From: panzervl@aol.com (Panzer Vl)
Date: 17 Jun 1998 01:20:40 EDT
Dawn found the remaining two survivors licking their wounds, assembling false convictions to persuade their psyche to lay its fears to rest. But such a feat was impossible; they had seen the advancing legions in action, they knew that the subtle cadence in the wind was that of the dead, shuffling their feet to a slow, lassitudal rhythm.
The wounded had to be dispatched, for the debilitating magic which reanimated those long fallen possessed an insatiable craving to infect and pervade those untouched by death's gaunt digit, causing them to flank their former enemies in the name of destruction. So pyres had been burning throughout the night, eroding the flesh and disease that the casualties carried, wafting the pungent stench borne by the act into the air. And now, at the breaking
of camp, blackened, amorphous mounds of bones commingled with tired wood attested to the sleepness night spent at the locale.
Granseal gathered his few belongings as Panzer was gazing distantly into a dying pyre. "Give it up, Panzer. They're gone. We have to go." The words were fraught with a manifest impatience.
Panzer ventured a glance over his shoulder, then returned his gaze to the fire. But the moment had been shattered by the interruption, and thus he soon spun about to join his compeer.
"Sorry." He apologized halfheartedly, arriving at Granseal's flank.
Granseal assumed a softened, compassionate expression for an instant before resuming his grim frown, which slowly curled back to expose clenched teeth. "We've no time to spare if we want to stay ahead of the army. Scouts are likely combing this area as we speak - and you need to say your goodbyes? They're already dead - we have a chance!" His reproval concealed a deeprooted despair, spawned from the hopeless umbrage the situation yielded.
Panzer made a quasi-affected apology with a downcast glance in humor of Granseal's facade and performed a final check of his equipment. "So where do we go?"
Where do we go?
The words rang clear in Granseal's mind.
"I don't know."
(TBC)
Solace of the Sun.
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From: panzervl@aol.com (Panzer Vl)
Date: 17 Jun 1998 13:22:55 EDT
The rising smoke of the dying campgrounds was visible on the horizon, marring the otherwise pristine sunset. Granseal and Panzer had continued their trek northwards, unsure of their destination but certain of their purpose.
Hours passed, the only indication of time being the static footfalls upon dried leaves and dead twigs. Weary beyond feeling, they marched onwards, their faith lying in the hope of some asylum from their pursuers.
Panzer was lost in thought, incredulously rethinking the events that led to this situation; was it just days ago that his life had been tossed to the dogs?
He remembered so clearly..
The sun had barely spread her sinuous rays of light throughout the sky when the battlecry rang clear from the brass horn. Panzer hesitantly snatched his blade and leapt from his tent, curious and trepidant as to why the guard sounded the note. It did not take much analyzation in order to ascertain the reason.
A small band of soldiers had ambushed the encampment, slaughtering the sleeping residents mercilessly. Oddly, though, they lacked weapons, and moved with a jerkish lilt that displayed a lack of coordination. The stench of rotting flesh hung in the air like a blanket, thick enough to be cut with a knife.
To his left, a fellow soldier was overtaken by one of the aggressors. The soldier elicited a piercing scream as the attacker tore a bloody chunk of flesh from his neck, though the sound was soon muffled by a morbid, gurgling sound, choking on blood. Panzer ran forward and caught the engaged attacker with a swift kick to the face, sending him tumbling over his heels to fall prone upon his back. He gazed at the visage in horror, for only a skull
esconced with rotting skin gazed back. And then it laughed...
Suddenly, the accuminate steeple of a church was visible beyond the crest of a low, distant cliff. They had obviously encountered the Starik Plateau, a landmark named after the famous General; prodigious in length but extending no more than forty feet into the air. Its appearance wrenched Panzer from his deep reverie.
"We should find shelter there." He observed on a trepid exhale.
Granseal exchanged a look that exhibited concordance in thought, then directed his steps towards the base of the rocky wall, Panzer close in tow. The cliff was parabolic in nature, beginning on a slow, gentle curve, then shooting upwards to terminate in a rather sheer precipice. Fortunately, steady protuberances mapped the wall, rendering a climb no more than a brief excursion.
"Give me a hand, eh?" Granseal requested assistance as he searched for a fitting, initial grip. Panzer was quick to comply, intertwining his fingers to construct a foothold, which Granseal immediately took advantage of. Panzer mounted the cliff subsequently after administering the boost, maintaining a safe distance lest Granseal falter in step, slip, and accidently disrupt his fragile hold.
They finally managed to clamber up the rocky wall, forsaking a hastened arrival at the church in the face of a brief respite.
Their position warranted a panoramic view of the surrounding countryside. Below them -- and opposite to the just-conquered wall -- rested a square, white church, constructed into the side of the hill. Beyond that, a rolling meadow extended for miles before feathering into a deep forest, rife with pine. A train of mountains disrupted the horizon, serving as boundary to this land; what lay beyond was unknown to most, for the mountains were famed for
their deadly falls and hostile inhabitants. Small clouds of smoke suggested a quaint villiage not far from the church, recondite to the eye but evident by its emissions. Panzer made a note of its location in the pine forest as he began the descent down the gentle slope of the hill.
