Dying light the thrill of the chase sea from way up high

The leader swore and cocked his pistol for another shot. Impossibly, he swayed aside at the last moment, and the shot merely scraped across the side of his helm. The leader of the mercenaries leveled his pistol at the lone warrior and fired. In moments, those still standing turned and fled in the face of this unstoppable foe. He moved effortlessly through the battle, closing inexorably on the horseman. None could land a blow upon the deadly fighter. More mercenaries died, their blood staining the dry desert ground. He was impossibly fast-faster than any man should be. The lone warrior moved like liquid, every movement smooth, efficient, and deadly. For a moment, it seemed like his armor and speartip gleamed with what could only be described as divine power, and sudden dread filled the leader of the raiders, for he had heard of this power in his childhood, but had long since dismissed it as myth and legend. That starlight also glittered in his unrelenting gaze, shadowed within the visor slits of his helm. His armor was wrought with celestial imagery, and it seemed as if stars gleamed in the shimmery fabric of his midnight-blue cloak. вЂњTake him!вЂќ roared the expedition's leader, drawing an exquisite, bespoke pistol from his waistband.ДЄ cloud passed in front of the sun, allowing the warrior to be seen more clearly. The next two died almost as quickly, a crimson line slashed across one man's throat, and another falling with a broken skull. She died in the blink of an eye, the warrior's spear buried in her chest. The first of the snarling mercenaries launched herself toward him, a jagged-bladed scimitar arcing in for his throat. Again they were turned aside by his shield. He strode forward with grim resolve, still silhouetted against the sun, the tip of his spear lowering toward his enemies. The warrior of the Rakkor was not punched from his feet, however the bolts clanged as they ricocheted from his heavy, circular shield. In an instant, crossbows were hefted to shoulders and the air was filled with loosed bolts. The leader's frown deepened, and he turned away with a dismissive shrug. You were born on the mountain, and now you will die in its shadow.вЂќ

вЂњYou seek the blood of the Seer, and it will be your end. вЂњYour tongue is forked, serpent,вЂќ said the lone warrior. вЂњWe come with no ill intent, I assure you,вЂќ the leader continued. A trio of galleys could be seen, sails unfurling as they turned north on the long journey home. Our ships have sailed, see?вЂќ He gestured behind him.Д«ehind the convoy, less than a mile distant, the sea glittered like dragon scales in the dying light. вЂњAnd besides, there is no way back for us now. вЂњWe are simple pilgrims, and still have far to go,вЂќ said the leader. вЂњYou are a long way from home, friend,вЂќ the leader of the convoy said. вЂњPiss off, madman,вЂќ one of them shouted, вЂњlest we plant your head on a spike to mark our passing.вЂќ вЂњYou come with murder in your hearts,вЂќ the warrior said, his voice as hard as iron. He knew and respected the fighting prowess of his former people, but a single warrior? Not even the Ra'Horak could survive such odds.Д®ven so, the figure atop the rocky outcrop made no move to stand aside. Now he returned, after many years of absence, drawn by the lure of the priceless wealth he knew awaited in the Seer's temple above. While he had been raised among the mountain people of the Rakkor, he had long ago turned away from them. While the others were from lands far away, he knew this place and its inhabitants, for he once counted himself one of them. The dark-clad leader of the expedition frowned as he pulled his coal-black steed to a halt. They walked the dusty path alongside heavily laden mules, though they came to a halt, crude insults and jokes dying on their lips, as they saw the warrior standing motionless before them. Most of its number were hired mercenaries-rough, warlike men and women garbed in hauberks, leather, and chain, bearing crossbows, halberds, and blades. His heavy cloak and the long plume atop his helm billowed in the hot, dry desert wind. A lone figure awaited the armed convoy, standing silhouetted against the sun.

Dying light the thrill of the chase sea from way up high