02-01-2013, 08:26 PM
In the darkness of the night, all is silent. The whole world falls still at once as the sun's rays have left the land to the bitter feel of the twilight hours. As the cold tendrils of the darkness spread over the land, one flame of life cries out in anguish against that which would sooner see it extinguished. Its demise is swift, as the cold, unfeeling fingers of the night smother the flame, choking it from existence. Its end is, at the very least, swift and painless, as the growing flame is swiftly crushed and wiped from the world, just like so many others when the darkness comes.
A masked man stands before the burnt husk of a once-great building, tapping his foot against the ground. He clutches tightly a cane in his grip, teetering perilously from side to side with the wind. He exhales slowly but deeply, his gaze crossing over the building repeatedly, yet inevitably coming to fall on a turned bit of earth at the base of a set of crumbling stone steps leading to what presumably was once a doorway. The figure of a man is hunched deeply over, and begins to retch harshly. He spits out a blood-filled glob of phlegm and grimaces at the sight of the stain upon the earth, which he covers over with a scrape of his black-booted foot. His clothing is dark and ragged, even torn in places. He looks as though he had been through hell and back, just to arrive at the spot which he now stands. And yet, something in his demeanor gives away a lack of satisfaction at his discovery.
The mask adorning his face seems securely affixed, as there are no apparent straps or buckles keeping it attached. It is drawn upon with painstaking details in fine paints, fantastic swirls and markings adorning its surface. Beneath the edges are visible many burn marks, as well as signs of age and physical wear. His scalp is mostly burnt free of hair, only small patches capable of sustained growth at this stage. His voice comes in rasps, as though he were becoming physically exhausted through the mere act of speaking.
“This place was once great; once beautiful; once vibrant, so full of life and love. All it is now is a destroyed husk, a corpse of its former glory. No trace of its former owner anywhere.” He looks down to the upturned earth before him, and his balance slips. A young man rushes forward and catches him before he outright collapses, and holds him up in a firm yet gentle grasp. The masked man points at the spot of upturned earth, and another man moves in with a shovel and begins digging. One foot down, nothing; two feet, nothing; five feet, nothing; ten feet, still nothing. The group gives up soon after, and retreat back to a waiting carriage, where the masked man quickly falls asleep.
The drive north was swift. No one dared think that they would move so far north. But they did, once again proving human arrogance and deterministic views wrong. The bloody bastards had made their charge, and succeeded. He saw hordes of green beasts charging across the plains toward the home in which they were staying. He hardly cared about those who owned the house; it was convenient for him, at the time, to live there – nothing more. Yet, when the green beasts charged north, even he felt a pang of pity for the family whose home was bound to be destroyed. But he didn’t expect them to arrive before he made his escape.
They were there before the week’s end, and it was too late to flee west. Far too late. He prepared his family for the inevitable, and forced everyone he could to enter the home’s cellar: his son, his son’s new wife, and a few scattered members of the wife’s family. He and the men of the other family armed themselves, preparing to do what they could to keep their families alive. The green bastards fell upon them before any of them knew what to expect.
The battle was bloody; senselessly so. So many men fell, and many of the green ones did as well. However, the will of the green bastards was stronger than he and his men's, and the lines broke and collapsed. Driven back into the house, he prepared for his last defense, at the entrance to the cellar.
The end came before he knew what hit him: an axe hilt to the face knocked him unconscious. The building was ablaze when he came to. His body was catching alight as well. His screams echoed throughout the building, but he was trapped beneath timbers. Then, his world faded to black once more.
When he came to, a hand showed before his face, shoving aside the timbers. It then grasped for his own, pulling him up. He couldn’t help but think about his family; where was his wife? Was his son alive? What of his bro–
He started awake, sitting up with a sharp, wincing breath. He wiped a cold sweat from the side of his head, shaking it. ‘Where did you go, son?’ he thought to himself, before turning his eyes out to the world beyond the carriage. He watched the landscape shift from the barren, snowy landscape of the mountains down to a more thickly forested world, before closing his eyes again and losing himself to his thoughts.
A masked man stands before the burnt husk of a once-great building, tapping his foot against the ground. He clutches tightly a cane in his grip, teetering perilously from side to side with the wind. He exhales slowly but deeply, his gaze crossing over the building repeatedly, yet inevitably coming to fall on a turned bit of earth at the base of a set of crumbling stone steps leading to what presumably was once a doorway. The figure of a man is hunched deeply over, and begins to retch harshly. He spits out a blood-filled glob of phlegm and grimaces at the sight of the stain upon the earth, which he covers over with a scrape of his black-booted foot. His clothing is dark and ragged, even torn in places. He looks as though he had been through hell and back, just to arrive at the spot which he now stands. And yet, something in his demeanor gives away a lack of satisfaction at his discovery.
The mask adorning his face seems securely affixed, as there are no apparent straps or buckles keeping it attached. It is drawn upon with painstaking details in fine paints, fantastic swirls and markings adorning its surface. Beneath the edges are visible many burn marks, as well as signs of age and physical wear. His scalp is mostly burnt free of hair, only small patches capable of sustained growth at this stage. His voice comes in rasps, as though he were becoming physically exhausted through the mere act of speaking.
“This place was once great; once beautiful; once vibrant, so full of life and love. All it is now is a destroyed husk, a corpse of its former glory. No trace of its former owner anywhere.” He looks down to the upturned earth before him, and his balance slips. A young man rushes forward and catches him before he outright collapses, and holds him up in a firm yet gentle grasp. The masked man points at the spot of upturned earth, and another man moves in with a shovel and begins digging. One foot down, nothing; two feet, nothing; five feet, nothing; ten feet, still nothing. The group gives up soon after, and retreat back to a waiting carriage, where the masked man quickly falls asleep.
The drive north was swift. No one dared think that they would move so far north. But they did, once again proving human arrogance and deterministic views wrong. The bloody bastards had made their charge, and succeeded. He saw hordes of green beasts charging across the plains toward the home in which they were staying. He hardly cared about those who owned the house; it was convenient for him, at the time, to live there – nothing more. Yet, when the green beasts charged north, even he felt a pang of pity for the family whose home was bound to be destroyed. But he didn’t expect them to arrive before he made his escape.
They were there before the week’s end, and it was too late to flee west. Far too late. He prepared his family for the inevitable, and forced everyone he could to enter the home’s cellar: his son, his son’s new wife, and a few scattered members of the wife’s family. He and the men of the other family armed themselves, preparing to do what they could to keep their families alive. The green bastards fell upon them before any of them knew what to expect.
The battle was bloody; senselessly so. So many men fell, and many of the green ones did as well. However, the will of the green bastards was stronger than he and his men's, and the lines broke and collapsed. Driven back into the house, he prepared for his last defense, at the entrance to the cellar.
The end came before he knew what hit him: an axe hilt to the face knocked him unconscious. The building was ablaze when he came to. His body was catching alight as well. His screams echoed throughout the building, but he was trapped beneath timbers. Then, his world faded to black once more.
When he came to, a hand showed before his face, shoving aside the timbers. It then grasped for his own, pulling him up. He couldn’t help but think about his family; where was his wife? Was his son alive? What of his bro–
He started awake, sitting up with a sharp, wincing breath. He wiped a cold sweat from the side of his head, shaking it. ‘Where did you go, son?’ he thought to himself, before turning his eyes out to the world beyond the carriage. He watched the landscape shift from the barren, snowy landscape of the mountains down to a more thickly forested world, before closing his eyes again and losing himself to his thoughts.