Grim Rider

Danger lurked unseen. The lone rider followed the winding trail,
through rocky outcrops on the ragged hill and between sparsely placed
trees whose leaves had long ago deserted. For how long he had travelled
he was unsure, but he pressed on against the cold bite of the chill
wind that blew over the silent boulders and ruffled the horse's brown
mane.

Alone he wandered the vastness of the land. Drifting. Stopping at towns
and villages for no longer than a day or two; drinking, fighting and
womanising and then alone again. Like a fallen leaf in the wind the
rider and his steed followed a path unknown to even themselves. They
travelled without destination; searching for something they knew not
what. Since the war ended some years before, the rider had not been
able to return home, a murky feeling clouding his mind every time he
stayed somewhere too long, pushing him on again to the next place, and
the next adventure. For a man whose ears were used to the sounds of
war, the quiet life disturbed him. Now he followed the deserted trail
ahead, unsure exactly where it would take him.

Something was wrong in this land. On top of a lonely hill, the howling
wind bit into his flesh, while the eerie screams and whispers of the
air rushing over the rocks left him with an uneasy feeling. Somewhere,
something was watching. He could sense its piercing gaze on his back.
The sharp eyes of the rider searched the barren land for any signs of
life, but found nothing. Only the odd tree stirred nervously in the
moody wind. Still onwards the horse traipsed, seemingly oblivious to
the cold and desolation of the place.

Then something caught his attention, between a clump of boulders to the
left of the rocky path, a bright white object stuck out. The whiteness
was out of place, a stark contrast to the unending grey shades of this
barren hill. His nerves kicked him and told that all was not well, and
with caution the rider stopped his horse and looked slowly and
carefully around for anything that moved. As before the land was
deathly silent save for the ghostly wind that never slept. In the
distance the jagged peaks of the tremendous mountain range stretched
away far into the distance, until they dissolved in a haze of
grey.

Finally the rider dismounted, taking his steel sword from its sheath in
one swift movement as his feet touched the ground. Cautiously he
stepped towards that white object, the metal weapon held confidently at
his side. His senses were alert, and his eyes never ceased as his worn
leather boots crunched the pebbles underneath. Unconsciously his
instincts nagged him, urging him forward with caution. Something was
there, waiting? hiding?

He approached the white object which was partially hidden by a sharp
rock. With one last look behind him to be sure no creature was
following, he walked to the whiteness and with one foot kicked the rock
aside regardless of the clatter it caused as it tumbled away. He saw
that the thing was small and flat, about the size of his own thumb.
Bending down he picked it up with his free hand and held it before him.
It was a piece of shattered bone. What kind of creature it had come
from he could not tell. Then, not far from where he now stood his
attention was distracted by yet another bright white bone not far away.
He let the small piece of bone drop to the ground and walked towards
the larger piece that was placed on top of a rough piece of rotten
wood.

As he came closer he saw that it was a human skull, the jaw missing.
Two black eye sockets stared at the rider as he approached. Death
lurked nearby, he could now smell it: a foul rotten stink that clung to
the wind. Although he saw nothing, all his other senses warned him that
out there an unseen enemy was waiting.

He took the skull in his hand and studied it. It was definitely the
head of some poor human victim. A large piece of the top had been
smashed off, but more disturbingly he noticed several long cut marks on
one side. Some foul creature had scraped the flesh off of this person,
and then cracked it open like an egg, probably to feast on its
contents. He guessed that there must be some dark creatures prowling
around on this rocky hill, perhaps living under the ground and only
coming out to stalk their victims. He shuddered to himself at the
thought of those creatures, not in fear, but in disgust, for the rider
loathed those foul beasts. He knew their kind well and their filthy
inhuman ways. Around his neck he carried the black tooth of an orc
chieftain as evidence of his battles against them. He had cracked the
beast's head open with one swoop of his sword. To all that beheld the
sight of the mighty warrior holding the bleeding head aloft it was a
terrible sight and struck fear into the hearts' of all dark creatures
that had seen. The tooth was a trophy and some later said that it
carried magical properties, warding off evil influences and bathing the
greenskin enemies with terror. The rider always carried it.

Then a clatter distracted him. A rock had been disturbed somewhere
close. Suddenly in one corner of his eye a dark object flashed past, he
turned and the shape was gone again. He had caught a glimpse of a short
gnarled figure. The rider jumped onto a huge boulder at his side and
scrambled to the top, still clutching the skull and bright blade in his
hands. Then wailing winds were silenced as the rider let out a huge
roaring laughter. With a mocking voice he called out to the unseen
beast.

"Come out and play little one," his booming voice announced. "I can see
you." For a short time nothing stirred, then from behind the rock a
pair of eyes peeked out and saw the giant figure of the lone warrior
standing tall and proud like an eagle, his eyes sharper than any steel
stared directly at the creature, as if studying its soul. Suddenly the
wretched beast shot from its hiding place and ran away as fast as it
could, the frightening human too much of a threat to remain in hiding.
Still the rider stood without movement, laughing aloud. Then in one
movement he flung the skull in his hand towards the fleeing figure
ahead. It twisted and arced in the air and came down with a loud crack
on the foul beast's head. The unfortunate creature lost its footing and
tumbled to the ground. Behind it, the rider had leaped from his perch,
his cloak flowing like a bird of prey as he descended gracefully to the
ground. Five long strides over the rocky terrain bought the hunter to
where his prey was struggling to its feet.

Finding its footing the creature managed to spring back up, and was now
insanely running away, too fearful to look backwards. But its escape
was futile. Within seconds, the rider had closed the distance and now
was but a yard away. The terrible weapon in his strong hands shot
forward. The sharp tip buried beneath the creature's back. It screamed
in agony and terror, its filthy green hands clutching at the source of
its pain. The cloaked warrior from behind kicked the orc to the floor,
it fell like a bag of bones, landed on its ugly face and squirmed there
while its foul green blood pumped from the wound. The warrior turned
the beast to its back with his feet and put the blade to its
throat.

He looked at the dark creature. Its skin was dark green and rough, like
the bark of a tree. The two large nostrils gulped for air after the
sudden activity. Now it remained perfectly still. "What a disgusting
thing I have here," the rider said. "A stinking beast that thinks it
can feast upon the flesh of a human." The creature sensing its imminent
death writhed like a snake trying to free itself, but was stopped by a
sharp kick in the ribs. "Have you nought to say?" The orc grunted at
the kick but remained perfectly still as the point of the blade resting
on his neck started to bite through its tough flesh.

"Relax foul beast, I do not kill defenceless insects." Another kick and
the rider took one step backwards. "Get up now!" he ordered. Unsure of
what was happening the greenskin rose, his eyes betrayed its thoughts:
fight or flight. It chose flight. Yet, before it had turned its back
the swordsman had again lashed his lethal sword, this time the keen
blade sliced through the orc's neck and sent its head tumbling to the
ground with a spray of green blood. It clattered about and then finally
came to rest with its now lifeless face distorted in an almost comical
display of fear. The hunter stood over its victim and again
laughed.

"I lied." He told the headless corpse. Then without wasting any further
time the rider turned, causing his cloak to rise up, and he sprung back
to his horse. Jumping easily back onto the saddle he sheathed his
weapon and took the reins in his hands. With a final triumphant scream
the rider and horse disappeared from the scene. He was the grim
rider.