A Strange Encounter
The stranger rode easily and quietly through the trackless woodlands. Bow in hand, staff slung within easy reach, he scanned the undergrowth with tireless eyes. He knew he was not alone. He reined in his white mount and stopped to listen. . . Nothing. Perhaps his nerves were getting to him. Still, his carful nature had saved his life time beyond number. His dark cloak and traveler's hat made him difficult to spot among the gloom of the old forest, though his white horse stood out glaringly. He dismounted and guided his horse to a slight clearing. Here was grass enough for the mount to nibble, and a striking shaft of sunlight. The horse whickered and began munching happily. The stranger smiled at the overall picture, then folded himself into the shadows to wait. He was not used to being the hunted. It was time to change roles.
....
Quiet men were making their way through the bush. The stranger nocked an arrow and set himself. Quiet whispers and the shuffle of stealthy boots moved toward and around him. They were good: he had not yet seen any sign of them grater than a quivering stalk or shivering branch. Movement stopped. Orders where whispered with authority. The horse had been found. More whispers. A tall man clad in black leathers stepped into the light of the clearing. The white horse shied away, circling the man with head lowered. The man smiled, shaded his eyes with gloved hand, and scanned the black walls of the surrounding forest. He chuckled to himself.
"Jhonne D'Kar! Or perhaps you would prefer Grey Stranger or Walker; whatever you choose. We know you are here. Your coming was foretold." The black clad man spoke slowly, with an easy smirk. He gestured as he went on, as if they were conducting an orchestra, or a conversation all their own. The stranger watched those hands. The speech continued.
"D'Kar, I have a message for you: you will not achieve your goal. We are determined, and we are legion. We have eyes and hands everywhere you might go for aid. Those who have called you and the others here are weak, and will fall. . ." The black clad man smiled. "Very soon."
A wafting of musky stench and the crinkling of a leaf were not warning enough... as the stranger began to turn his bow was knocked from his grasp. The rat thing was following up with a swing of it's wickedly spiked club. The stranger muttered the words and began to summon the power of the Ether, but he knew that the rat-thing was too fast. He watched the swing of the club arch toward him. Words he knew were shouted from the clearing; arcane words. The club stopped where it was, the rat-thing straining, murder in it's glare. The stranger focused the power; lightning erupted up into the sky from the thing's hairy body. It collapsed, a smoldering ruin. The stranger put his back to a tree and unslung his staff. They would not take him easily. He stood, tense with adrenalin and anticipation, clutching his staff... They were gone.
"An odd encounter," the stranger thought to himself as he searched for signs of his attackers. He found nothing but a few boot and paw-like prints, and the stinking remains of the rat-thing. The rat thing wore a small iron pendant depicting a grasping claw. He brooded as he collected his bow and his horse.
The stranger had not been long in these lands, and he scarcely expected anyone to know anything about him or his plans. Who were these people who foretold his coming? And what was all that about "those who summoned"? None of it made any sense. He had some research to do. If he had some sort of grand goal here, he did not know about it. But he might have one as soon as he discovered who he was dealing with.
The stranger rode easily and quietly back into the trackless woodlands, headed for Britain.
