The Pale Host
The carrion birds circled, as the always do, over the battlefield. The cries of the dying were beginning to end and the sun was going down.
Hezrakiah lay amongst the dying and the dead, he slipped from life to unconciousness several times during the day. He knew his only chance was if one of the chirugeons were to find him. Each time he tried to raise his hand or utter a word darkness swam over him and he would once again know the cool embrace of near death. He looked up at the sky as the sun sank beneath the horizon. The chirugeons would have abandonded the battle field and other things would take up the scavenging.
He dreamed of home, his mother and sisters that he left behind when he was conscripted into the King's Army. To defend the homeland and preserve the Light, that is what he was told. Marching next to a column of the King's finest knights he wondered why anyone would dare attack such a powerful King. That was until he saw the enemy.
The sun was long gone now and he woke to the cooling mist as a fog slowly raised from the ground. He fought to keep his fear down. He had heard the tales of the other things that stalk the battlefield after dark. They would smell his fear and come to him, he had to stay focused and awake.
He was slipping into unconciuosness again, despite his fight to remain awake, he knew he was dying, yet he would not give up. It was the crying that captured his attention. He rolled over to his right side, a flare of white heat pain shot through his body as the crushed shoulder contacted the ground. He nearly screamed and his head swarmed in darkness, but he fought though it and focused on the crying. There in the darkness, was a figure, hazy and indistinct but there none the less. It was kneeling on the ground crying looking up at what appered to be a glowing lantern. Hezrakiah stared in disbelief as he watched the crying man stand and follow the glowing orb toward a strong light. Another figure was praising the powers of the Light as he followed another orb. One man began pleading "please, let me stay, my family it needs me" the orb simply winked once and the man lowered his head and began to follow it wordlessly. Each of the faithful were guided to the center of the field by a single glowing orb. Each were comforted, and their orbs never left their side as they waited. When the final soul joined the group a peircing white light descended from the sky and the Eternal Stair was visible. the Faithful began their journey up the stair to the everlasting joy they had earned.The faithful were being redeemed from the battlefield, Hezrakiah wondered wether or not he would be among them come the dawn.
The villages along the river were among the first to be overrun by the enemy. The few old men and women left to defend them were no match for the marauding armies that pillaged them. The Ogre Barons of the Northland made quick work of the river folk and began to march on the capitol city of Alm. Hezrakiah hoped that his family had escaped yet he knew better. They were dead, just like the familes of all the the men he was consripted with. He hoped that the glowing orbs had come to escort his sisters to the afterlife, and he hoped they would come for him as well.
Hezrakiah fought himself into a sitting position. His right shoulder and arm hung uselessly at his side. it throbbed a constant pain reminding him of the beast that smashed him with a club. It smelled of stale sweat and musty earth, it stood nearly twice his hieght and even though his spear was thrust deep into the creatures thigh it still swatted him away with ease. Crushing his shoulder and leaving his arm useless. Looking down at it he was amazed it didnt hurt more than it did, of course thats the way it is with the most serious wounds, they hurt less than others.
Glancing around the darkened battlefield he caught glimpses of movement, shadows amongst the darkening land. A quick flash of light, a reflection of steel perhaps? Who would still be out on the field after dark? Knowing that the others stalk the field was enough to keep most men well away from a battlefield even years after a battle. There it was again! A flash of light like the reflection of a blade being swung. A cold chill climbed ever so slowly up his spine as realization came to him. The Pale Host was here! The faithful had been released now the damned would be next. He focused where the last flash was and finally picked out the darkened figure. Long black robes nearly obscured it as it moved without sound across the feild, seeking its next mark. Hovering above a young lad it raised its scythe above its head, with a flash of light it stuck down into the lads chest. As it pulled the scythe from the body a flash of light sparked and the soul of the young man was ripped from the young mans chest and was left standing next to The Pale One. As Hezrakiah looked across the field the same scene was played out hundreds of times. One of the Pale ones would strike a corpse in the chest and then tear the soul from the body to be sent on to the afterlife. If the Faithful had been redeemed then only the damned remained on the feild.
Hundreds of souls wandered about looking for somewhere to go, many wandered aimlessly about until the first growl was heard. Distant off, the sound started and then it multiplied a hundred fold as the grew closer. At the edge of the feild the first sign of their arrival was seen. A deep red glow began to spread across the feild and dark shapes loped over the bodies of the fallen toward the chosen souls. The hellhounds quickly spotted the damned souls and began herding them to the opposite side of the field. Many of the sould tried to run only to be jumped on and savagely mauled until they crawled back into the throng of the damned. The hounds herded the souls into a large group and encircled it. As the final hound took its place they howled in unison and the ground opened up and swallowed the damned. The damned had been taken from the land and Hezrakiah sat in the darkness wondering at all he had see this night.
He looked down at his body, his crushed arm bled no more and the pain had stopped entirely. That was when he noticed what scared him the most. He was not breathing! The Pale host had gathered together and were now pointing in his direction. He turned and climbed to his feet. Fear overtook his senses as he ran toward the edge of the field. He ran and ran as fast as his broken and exhausted body would carry him. He didnt look back, if he would have he would have seen that the Pale host was gaining on him and that there was no hope for his escape. the Pale Host very rarely misses a soul and when they do humanity is stalked by one of the creatures of the night. They closed ever so close and he could hear them whispering among themselves, he knew the end was here and fear gripped him in an icy grasp. A cold hand touched his shoulder and turned him around. He looked into the face that stared back coldly at him. Hezrakiah knew what was to happen next, for no man can look into the face of Death himself and rejoin the ranks of the living. Hezrakiah was not sure what this meant, but he knew that his unlife had just begun.
