The World of Rhune

Loose whisps of white-blond hair flapped softly from beneath the dark cowl. The strong, cold winds characteristic of the Aquilonis countryside were unyielding in their hollow wailing. They bit both man and horse as they struggled up the steep, volcanic cliffs. The metal of concealed knives burned the man's skin in the freezing cold. 

All of him was bundled up, only nose and eyes blistered beneath the elements. Pale blue eyes seemed to the unwelcoming landscape around him. The dark horse struggled to find footholds in the porous rock as it continued the ascent.

As they rounded an outcropping of rock, a small village came into view. Small buildings made almost entirely of the brown rock blended into the rocky landscape. Only a few people wrapped in furs scuttled among the buildings. 

The desolate place was perfect for what the man intended. Even in this town of dozens there was the one building that persisted in all groupings of humans. The dark horse, urged by the man, came up to a building with the strong smell of alcohol pervaded. The man dismounted, letting the reins dangle to the ground, and pushed in the strong wood door. 

- - -

The man pushed the strong wood door back out into the cold wind. He passed a dark horse without a glance as he walked to the end of the village, the soft jangle of coins against his leg chimed among the constant howling. His pale blue eyes sliced through the surrounding area.

He stopped at one of the last houses, one with a small stable making up the bottom floor. The man slid open the wood door and examined the two horses inside. He gathered up a saddle and reins and quickly prepared the pale grey mare. He took the pale horse by the reins and led towards the door. 

A man appeared, blocking his path, "Wa 'der ya think yer doin' wit' ma horse?" The cowled face revealed nothing as a gloved fist came up to meet the man's gut. The wrinkled man's face contorted in pain, his mouth emitted a groan as the cowled figure dragged his fist down along the abdomen. The figure withdrew a punch blade stained red. Before the wrinkled man could fall back to die the figure wiped the blade along the stiff cloth that covered the man. 

The man mounted, and urged the horse out, stepping on the man bleeding out beneath them. With a voice like a hiss, "I am taking it," Alastor replied with looking back.