Post by Morreion on Dec 5, 2008 21:54:54 GMT -5
A blinding flash of light.
Dazzled, gasping, struggling.
A haze over thought, oppressive.
An image of a sword held high.
A face, lost too quickly to identify.
Darkness again.
~~~~~
'Daddy!' a small voice yelled.
Arond smiled, and gave the reins to his groom, bending down and spreading his arms to catch the little form rushing towards him.
His daughter jumped up and clutched his chest, now encased in chainmail and his lord's surcoat. Arond hefted her up and whirled her around. His companions in arms near him grinned and laughed.
Arond saw his wife watching the two of them, a small smile on her pale, beautiful face. He remembered last night's lovemaking; it ended with Delsea holding him tightly and sobbing into his chest. He had stroked her hair and told her all would be well, there in the dark.
'Little Bird, go give Mother a kiss, will you?' he whispered in his daughters ear. He sat her down on her short legs, and she raced off to hug his wife's legs. Delsea held her as he smiled and turned back to mount his horse.
'Look for me this time next month, Goddess willing!' he called to his family. As he waved to them, his wife tried to smile; her face showed her fear plainly.
Arond galloped to catch up to the column, riding eastward to face the greatest enemy Istaria had yet seen.
The Withered Aegis was on the move again. Towards them.
~~~~~
Pain, bursting through existence; nothing but pain.
A gradual realization that the searing feeling was normal and could not be escaped.
A sound?
Raising a feeble arm, the mud not wanting to let go of its grip.
The body stirring. Thrashing suddenly.
Sitting up, senses dulled.
~~~~~
'There! The Undead come!'
Lord Randal gestured at the shambling forms emerging from the trees across the field with his longsword, astride his horse.
'Fight, as you never have fought before! If we fail, our homes will be overtaken by this abomination! Death to the Withered Aegis! Our Goddess shield all true men! Forward!' He held his sword high as his warhorse reared up, then charged.
The men listening to their Lord gave a terrible shout, shouting to drive out fear, to embolden them in battle, as they rushed forward, horses galloping, men-at-arms running. Lord Randal and his banner-bearer rode in the forefront of the assault.
Arond shouted, and spurred his mount. He leveled his lance as he sped across the field, aiming towards a zombie that was shambling towards him. 'Delsea!' he screamed as his lance spitted the undead creature, throwing it off its feet, gutted and thrashing, pinned against the ground. He left the lance in the creature and drew his sword.
He wheeled his charger around, and came up behind another zombie brandishing a warhammer, hacking its arm off. The limb spun off through the air, still clutching its weapon.
That was when the arrow, fired by a skeletal scout, struck his horse.
He went tumbling off the stricken mount, landing hard upon a grassy hummock. Dazed, he sat up, picked up his broadsword and started to rise.
Two zombies rushed at him, as another arrow flashed by his head with a hissing sound.
Struggles were happening all over the field. Lord Randal's banner was down. None of his friends were close to him.
He staggered to his feet and parried a blow from a zombie's blade at the same time. He slashed the monster's chest with his sword, opening a wound that no ordinary man could survive. Still the zombie fought; its companion moved up with an axe, taking aim at him.
He swore an oath and hacked again at the first zombie. An arrow struck him.
~~~~~
A dull feeling; thought moving very slowly.
Staggering upright, swaying.
Breathing.
Standing bent forward, clutching a broken blade.
A flash of confused imagery; past, present, future, all are one:
An axe strikes with bone-jarring force.
A woman, tears streaming down her face, stands in front of a window, gazing out in sorrow and fading hope.
A yell of agony.
A man holds his young daughter to him, ready to ride off to war.
Voices yelling to retreat.
Blackness.
~~~~~
He took a first, hesitant step forward; testing his legs. They moved slowly.
He looked up into the rising moon, the rent mail upon his battered body hanging in pieces.
Thoughts took forever. But compulsion drove him on. He was called by a force to move westwards.
He moved with the forces of the Withered Aegis, as if against his will; having been slain only made it easier.
He was one of them now.
[This was intended to have a follow-up story; Arond, in his Undead form, was to go back home, to see his family.]