Hezrakiah lay amongst the dying and the dead, he slipped from life to unconciousness several times during the day. He knew his only chance was if one of the chirugeons were to find him. Each time he tried to raise his hand or utter a word darkness swam over him and he would once again know the cool embrace of near death. He looked up at the sky as the sun sank beneath the horizon. The chirugeons would have abandonded the battle field and other things would take up the scavenging.
He dreamed of home, his mother and sisters that he left behind when he was conscripted into the King's Army. To defend the homeland and preserve the Light, that is what he was told. Marching next to a column of the King's finest knights he wondered why anyone would dare attack such a powerful King. That was until he saw the enemy.
The sun was long gone now and he woke to the cooling mist as a fog slowly raised from the ground. He fought to keep his fear down. He had heard the tales of the other things that stalk the battlefield after dark. They would smell his fear and come to him, he had to stay focused and awake.
He was slipping into unconciuosness again, despite his fight to remain awake, he knew he was dying, yet he would not give up. It was the crying that captured his attention. He rolled over to his right side, a flare of white heat pain shot through his body as the crushed shoulder contacted the ground. He nearly screamed and his head swarmed in darkness, but he fought though it and focused on the crying. There in the darkness, was a figure, hazy and indistinct but there none the less. It was kneeling on the ground crying looking up at what appered to be a glowing lantern. Hezrakiah stared in disbelief as he watched the crying man stand and follow the glowing orb toward a strong light. Another figure was praising the powers of the Light as he followed another orb. One man began pleading "please, let me stay, my family it needs me" the orb simply winked once and the man lowered his head and began to follow it wordlessly. Each of the faithful were guided to the center of the field by a single glowing orb. Each were comforted, and their orbs never left their side as they waited. When the final soul joined the group a peircing white light descended from the sky and the Eternal Stair was visible. the Faithful began their journey up the stair to the everlasting joy they had earned.The faithful were being redeemed from the battlefield, Hezrakiah wondered wether or not he would be among them come the dawn.
The villages along the river were among the first to be overrun by the enemy. The few old men and women left to defend them were no match for the marauding armies that pillaged them. The Ogre Barons of the Northland made quick work of the river folk and began to march on the capitol city of Alm. Hezrakiah hoped that his family had escaped yet he knew better. They were dead, just like the familes of all the the men he was consripted with. He hoped that the glowing orbs had come to escort his sisters to the afterlife, and he hoped they would come for him as well.
Hezrakiah fought himself into a sitting position. His right shoulder and arm hung uselessly at his side. it throbbed a constant pain reminding him of the beast that smashed him with a club. It smelled of stale sweat and musty earth, it stood nearly twice his hieght and even though his spear was thrust deep into the creatures thigh it still swatted him away with ease. Crushing his shoulder and leaving his arm useless. Looking down at it he was amazed it didnt hurt more than it did, of course thats the way it is with the most serious wounds, they hurt less than others.
Glancing around the darkened battlefield he caught glimpses of movement, shadows amongst the darkening land. A quick flash of light, a reflection of steel perhaps? Who would still be out on the field after dark? Knowing that the others stalk the field was enough to keep most men well away from a battlefield even years after a battle. There it was again! A flash of light like the reflection of a blade being swung. A cold chill climbed ever so slowly up his spine as realization came to him. The Pale Host was here! The faithful had been released now the damned would be next. He focused where the last flash was and finally picked out the darkened figure. Long black robes nearly obscured it as it moved without sound across the feild, seeking its next mark. Hovering above a young lad it raised its scythe above its head, with a flash of light it stuck down into the lads chest. As it pulled the scythe from the body a flash of light sparked and the soul of the young man was ripped from the young mans chest and was left standing next to The Pale One. As Hezrakiah looked across the field the same scene was played out hundreds of times. One of the Pale ones would strike a corpse in the chest and then tear the soul from the body to be sent on to the afterlife. If the Faithful had been redeemed then only the damned remained on the feild.
Hundreds of souls wandered about looking for somewhere to go, many wandered aimlessly about until the first growl was heard. Distant off, the sound started and then it multiplied a hundred fold as the grew closer. At the edge of the feild the first sign of their arrival was seen. A deep red glow began to spread across the feild and dark shapes loped over the bodies of the fallen toward the chosen souls. The hellhounds quickly spotted the damned souls and began herding them to the opposite side of the field. Many of the sould tried to run only to be jumped on and savagely mauled until they crawled back into the throng of the damned. The hounds herded the souls into a large group and encircled it. As the final hound took its place they howled in unison and the ground opened up and swallowed the damned. The damned had been taken from the land and Hezrakiah sat in the darkness wondering at all he had see this night.
He looked down at his body, his crushed arm bled no more and the pain had stopped entirely. That was when he noticed what scared him the most. He was not breathing! The Pale host had gathered together and were now pointing in his direction. He turned and climbed to his feet. Fear overtook his senses as he ran toward the edge of the field. He ran and ran as fast as his broken and exhausted body would carry him. He didnt look back, if he would have he would have seen that the Pale host was gaining on him and that there was no hope for his escape. the Pale Host very rarely misses a soul and when they do humanity is stalked by one of the creatures of the night. They closed ever so close and he could hear them whispering among themselves, he knew the end was here and fear gripped him in an icy grasp. A cold hand touched his shoulder and turned him around. He looked into the face that stared back coldly at him. Hezrakiah knew what was to happen next, for no man can look into the face of Death himself and rejoin the ranks of the living. Hezrakiah was not sure what this meant, but he knew that his unlife had just begun.
posted by chemicalnova at 8:31 PM
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