Post by The Flying Ve on Mar 12, 2010 12:06:08 GMT -5
Murderer!
The screams still followed him, even now, twenty years past the massacre. He guided his mount through the barran field, not a shred of life visible to the naked eye.
"We were thorough, weren't we?", his companion said.
Sarduk nodded once, remembering how he'd started it all. No, Commander Rabenshrey had, when he took the job, but the skirmishers and their scoutmaster had begun what could only be called a massacre. And they had paid. He saw Rabenshrey now, striding among the still scorched earth, as dead as he was the day a werewolf ripped off his head, which he now carried in the crook of his arm. Darek, five spears still in his corpse, as he sought his way into his old place in the formation, breaking off the rotting nose of the soldier behind him.
Today, twenty years later, they gathered again. The living, pitiful few there were left, and the dead, cursed not to rest forevermore, in the place of their darkest moment, the reason, why the dead stood to attention next to the living this night. The yearday of a brutal massacre.
"Men, women, children...", a grizzled old man commented, as they all nodded in assent.
"No changin' tha'; No changin' the pas'...", Sarduk trailed off into silence, squinting at the ground, then raised his right fist high, signalling a stop.
He slid off the large dire wolf, patting its side affectionately before crouching down and tracing his fingers around something in the nighttime soil: "Gather 'roun', mates."
Slowly, the shattered remnants of the Blood Talon approached, some, in the huddled, shivering gait of the living in winter, others in the unmistakable lurch of the restless dead. The huddled around, looking down at what they'd found, in a place where for two decades, no life dwelled. One of them reached down, touching the tiny white petals of the snowdrop with a pale, skeletal finger. Sarduk looked up, into the eternally frozen grin of his commanding officer's face for a moment, then watched, his eyes widening at the sight of what happened then, as one by one, the dead touched the new life, then sank down in a heap of old armour and bones.
The old man by his right let out a deep sigh: "It truly is over then."
"Finally.", Sarduk nodded.
"Their oath is fullfilled.", the bringer of thunderous revenge affirmed.
"Not..yet.", a deep, gentle voice behind them said. After taking a deep breath, Sarduk rose and turned to the wizened old hermit; a small fellow, not reaching higher than his hip, with a grey beard so long, it reached past his knees and touched the ground below.
"Think of yourselves as you may, Alrik Grimwulf, Nargaroth Krieger, Nod Blackcowl, Sarduk Kane, the return of life to this field will tell you one thing: All things change, and grow. Your deeds in one place or the other, wether it be for the innocents in Zhentil Keep during the last year," the wizened little man nodded to Nargaroth, who coughed in his fist and shook his head, affirming he had only done his duty to Hoar. "or saving the lives of those who despise you for reasons far less dire than the truth and protecting the balance. The spirits of those who spoke the curse approve. They grant your dead one year; exactly one year of rest! Continue on your path, do not stray, and you may all find peace when you die. Fall, as you did that day...well, you know what happens then, don't you?"
They nodded solemnly, none raising a hand against the little man. Had they wanted, his life would be forfeit, and some of them did want, but then, they would be damned forever.
"Treefather's blessings.", the little man smirked, before slowly fading from view.
The screams still followed him, even now, twenty years past the massacre. He guided his mount through the barran field, not a shred of life visible to the naked eye.
"We were thorough, weren't we?", his companion said.
Sarduk nodded once, remembering how he'd started it all. No, Commander Rabenshrey had, when he took the job, but the skirmishers and their scoutmaster had begun what could only be called a massacre. And they had paid. He saw Rabenshrey now, striding among the still scorched earth, as dead as he was the day a werewolf ripped off his head, which he now carried in the crook of his arm. Darek, five spears still in his corpse, as he sought his way into his old place in the formation, breaking off the rotting nose of the soldier behind him.
Today, twenty years later, they gathered again. The living, pitiful few there were left, and the dead, cursed not to rest forevermore, in the place of their darkest moment, the reason, why the dead stood to attention next to the living this night. The yearday of a brutal massacre.
"Men, women, children...", a grizzled old man commented, as they all nodded in assent.
"No changin' tha'; No changin' the pas'...", Sarduk trailed off into silence, squinting at the ground, then raised his right fist high, signalling a stop.
He slid off the large dire wolf, patting its side affectionately before crouching down and tracing his fingers around something in the nighttime soil: "Gather 'roun', mates."
Slowly, the shattered remnants of the Blood Talon approached, some, in the huddled, shivering gait of the living in winter, others in the unmistakable lurch of the restless dead. The huddled around, looking down at what they'd found, in a place where for two decades, no life dwelled. One of them reached down, touching the tiny white petals of the snowdrop with a pale, skeletal finger. Sarduk looked up, into the eternally frozen grin of his commanding officer's face for a moment, then watched, his eyes widening at the sight of what happened then, as one by one, the dead touched the new life, then sank down in a heap of old armour and bones.
The old man by his right let out a deep sigh: "It truly is over then."
"Finally.", Sarduk nodded.
"Their oath is fullfilled.", the bringer of thunderous revenge affirmed.
"Not..yet.", a deep, gentle voice behind them said. After taking a deep breath, Sarduk rose and turned to the wizened old hermit; a small fellow, not reaching higher than his hip, with a grey beard so long, it reached past his knees and touched the ground below.
"Think of yourselves as you may, Alrik Grimwulf, Nargaroth Krieger, Nod Blackcowl, Sarduk Kane, the return of life to this field will tell you one thing: All things change, and grow. Your deeds in one place or the other, wether it be for the innocents in Zhentil Keep during the last year," the wizened little man nodded to Nargaroth, who coughed in his fist and shook his head, affirming he had only done his duty to Hoar. "or saving the lives of those who despise you for reasons far less dire than the truth and protecting the balance. The spirits of those who spoke the curse approve. They grant your dead one year; exactly one year of rest! Continue on your path, do not stray, and you may all find peace when you die. Fall, as you did that day...well, you know what happens then, don't you?"
They nodded solemnly, none raising a hand against the little man. Had they wanted, his life would be forfeit, and some of them did want, but then, they would be damned forever.
"Treefather's blessings.", the little man smirked, before slowly fading from view.