Knights in White Satin

Still breathing deeply after the exertion of the battle, Khalil; leader of the eight desert horsemen, leans across on his finely decorated, traditional, tribal saddle and gently admonishes the adjacent Wizard Moody.

"You said that they didn't have any Magicians but the one that got away was clearly a Bard."

Moody sneers.

"Bards don't count."

Nostrils' flaring slightly, Khalil risks annoying his employer.

"He summoned a Centaur!"

The seasoned Khalil had cautioned Moody against this attack. He'd considered the Party of adventurers too big. Nine men against seven wasn't good enough odds, even with their well trained horses and home/desert advantage. The flint-eyed Enchanter had insisted though. He'd been furious about the death of his falcon and was going to take his revenge on the Elf regardless.

Fortune though, had smiled upon them. Only three of their opponents had attacked at range and all of them had targeted the magically protected Moody, rather than his riders. All but the Bard and the Halfling had arranged themselves in a single spread out line and, with the exception of the Halfling Dog-rider, they'd just waited to be attacked. They didn't organise themselves into human barriers to prevent horse barges or jumps. They even failed to exploit the three large, dozing camels to break up direct charges.

Only one of the group surprised them. The Halfling, riding the big dog, broke to the side and rushed up their flank, avoiding his men and horses and taking the fight direct to the Wizard. It was fortunate for Moody that he came alone and chose arrows rather than sword.

Ultimately though, their well practiced tactics had been successful, with Moody's charms sending all but the Elves to sleep. The Bard conjured a very powerful looking Centaur and managed to escape over the dunes but the Archer was snared in a net, dragged across the sand and hoof-stomped to unconsciousness.

Khalil had considered giving chase to the Bard but ironically, for their intended entertainment, his type weren't much in demand.

Looking down at the beaten and bloody Elf who'd killed his falcon, Moody considers taking his revenge there and then, but after a brief moment, shakes his head.

"You're worth nothing to me dead and I doubt you'll survive three bouts in the arena."