wulfsbane
Don't Believe In Fate
- Joined
- Apr 26, 2013
- Messages
- 84
Ok, here's the second part of the section I posted earlier. You may want to go read that if you haven't read it, or just reread it anyway so you read it as a single section. Regardless, here it is.
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Just as the men around him began to break free of their shock and charge the lone archer, a strange white mist rose from the bodies of the fallen, blanketing the plain of corpses. Rin paid it no heed, charging through it screaming. Soon the mist became so thick he lost sight of the archer. He slowed his pace and turned about, barely able to make out the silhouettes of his comrades. What was this strange mist? It had grown cold. So cold he could see his breath misting in the air. He shivered and felt suddenly uneasy.
The mist was moving, coalescing into shapes. Rin looked harder, trying to discern what they were becoming. They were turning into the shapes of... men. A shiver of terror went through him as he suddenly discerned a Soltish face looking out at him from the rapidly clearing mist. Ethereal warriors, both Solts and Blood Men, were forming, creating a battle line of spirits. An army of ghosts of the fallen.
Rin began to back away in fear, but he heard someone shout, “Do not flee! We shall avenge Vallus if we have to kill every last one of these foul spirits!”
Men gravitated to the sound of the voice, rallying around the Solt who had shouted the words. They were still thousands strong. We can still win this, Rin thought. The ghosts were fully formed now, Solt and Blood Man alike standing together. Rin saw one that appeared to be leading them. He stood at their front, small wisps of mist rising from his body as he moved. They charged.
The Solts stood fast, bracing themselves for the charge. As the ghosts drew closer, Rin could make out the details of their leader. He looked somehow... familiar. He looked like... No. It cannot be, he thought desperately. He stood frozen in horror as the figure drew closer. It was. It was Vallus. He did not want to believe it, but there could be no doubt now. He wore the same grin he had worn all his life, twisted now into something sinister and malicious. He could hear the Solts around him murmuring in despair. An anguished scream came from his right, “No!”
He did not have time to think of anything more before the ghosts crashed into the line, their mouths open, screaming a silent warcry. Rin lashed out with his spear in panic and terror, but his weapon passed right through the ghosts, and then they were upon him. A ghostly spear knifed through his gut, passing through his armor as if it were nothing. A searing pain exploded in his abdomen. He fled, the pain clouding his mind and pushing him on. He clutched at his side as he ran, feeling under his armor for the wound. He found none. No break in his skin, no blood at all. Only pain.
He looked around and saw to his shame that he had been one of the first to flee. Looking back he saw the Soltish line crumbling beneath the ghostly onslaught. I should be there, he thought, I should be there, fighting with them, not fleeing. Despite his thoughts, pain and fear and his instinct to survive drove him on. He sprinted faster, away from the battle to the cover of the tall grasses, where he collapsed on a small hill on the plain. From there he watched the massacre. Many men fell to ghostly weapons before the entire army was in flight. They seemed to be able to outrun the ghosts, and for a moment, Rin dared to hope that some of them might escape. That hope was crushed as the cavalry of the Blood Men swept in, easily outdistancing the men on foot and slaughtering Solts as they fled. Others armed with spears skewered fleeing men, and others still shot shortbows from their saddles. The screams of the dying filled Rin’s ears, echoing in his head.
Anger consumed him. He could not look away. He did not want to look away. He etched every death into his mind as he saw it, burning it into his memory so that he would never forget. He wanted to remember every death the Blood Men caused so that he could make them pay the price for each one. He swore to himself, standing alone on the hill, that for every fleeing man they cut down, every terrified soldier they slaughtered, he would repay them in full one day.
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Just as the men around him began to break free of their shock and charge the lone archer, a strange white mist rose from the bodies of the fallen, blanketing the plain of corpses. Rin paid it no heed, charging through it screaming. Soon the mist became so thick he lost sight of the archer. He slowed his pace and turned about, barely able to make out the silhouettes of his comrades. What was this strange mist? It had grown cold. So cold he could see his breath misting in the air. He shivered and felt suddenly uneasy.
The mist was moving, coalescing into shapes. Rin looked harder, trying to discern what they were becoming. They were turning into the shapes of... men. A shiver of terror went through him as he suddenly discerned a Soltish face looking out at him from the rapidly clearing mist. Ethereal warriors, both Solts and Blood Men, were forming, creating a battle line of spirits. An army of ghosts of the fallen.
Rin began to back away in fear, but he heard someone shout, “Do not flee! We shall avenge Vallus if we have to kill every last one of these foul spirits!”
Men gravitated to the sound of the voice, rallying around the Solt who had shouted the words. They were still thousands strong. We can still win this, Rin thought. The ghosts were fully formed now, Solt and Blood Man alike standing together. Rin saw one that appeared to be leading them. He stood at their front, small wisps of mist rising from his body as he moved. They charged.
The Solts stood fast, bracing themselves for the charge. As the ghosts drew closer, Rin could make out the details of their leader. He looked somehow... familiar. He looked like... No. It cannot be, he thought desperately. He stood frozen in horror as the figure drew closer. It was. It was Vallus. He did not want to believe it, but there could be no doubt now. He wore the same grin he had worn all his life, twisted now into something sinister and malicious. He could hear the Solts around him murmuring in despair. An anguished scream came from his right, “No!”
He did not have time to think of anything more before the ghosts crashed into the line, their mouths open, screaming a silent warcry. Rin lashed out with his spear in panic and terror, but his weapon passed right through the ghosts, and then they were upon him. A ghostly spear knifed through his gut, passing through his armor as if it were nothing. A searing pain exploded in his abdomen. He fled, the pain clouding his mind and pushing him on. He clutched at his side as he ran, feeling under his armor for the wound. He found none. No break in his skin, no blood at all. Only pain.
He looked around and saw to his shame that he had been one of the first to flee. Looking back he saw the Soltish line crumbling beneath the ghostly onslaught. I should be there, he thought, I should be there, fighting with them, not fleeing. Despite his thoughts, pain and fear and his instinct to survive drove him on. He sprinted faster, away from the battle to the cover of the tall grasses, where he collapsed on a small hill on the plain. From there he watched the massacre. Many men fell to ghostly weapons before the entire army was in flight. They seemed to be able to outrun the ghosts, and for a moment, Rin dared to hope that some of them might escape. That hope was crushed as the cavalry of the Blood Men swept in, easily outdistancing the men on foot and slaughtering Solts as they fled. Others armed with spears skewered fleeing men, and others still shot shortbows from their saddles. The screams of the dying filled Rin’s ears, echoing in his head.
Anger consumed him. He could not look away. He did not want to look away. He etched every death into his mind as he saw it, burning it into his memory so that he would never forget. He wanted to remember every death the Blood Men caused so that he could make them pay the price for each one. He swore to himself, standing alone on the hill, that for every fleeing man they cut down, every terrified soldier they slaughtered, he would repay them in full one day.
Your advice has been a great help.
