Legions of Doom
The full moon was caressing the silvery rocks that are the Burren, their cold interaction only interrupted by the occasional veil of cloud. “Not enough water to drown a man, no tree to hang him and no soil to burry him in,” the great Oliver Cromwell once said. This bare expanse of limestone is one of the harshest regions on this planet. I love it. I had been riding the deserted planes of Yeats country, leaving the purple Maumturk Mountains to the east. I had left the boggy marshland of Connemara behind me and was now approaching the Cliffs of Moher, our meeting point. North-western winds swept in gales from over the Atlantic, frantically ripping at my black cloak. I held on to my hood, but the icy wind cut straight through my flesh, chilling my bones from the inside out. My trusted stallion puffed out mushrooms of hot air though his wide open nostrils. Me and my Brethren had chosen the raw Western coast of Ireland for sentimental reasons. How we had roamed these lands in the nineteenth century, killing millions and driving out at least as many. This time, we would not settle for less. The four of us had been reeking havoc all over the globe, but now the time had come to join forces and deliver the coup de grace to humankind.
Moments after I arrived at the rendezvous point, a shadow appeared on the horizon. The sound of approaching hooves played out a gloomy requiem with the waves, which were crashing into the rocks some 50 feet beneath me. Soon the shadow transformed into three distinct forms, tree horsemen pacing through the endless night. My eldest Brother, Death, had just returned from south-east Asia, where he had killed hundreds of thousands. A warming-up for what we had planned. Pestilence was right beside him, ready to finish of whoever Death failed to kill. Since the youngest, War, had taken over the White House, the toll had been rising steadily. I rampaged Darfour, but the world did not seem to notice my efforts. The three riders halted beside me. “Greetings, Brethren, tonight the four Horsemen ride again. There will be no dawn for mankind.”
I think I need a girlfriend.
The full moon was caressing the silvery rocks that are the Burren, their cold interaction only interrupted by the occasional veil of cloud. “Not enough water to drown a man, no tree to hang him and no soil to burry him in,” the great Oliver Cromwell once said. This bare expanse of limestone is one of the harshest regions on this planet. I love it. I had been riding the deserted planes of Yeats country, leaving the purple Maumturk Mountains to the east. I had left the boggy marshland of Connemara behind me and was now approaching the Cliffs of Moher, our meeting point. North-western winds swept in gales from over the Atlantic, frantically ripping at my black cloak. I held on to my hood, but the icy wind cut straight through my flesh, chilling my bones from the inside out. My trusted stallion puffed out mushrooms of hot air though his wide open nostrils. Me and my Brethren had chosen the raw Western coast of Ireland for sentimental reasons. How we had roamed these lands in the nineteenth century, killing millions and driving out at least as many. This time, we would not settle for less. The four of us had been reeking havoc all over the globe, but now the time had come to join forces and deliver the coup de grace to humankind.
Moments after I arrived at the rendezvous point, a shadow appeared on the horizon. The sound of approaching hooves played out a gloomy requiem with the waves, which were crashing into the rocks some 50 feet beneath me. Soon the shadow transformed into three distinct forms, tree horsemen pacing through the endless night. My eldest Brother, Death, had just returned from south-east Asia, where he had killed hundreds of thousands. A warming-up for what we had planned. Pestilence was right beside him, ready to finish of whoever Death failed to kill. Since the youngest, War, had taken over the White House, the toll had been rising steadily. I rampaged Darfour, but the world did not seem to notice my efforts. The three riders halted beside me. “Greetings, Brethren, tonight the four Horsemen ride again. There will be no dawn for mankind.”
I think I need a girlfriend.