Rickety double-doors served as entrance into the homely building. Panzer rapped on the soft wood with his knuckles and voiced a somewhat loud greeting. The shuffling of feet could be heard beyond the barrier for a few moments before the doors were pulled open and the two greeted by a small, mean-eyed man garbed in volumnous, white vestment. A gray beard sprouted from his chin and terminated just above his waist, whose position was rather
indeterminable due to the overhang of his gut. He sported a bowl cut, fashioned similar to that of the monks, though his dress dismissed the question of where his fealty lay.
"Greetings, my children, what may I do for you?" He squinted at the two as he paused in the doorway.
"We seek refuge." Granseal managed, humbly.
(TBC)
Date: 17 Jun 1998 13:22:55 EDT
The rising smoke of the dying campgrounds was visible on the horizon, marring the otherwise pristine sunset. Granseal and Panzer had continued their trek northwards, unsure of their destination but certain of their purpose.
Hours passed, the only indication of time being the static footfalls upon dried leaves and dead twigs. Weary beyond feeling, they marched onwards, their faith lying in the hope of some asylum from their pursuers.
Panzer was lost in thought, incredulously rethinking the events that led to this situation; was it just days ago that his life had been tossed to the dogs?
He remembered so clearly..
The sun had barely spread her sinuous rays of light throughout the sky when the battlecry rang clear from the brass horn. Panzer hesitantly snatched his blade and leapt from his tent, curious and trepidant as to why the guard sounded the note. It did not take much analyzation in order to ascertain the reason.
A small band of soldiers had ambushed the encampment, slaughtering the sleeping residents mercilessly. Oddly, though, they lacked weapons, and moved with a jerkish lilt that displayed a lack of coordination. The stench of rotting flesh hung in the air like a blanket, thick enough to be cut with a knife.
To his left, a fellow soldier was overtaken by one of the aggressors. The soldier elicited a piercing scream as the attacker tore a bloody chunk of flesh from his neck, though the sound was soon muffled by a morbid, gurgling sound, choking on blood. Panzer ran forward and caught the engaged attacker with a swift kick to the face, sending him tumbling over his heels to fall prone upon his back. He gazed at the visage in horror, for only a skull
esconced with rotting skin gazed back. And then it laughed...
Suddenly, the accuminate steeple of a church was visible beyond the crest of a low, distant cliff. They had obviously encountered the Starik Plateau, a landmark named after the famous General; prodigious in length but extending no more than forty feet into the air. Its appearance wrenched Panzer from his deep reverie.
"We should find shelter there." He observed on a trepid exhale.
Granseal exchanged a look that exhibited concordance in thought, then directed his steps towards the base of the rocky wall, Panzer close in tow. The cliff was parabolic in nature, beginning on a slow, gentle curve, then shooting upwards to terminate in a rather sheer precipice. Fortunately, steady protuberances mapped the wall, rendering a climb no more than a brief excursion.
"Give me a hand, eh?" Granseal requested assistance as he searched for a fitting, initial grip. Panzer was quick to comply, intertwining his fingers to construct a foothold, which Granseal immediately took advantage of. Panzer mounted the cliff subsequently after administering the boost, maintaining a safe distance lest Granseal falter in step, slip, and accidently disrupt his fragile hold.
They finally managed to clamber up the rocky wall, forsaking a hastened arrival at the church in the face of a brief respite.
Their position warranted a panoramic view of the surrounding countryside. Below them -- and opposite to the just-conquered wall -- rested a square, white church, constructed into the side of the hill. Beyond that, a rolling meadow extended for miles before feathering into a deep forest, rife with pine. A train of mountains disrupted the horizon, serving as boundary to this land; what lay beyond was unknown to most, for the mountains were famed for
their deadly falls and hostile inhabitants. Small clouds of smoke suggested a quaint villiage not far from the church, recondite to the eye but evident by its emissions. Panzer made a note of its location in the pine forest as he began the descent down the gentle slope of the hill.
Rickety double-doors served as entrance into the homely building. Panzer rapped on the soft wood with his knuckles and voiced a somewhat loud greeting. The shuffling of feet could be heard beyond the barrier for a few moments before the doors were pulled open and the two greeted by a small, mean-eyed man garbed in volumnous, white vestment. A gray beard sprouted from his chin and terminated just above his waist, whose position was rather
indeterminable due to the overhang of his gut. He sported a bowl cut, fashioned similar to that of the monks, though his dress dismissed the question of where his fealty lay.
"Greetings, my children, what may I do for you?" He squinted at the two as he paused in the doorway.
"We seek refuge." Granseal managed, humbly.
(TBC)