Faccio gripped the saddle a bit tighter as the wrenching in his arm got worse. Usually the stigmata in his arm wasn't so bad, but on days of bad weather, such as today, the bleeding would start. And today was a monumentally bad day for weather. A snowstorm was blowing down from north of the mountains even as a lighting flashstorm had ended its destruction two days ago. Faccio's town was still burning in some places from the lightning strikes.

The days were growing shorter as the winter season approach. It would dump feet of black snow to cap the North Mountains. The snow was terrible to deal with, especially the storms themselves, but anything was better than the damage down by the lightning flashstorms.

Faccio glanced to the horizon, wondering what lay out in the world beyond. He had never been further than 3 days ride from his kin and had only heard of the forests of green and waters of blue. His entire life had been spent in the cracked and blasted mountains, vast open sources in the planet. They were being constantly raided by Templars from the south and by the Dark Legion from the east. His whole village knew how to fight though. As soon as a child can understand direction it is taught to fight and how to avoid the Eaglerocs that prey on small children.
Faccio believed though that there had to be some kind of reprieve in the south. Some kind of end to the killing and constant pain of his stigmata. From the cold, bleak world that had been his cell for so long. It had to be better.

His horse gave a empty whine through its gas mask as it felt the bad weather approaching. Faccio shook his head of memories and dreams. He calmed his horse down and spurred it onward. The patrol had already lasted 2 hours and, though the clouds hid the sun, Faccio knew that it was bordering the twilight hour. He had to finish his sweep before the night-roving creatures and Templar raiding parties began combing the mountains. The creatures for food. The Templars?

This last thought made him check his shotgun once more. It was a heirloom, give to him by his father before he was killed by a Gommorian Emasculator. The sight of the creature and what it did to Faccio's father still gave him nightmares.

His horse neighed again in unease, but this time, Faccio did not calm it. His horse was a stolid mount, not easily provoked or made nervous. His hand crept down to his belt, curling his fingers around the aged wood. The wind picked up, billowing his scarf around his neck. It pulled down, exposing the smooth skin of his face and the skin where his non-existent mouth was. His right arm was aching more than ever now.

"DIE ASH-KIN!"

An arrow-ballista flew from the darkened solitude, missing Faccio as he threw himself off his mount, pulling the horse down with him.

As he hit the ground, three Templars emerged from the rocks, all carrying automatic arrow weapons. The smaller one grinned as he motioned to the others. Faccio did not wait as he pulled his heirloom from its hidden back harness and fired at the Templars. The closest one caught the brunt of the blast, thrown back at least five feet. The others dove behind rocks as Faccio unleashed another blast of his shotgun, missing the other two. The roar of the shotgun echoed through the mountains. Faccio knew that this shooting would bring every Templar in earshot.

He reloaded his shotgun, wincing in pain as his shirt arm stuck to his skin, wet with blood. His left leg was also showing small spots of blood blossoming into agony. Steeling himself, Faccio dove for a larger boulder to his left as the air grew thick with arrow fire. One of the arrows plunged into his leg, but he barely felt it among the righteous pain already there. Faccio's stigmata was beginning to worsen, due to the adrenaline coursing through his body and the danger of battle.

Faccio waited behind the boulder, gripping the handle on one hand and the other wrapped around the hot metal of the barrels. Heartbeats grew n turn, stretched to minutes. An Eagleroc cried in the distance, its call sounding through the cold air.

At last he heard it. Scuttling of small stones from in front of the boulder on his left. Faccio sprung into action, twirling around the right of the boulder and fired his heirloom into the chest of the approaching Templar. The small one, stood towards the right as well, his hand and body frozen from throwing the small handful of stones. His mind only just gripping the fact that the Lutheran had completely seen through their trap.

Despite the agony enveloping his body, Faccio smiled to himself, and would have told the Templar how transparent their trick was.
He would have, if only he had a mouth to speak it.

Far-off in the peaks of the mountains, an Eagleroc cried out, echoing the now-dead roar of the an heirloom.

* Thanx to Jim Williamson for the info to do this story.