Chapter 3 : The Rider's.
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They sat around the table, staring at each other with cold, hard, expressionless faces. The room was lit by one large, cobweb covered chandelier. The candles burned dully, barely lightly the room at all. The walls were plain stone with nothing hung on them apart from a huge portrait of a man, woman and child that hung on the wall behind the head of table, above the fire place. The small fire that was crackling in the fireplace was the only noise in the room and it didn’t help the lightly or warmth of the small room either.
The people around the table fidgeted noticeably but nothing was said. Dirty looks were thrown across the table and sideways glances were tossed here and there but still no word was spoken. It was like a silent game, where no-one won, where there were players who played only for the sake of playing. But in a game where there is no winners or losers, who comes out on top? For, someone must be scoring points and getting higher up.
The doors to the room banged open and a tall man, wearing a dense black cape with an emerald serpent etched upon the dark, dull black. The light from the winding corridors beyond the cold, dark room blinded those who were sitting around the table, as their eyes had adjusted to raw darkness. Many eyes blinked rapidly as they tried to show they hadn’t been caught off guard. To give the allusion that they knew what was coming; and would not be seen guarding their eyes from something as trivial and everyday as light.
The man who had opened the doors closed them behind him, his features hidden by the darkness however everyone around the table knew who he was. They knew his name, what he was famous for and knew why he abandoned it. He had dark brown hair that had lighter shades at the tips when the light hit it. He had dull grey eyes with flecks of pale blue that were barely noticeable. He, too, was tall, like most of the male gender, excluding the shorter races like Dwarves.
He swept around the table, his robe billowing out behind him. He stared infront of him, not seeing how those around the table watched his every move, some eyeing the scabbed slung in his belt, some eyeing the watch her clutched in his hand. He reached the head of the table and looked round, taking in the faces of those who thought the same thoughts as him, who knew right from wrong.
“We gather here, in the Wicklow Mountains of Ireland, to have one of the first full meetings that will guide us through the path of war and lead us to victory over those who think wrong thoughts and wish to over-throw us.” He boomed his voice hard and cold but filled with anger.
Others around the table clapped, nodding their heads vigorously or banged their hands against the cold wooden table. He raised both his hands to shoulder height to silence the people around him and they became silent instantly.
Most of the people sat around the table believed in everything that Salazar Slytherin had said to them in the many other meetings they had held. They believed that the people in the room should rule and their laws should govern all races and not just apply to one. Most believed that only people of Pureblood should be high up in society and that those who were not, should be poor and should have to work for very little. They also believed that marrying your cousin was the best way to keep the line pure. However, there were people in the room who were attending the meetings because they knew if they did not abide by Salazar’s words and go along with every detail of his plan, were they came from would perish. There homelands would be the first to be attacked and burned. They knew that their children would be targeted or kidnapped and tortured in the cruellest way known. They were scared for themselves and others and so joined Salazar, knowing of how he founded Hogwarts School and the journey’s he and the other Founders had taken and what a big part he played.
Salazar sat down at the head of the table, his eyes glinting as he began to explain the plan that would lead them to victory; that would destroy those who opposed him, that would kill the other three Founders.
They rode, hard and fast, yelling things to each other in a language that was not native to them but that was taught to them. They did not speak words but comnuicated through noises that were like the hissing of a serpent but were unlike it in the way the hissing was sinister and, if heard by one who did not speak the language, caused shivers and goose-bumps to erupt over the body of the person. The hooves of the horses thundered on the ground, taking chunks out of the dirt road as they galloped. The horses were all black and had crimson, hate filled eyes that flashed dangerously as they rode. The wind rushed around them, making the riders feel that they were flying on a broom or as if they were a bird, flying through the blue sky. Their horses snorted, as they slowed when their riders pulled on their reigns, their hands twitching towards their bows and arrows which they had previously used to attack a group of Men travelling. They sniffed the air curiously, their faces now exposed as they had pulled back their hoods. The group was a mixture of Men, Elves, Witches and Wizards. There was something about the group that was terrifying, yet you could not put your finger on it. Each person was beautiful in their own way, yet horrifying at the same time.
They had slowed at they had reached the outskirts of a small village and the scent of flesh and blood reached their nostrils. They looked to each other, silently debating whether they would raid the village and kill anyone they saw or if they would stop in the village to rest and to take any weapons held by the villagers.
They choose their second option and, although it was less satisfying for there to be no blood shed, it was best that no-one suspected them anymore than they already did. They began to trot towards the inner village, the few villagers who were outside quickly hurried inside again as they spotted the Riders.
They rode on, not giving the villagers a second-glance; ignoring the cries of misunderstanding and fear from newborns and young one’s and their racing heartbeats that echoed in their heads like drums.
They rode on for another five minutes before they stopped outside an inn, not bothering to look at the sign that was being blown about by the breeze. They dismounted their horses, tying them to the appointed place. They strode into the inn, the people in the front entrance immediately leaving when they saw them, excluding the staff, who stayed exactly where they were, as they exchanged frightened glances. They quickly and quietly showed them to their rooms, speaking only a few times.
Closing the door behind them, they set their bows and arrows in the corner near the window and threw off their cloaks, setting them in a heap on their beds. The silence would be unbearable to others but not to this group. This group had endured many silences, many battles and many losses and had become numb to most feelings. The one feeling they felt almost constantly was hate. They were exiled from their home-lands and hated their own races it for.
“He will not be happy.” An Elf said sharply. His voice was rough like sandpaper. “We did not do as he wished. We did not injure the boy.”
“We killed two -” A Man pointed out.
“- But not the boy!” The Elf hissed his eyes slits.
“I do not see why he was chosen.” A Witch said thoughtfully. “He has no qualities that I can think of that would be helpful towards them.”
They continued to ponder their predicament and the choice of the young boy until it was nightfall and then they slept restlessly in their beds unsure of what the reaction to their return would be when Salazar realised that they had not killed off Edward.
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