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The Phoenix and the Serpent	By : tehcommittee Category: +A through F > Fable Views: 3017 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own nothing, nothing from Fable, ergo LionHead Studios. I most definatly make no money, but I'm not in it for the money.

Chapter List
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Hooves pounded the chilly ground as stars started to fade from view from thick leaves and branches of the outskirts of a forest. The rider of this thick, chestnut mount maintained a stiff hold in the cold night air, face covered by a worn black scarf. However that was the only worn aspect of the Rider’s appearance. As the form bounced with each powerful gallop, the glinting armor barely made a sound, the leather that complemented it barely creaked and the long, curved, foreign beauty of a sword and gun barely clanged against the armor. Eyes that were meant to be round were furrowed together with vigilance, observing, smoothly sliding left to right, taking in the scenery for any villain of the night.
A curt tug on the reigns and the horse stopped with ability of a war horse, commanding respect and fear, holding its head high, attentive to its one Master. The Rider slid off the steed and stood still, hands still grasping the leather straps of the horse. The covered face turned, ever vigilant, those eyes that were meant to be round still furrowed to a rectangular shape, the flawless armor no longer glinting as the dense cover of the trees hid the moon. The horse and the Rider seemed to have reached a place safe enough to the Rider’s scrutiny.
The small area, clear of larger pines and oaks, but still under their cover, held a crescent of tall bushes, with a few leaf-abundant smaller trees spotting the area. The Rider led the steed between the trees and tied it to one of the thicker ones and began digging a deep fire pit. Soon a small, sufficient fire was burning, slight crackling only heard within the Rider’s circle of safety. The Ride produced two bags from the folds of the armor, from the larger of the two bags, a few wrapped bits of meat, from the other was a leather pouch of liquid, uncorked and brought to the lips of the Rider for a quick drink. Soon meat could be faintly detected just outside of the circle, however it was chewed quickly and the fire put out, the scent gone just as abruptly as it came.
The night had come into its thickest, life of the forest barely stirring, leaves barely rustling, but something always watching. The Rider slept stiffly, shoulders set, legs straight, arms at the sides, smaller, less ornate weapons hidden and close at hand.
Tap tap.
The Rider did not stir, but the horse did.
Tap tap.
The horse was alert, its nostrils flared as it looked around.
A sigh in the darkness, too close for the creature’s comfort.
Swift rustling and swift feet crunching leaves from every direction sped to the Rider and the horse. Burly men ascended on the Rider’s form and the horse backed away as far as its restraints let it go. In a flash the Rider was up, a flash of steel and the splatter of blood upon the ground and the Rider had already cut the horse’s retrains and was on its back running away. Three men lay dead, throats sliced with precision as the rest of them gave chase.
“Enough!” came a voice from the darkness.
The men looked back tense, ready to spill blood, other looked like the command was only a thin string keeping them from giving chase as they looked after the Rider and the horse riding off deeper into the forest.
“How do you expect,” came the languid tone from the darkness, “to capture the Rider, as the Rider, rides off?” Black top hat and white suit of wealthy and flamboyant taste came into view. “I know I don’t pay you to think, but common sense men.” The well groomed man patted under the grizzled chin of the closest thug, flicking off whatever dirt he may have acquired afterwards. The thugs did not take to this gesture kindly.
“We’ve had enough of your shit Reaver.” came the deep voice of the burliest of the thugs. He brought himself to full height in the crowd of his men, chest presented with aggression.
“Please, Donald, you couldn’t be more wrong. You can’t get enough of me, without me you have no chance for your petty revenge. Without me you wouldn’t get the coin you so desperately need. Shame, the life of a mercenary. You would think it’s a booming business, least for you it isn’t.
At this Donald gave a snarl and was shot. His men barely registered what had happened for a minute. In that minute Reaver sighed and walked away. “What a poor investment that turned out to be.”
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The Phoenix and the Serpent