important task at hand. Garret and each of the five knights who accompanied him, tied a pair of shovels to their saddles before remounting and heading for the nearest city gate. Unfortunately the nearest one was the eastern gate, and Garret and his men needed to head west. Skirting around the city heading north, Garret took the lead as his knights fell in behind him, none of them aware of his plan nor his destination.
As Garret rounded the-north eastern corner of the city, he slowed to allow his knights to ride to each side of his mount.
“Time is everything at present!” Garret shouted to his men over the thundering of their mounts’ hooves. “We go to buy more time, but we need to travel with all haste. Horace, you will have to catch up when you can as you are our eyes.”
With that proclamation, Garret prayed silently to Gorandor and focusing the immediate rush of power within him, he ignored the pleasure coursing through his veins as he and his horse began to shimmer. With a concussive boom, Garret and his mount exploded in size, Garret becoming the color of polished steel. Within seconds four more concussive booms sounded from behind Garret as all but one of his knights followed his lead, and size-shifted to try and match his pace.
Though it was an uncommon sight, those guards and archers upon the city walls of Valdadore knew what it was they saw as the ground began to shake beneath the giant hooves of Gorandor’s champions. Cheers erupted from atop each wall and tower, every soldier and mage believing that the king and his knights went to strike fear into the hearts of their approaching foe. For what could be mightier than five massive men, each upon a steed thirty feet or taller? It was an impressive and inspiring sight to witness firsthand, and Garret realized how it must look to his people. Inwardly he found it disappointing though amusing that instead of striking fear into their enemies, they would instead be digging a great big hole. It was a task that in most kingdoms, ruled by most races, would be done by slaves. Here in Valdadore, however, it was the king who did the digging.
*****
Mordal sat upon his black stallion taking his time amongst the crowd. Slowly and inevitably he rode towards the castle compound, his primary task predominant in his mind. Having gleaned all the information he could from the common folk who drank too much to keep their mouths shut, Mordal felt it was time to prepare for his mission. His exit strategy had already changed a half a dozen times due to the various routes he had planned becoming one by one too crammed with people to navigate. Thus his latest and hopefully final plan consisted of roof running nearly the entire city. He had mapped out the course he would take, having already adjusted his route to incorporate buildings that would make jumping the distances in between the easiest. It was not a direct route by any standard, but if his plan was completely successful he would not be leaving hastily in any case.
Stopped in his slow trek towards the castle by the unending crowd in the streets, Mordal sat back in his saddle, allowing the stallion to lead himself. Mordal looked around for anything of interest that might distract him for a moment, but found nothing readily available to steal of any worth. Truthfully, he had spent an hour earlier in the day steadily pick-pocketing those milling around in the crowded streets of the city just to pass time. It was not a fruitless endeavor either. He had made more coin off the common people in the streets in a single hour than a pickpocket in his own kingdom could make in a month. The wealth of this small nation was appalling. Mordal could not believe how much coin a common housewife carried upon her person.
These were Mordal’s musings as he noticed the group of highly polished knights riding towards him on their magnificent war horses. Nonchalantly Mordal observed the knights’ approach as any other bystander might.
As Garret rounded the-north eastern corner of the city, he slowed to allow his knights to ride to each side of his mount.
“Time is everything at present!” Garret shouted to his men over the thundering of their mounts’ hooves. “We go to buy more time, but we need to travel with all haste. Horace, you will have to catch up when you can as you are our eyes.”
With that proclamation, Garret prayed silently to Gorandor and focusing the immediate rush of power within him, he ignored the pleasure coursing through his veins as he and his horse began to shimmer. With a concussive boom, Garret and his mount exploded in size, Garret becoming the color of polished steel. Within seconds four more concussive booms sounded from behind Garret as all but one of his knights followed his lead, and size-shifted to try and match his pace.
Though it was an uncommon sight, those guards and archers upon the city walls of Valdadore knew what it was they saw as the ground began to shake beneath the giant hooves of Gorandor’s champions. Cheers erupted from atop each wall and tower, every soldier and mage believing that the king and his knights went to strike fear into the hearts of their approaching foe. For what could be mightier than five massive men, each upon a steed thirty feet or taller? It was an impressive and inspiring sight to witness firsthand, and Garret realized how it must look to his people. Inwardly he found it disappointing though amusing that instead of striking fear into their enemies, they would instead be digging a great big hole. It was a task that in most kingdoms, ruled by most races, would be done by slaves. Here in Valdadore, however, it was the king who did the digging.
*****
Mordal sat upon his black stallion taking his time amongst the crowd. Slowly and inevitably he rode towards the castle compound, his primary task predominant in his mind. Having gleaned all the information he could from the common folk who drank too much to keep their mouths shut, Mordal felt it was time to prepare for his mission. His exit strategy had already changed a half a dozen times due to the various routes he had planned becoming one by one too crammed with people to navigate. Thus his latest and hopefully final plan consisted of roof running nearly the entire city. He had mapped out the course he would take, having already adjusted his route to incorporate buildings that would make jumping the distances in between the easiest. It was not a direct route by any standard, but if his plan was completely successful he would not be leaving hastily in any case.
Stopped in his slow trek towards the castle by the unending crowd in the streets, Mordal sat back in his saddle, allowing the stallion to lead himself. Mordal looked around for anything of interest that might distract him for a moment, but found nothing readily available to steal of any worth. Truthfully, he had spent an hour earlier in the day steadily pick-pocketing those milling around in the crowded streets of the city just to pass time. It was not a fruitless endeavor either. He had made more coin off the common people in the streets in a single hour than a pickpocket in his own kingdom could make in a month. The wealth of this small nation was appalling. Mordal could not believe how much coin a common housewife carried upon her person.
These were Mordal’s musings as he noticed the group of highly polished knights riding towards him on their magnificent war horses. Nonchalantly Mordal observed the knights’ approach as any other bystander might.
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