmosphere is a sight indeed. Silence surrounds the band as one man comes to confront them, many. They stare as a chill washes across them and a cloud drifts overhead where there was once sunlight.

"You sir…" Senduin says, firmly with an aged voice. "You gave not your name to Feruk and instead insisted that we march my party, a young brood queen and her broodlings farther South, for what reason I ask? Unless my eyes deceive me, the bridge here seems to be well in tact and judging by your group here, I am certain that is has quite a sound construct!"

"I…we stand here si…sir…" the tribesman begins.

"Please sir, your name?" interrupts Senduin, sounding firm and unyielding.

"It's…Toresh of Tevh…"

"Toresh…" Senduin interrupts again. "A leader must not hesitate before his men. They see this and fear it. You must be certain of your words, actions and ideals…" ~he continues.

The crowd moves, the tribesman looks, as Senduins shadow peers on, looking over his shoulder and eyeing the crowd that surrounds them.

"Our tribe is weak…" Toresh begins with a bold honesty, doing his best to stand upright in front of his own men. "The herds have grown scarce and our crops fail to yield fruit…."

Senduin listens on, he looks about the crowd at the men before him and feels the horrifying presence that he brings. Snapping his helmet to a strap at his side, he raises his hand to his shoulder. His shadow curls around it like a cat, comfortable and protected. He whirls Vindication around and straps it to place on his back, its weight straining the leather belts that hold it in place.

"We will cross here, Toresh, and in return for your honesty I shall allow yourself and your tribe here to join my ranks…" Senduin continues, snapping his fingers through his thick leather riding gloves, sending his shadow back in its place. "Tomorrow, your tribe will be no more." His voice gaining strength "Your people will awake to a crimson dawn and where once the sun shown down in warmth and comfort, it will henceforth be washed with blood and cold…"

His head rises as the tribe begins to back away. Toresh himself bows his head as a chill shoots up his spine. A light rain begins to fall and in the distance, flashes of light crash towards the earth with a devastating power that can be heard for a lifetime in every direction.

"…You will all be touched by my love and comforted through my hate…" He goes on, raising his hand to calm the tribesmen to no avail. "Go now and rest with your families, for soon, these drops of water will turn to a hail storm of arrows!" With that, Senduin whistles, calling Shirk to his side and with little effort, mounting the steed in motion.

The tribesmen begin to rough down the cliff face, scrambling over one another out of the rain that has picked up severely in an instant. Few make it safely, the uncivilized band pushing and tearing at each other to find cover from the unnatural drops that cascade upon them like the falls from the Shattered Peaks.

Racing back to his encampment, Senduin's heart drops slightly. Images of a man standing before him, pale in every sense and glowing with a faithful light shoot painfully through his being. Their eyes in a silent battle as ever muscle strains to withhold attack.

"Your hate will be your doom, Senduin Auria Tormentil, it will destroy you, your family, and all that you hold dear." The pale man states boldly.

"And your love shall be yours, Probity, it blinds you and will hold you taut as your world is torn from you." Senduin turns his back and walks away.

Reaching the encampment, he leaps from Shirk, throwing the reigns to the animal's side and storms into a large tent that has been erected in his absence. He crashes down upon a large wooden chair, ebon and dull, it's intricate and beautiful design compromised only by the scars Senduin's heavy armour has stricken upon it.
He drops his head in his hand and with a sigh speaks only once more for the evening.

"Prepare the dawn…"

Copyright ACD