The Horsemen Cometh

By Arminius the pale-skinned

Harthsborough was a small little town, barely large enough to warrant a city wall. There was a blacksmith shop, a butcher’s shop, a vegetable monger, the town hall, and the Drunken Boar Tavern and Inn. About three-dozen citizens lived in town, with all six able-bodied men forming the town guard. The only real thing that kept the town alive was the fact it was the halfway point between the King’s Castle, and the City on the Sea. The town’s sleepy existence had gone on for generations, and lasted right up to the summer solstice of the twelfth year in His Majesty Colford’s reign.

It was a stormy day; the sky was full of lightning and thunder. No one was out in the streets of Harthsborough, until a lone rider from the City on the Sea sped into the gates. He appeared to be a royal guardsman, but his tabard was in rages and his armor soaked in blood. Once in the walls, he dismounted and stormed into the Drunken Boar. The entire town was inside trying to stay dry when the young footman barged in.

“They have come!!!” he cried in a shrill of panic, “They attacked the City on the Sea! The Duke is dead, and the Baron mortally wounded… I must get to the King! I only stopped to warn you they are coming!!!”

Chuckling, the Sheriff asked, “Who is coming, m’lad? The Barbarians?”

The towns people’s laughter was cut short when the young soldier barely whispered, “The Four Horsemen…” Everyone set in silence until about ten minutes later, the blacksmith’s youngest son ask, “Da, who are the Four Horsemen?” The Blacksmith looked up without answering him. All the men got up and walked out while the women rounded the children into the cellar of the Drunken Boar. Outside, trotting through the mud, the men barred the gates and gathered their rusty armor and weapons. The men entered the main room of the Drunken Boar and the Sheriff ordered the cellar door be barred from the inside. All that was left was to sit and wait…

At about dusk, the rain stopped, though the clouds and lightning continued to loom overhead. An hour later, the sound of four horses could be heard from outside the town gates. A knock was made upon the barred doors, and then they were destroyed under the front hooves of a mighty black mare. Thus the Horsemen filed into Harthsborough.

The first was clad in black armor from head to toe. Upon the center of cuirass was the mark of a circle with an angled line through it. Blood dripped from the head of his flail and from the gladius he carried. A shield hung from the back of his saddle. It was painted blue with a white rampant manticore emblazoned on it. The man was bulky, partly from the armor, and partly from his muscles and weight. Through the face guard of his helm, blood was splattered on the warrior’s painted face. Unmistakably, he was the Horseman of War. “What a pathetic waste of mortar and stone,” he spat upon clearing the entrance.

The next to enter the town rode a tan stallion. The man wore no armor, only a brown robe covered in mystic runes and symbols. He carried a dagger, and a wooden cudgel as well as a bag on his hip that seemed to glow with an unearthly light. His face was painted red and black. His was a heavy man, with sunken eyes. The rider’s beard was colored like copper and wrought iron. As he entered he looked around and sigh, stating, “This worthless burg probably has never even seen a good meal before.” The Horsemen of Famine slumped at the thought of going a night without a full meal.

“All you think about is food, isn’t it?” the third rider replied. This one wore the clothing of the Far East. Made of black silk, his okama flowed with the breeze. He carried a longbow and quiver full arrows. He carried a katana in the scabbard on his saddle. His piercing green eyes could be seen through the mask he wore. Upon his brow was a red headband with an eye point star in the middle. He rode a palo pinto into the town. His saddlebags clinked with the sound of the vials filled with exotic toxins. Like Apollo in his Sun-Chariot, the Horseman Pestilence made his way down the only street.

The final Horseman to find his way into Harthsborough was Death. Riding a white mare, the man entered carrying a twelve-foot glaive, a bandoleer of shiruken, and a couple of small daggers. He wore faded green, tunic, pants and coat. His head was adorned with green bandana. Fixed to his saddle was a small pole bearing a blue flag with the same white manticore upon it. “All of you shut it. The citizens are probably holed up in that Tavern; we strike it last. Mordacai, take the smithy. Arminius, go to town hall. Bruno, take the monger’s stand and butcher’s shop. Burn them to the ground.”

The three responded in reply, “Aye Simon.”

As the others went off to raze the rest of the town, Death dismounted and turned towards the Drunken Boar. He loudly announced, “Citizens, in the next ten minutes, the women and children may leave this place. Unfortunately, it will become the funeral pyre for the men. The time begins NOW.”

Quickly, the men helped their families out of the cellar and sent them out. Death pointed them towards the City on the Sea, and swiftly they fled into the night. I foolishly stayed behind to watch what would happen. The other three dismounted, and stared at the ramble-like mob before them. The townsmen visibly shook with fear, but none tried to run.

Death smiled at those soon to die before him and his comrades, “Relax, today is a good day to die.” With that, the Horsemen attacked. With a quick motion, Death beheaded the Innkeeper with his glaive. War smashed the Blacksmith in the head with his flail, and ran the Butcher threw with his sword. The Monger tried to run, but was shot down by three of Pestilence’s arrows. The Deputy screamed in agony as two shiruken pierced his heart and his right eye. Famine merely stood there chanting. As he died it seemed the weight slowly sunk off the Sheriff until only a skeleton remained.

As the corpses lay in front of them, War kicked a body in front of him, which had already caught fire. “Let’s get out of here, the Capital awaits.” The four got back on their mounts. Death nodded to Famine, and the man raised his hands and spoke a few words. As if summoned, the Lightning struck the Drunken Boar, blowing it into blazing bits of wood and straw.

Out the Horsemen sped, and I learned the harsh truth to my question. The Four Horsemen are destruction and eradication. Once we got to the City, we learned that a foreign enemy had commissioned the Legion of House Manticore to wage war on the kingdom. They sent only the four…

That is why today, I stand here, asking to join that very same Legion. I have learned that there is only one truth in Life: “Ride with the killers, or die at their hands.”