The Last Riders

[Spartan]

There used to be thousands of us...

The desert mountains used to belong to us alone. But so much has changed since The Burning. When the dark legions first rose to power, it was the Kharzai that led the charge at Mount Myrmos. It was there that our brothers and sisters rode, fought and passed on to the silver plains to be with Henghist.

My child, you need not feel lesser than your elven cousins. Hard work has thickened your muscles. Years in the sun has darkened your flesh. Be proud of your heritage. Our elven names were forgotten long ago as were our weak elven ways...

You are strong. You are feared. You are Kharzai.

 

[Rhysis]

Emel listened to the words he'd heard delivered to the young trainees every year. The number of youth that received the message had dwindled. Now there were only a handful of them. It was once a magnificent site to behold, dozens of new trainees all with rock hard determination etched into their faces. When the speech would end they would cry out their response to the words. "We are Kharzai! We will ride!" It was meant as a warning to all who would oppose them. The next generation of Kharzai was about to take their place amongst their brethren.

These few youth gathered here knew nothing of those times, save what they'd been told. Still, they were just as determined, and just as proud of their heritage as those in the past had been. And their response was exactly the same as it once had been. "We are Kharzai! We will ride!"

Emel nodded and began to walk off. His part of the training of this latest group of youths was complete. They would soon join with the rest of the Kharzai, and he would wait for the next group, undoubtedly even smaller than this last one had been. He shook his head as he slowly walked off, knowing his old friend would catch up soon enough when he finished with the young ones, ready to have the same conversation they always had when a new group graduated.