Doomguide's Lament

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mazeofthorns
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Doomguide's Lament

Post by mazeofthorns » Mon Jan 22, 2018 6:13 pm

STACE
Teardrop, Massive Attack
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It was late into the night. It should have been darker but the fires from the burning wagons caused an eerie light made the shouts and screams eerier. The two small figures hiding under the brush next to their families wagon were identical in shape, voice and looks. They had identical expressions of confusion, horror and worry on their five year old faces.

Suddenly one of them startled and bolted from their hiding place.

“Riss!” His twin Stace shouted in surprise. Their father had been very specific in his instructions. Stay hidden until he and their mother came to get them. Along with the usual farm chores their father had played hide and seek with them. Now Stace understood it had been more than a game. They knew how to hide very well. Yet Stace knew his brother and if Riss was running into the fray there was a very good reason. Stace exited their hiding place at a dead run.

Not all of the men ahead held swords Stace noted as he tried to catch up with his brother. Two men held long sticks. Some were laughing. Stace recognized the caravan boss and a few of his men. They looked injured, bleeding from wounds that showed up well in the light of flaming wagon nearby. They were unarmed yet they were standing so they must not be hurt badly.

Then he saw what made Riss run. Their mother was on the ground. Riss must have heard her yelling. Riss had reached one of the armed men and surprised him with a dagger stab to his leg. Their father had also given them each a boot dagger and taught them how to use them. None of the men near their mother were prepared for a thoroughly enraged Riss. He managed to wound another man before standing beside their mother brandishing that dagger and shouting. “Get away from my MOTHER!”

Stace knew their father would be very angry with them but there was no way in the hells he wasn’t joining his brother in protecting their injured mother. He arrived and stabbed the same two men before standing back to back with Riss. “Get back!” He added his voice to his brothers.

“WAIT!” Boomed a voice and all the armed men stopped dead in their tracks. One of the men carrying a long stick sauntered up and looked the boys over.

Stace felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “Riss.” He hissed in warning although he knew his brother felt the same thing. There was something terribly wrong with the red robed man.

“Apprentice, if you would kindly return the lady to her sons.” The man's voice was reasonable, polite even.

A younger man moved forward his robe not as fancy as the other. He took on a look of concentration and spoke in a language Stace didn’t recognize. Something happened and he felt Riss breathe a sigh of relief accompanied with the rustling of their mother getting to her feet.

Then the man said. “Kill your sons.”

Stace just stared at the man trying to understand what he just said. Their mother would never harm them. He expected her strong voice to tell the man just what he could do with himself. His mother was not one to suffer fools. Then… then Stace heard choking sounds. The man started laughing.

Stace turned to see his brother held by his throat by his mother two feet off the ground. Before he could say anything… /do/ anything… everything went to hell.

The most incredibly bright light Stace had ever seen erupted from thin air right on top of the younger man. The younger man screamed. The red robed man cursed and began to speak in that strange language. Armed men were yelling and cursing. And horses… there was the sound of horses.

Stace turned and tried to help his brother. He saw a man with long blond hair in shining silver plate armor. His tabard was black and white. Stace watched the man slide off his horse with a huge sword in his hand. The man hit the ground at a run and waded into the middle of the armed men and began systematically cutting them down. Out of the darkness came more of them. All in shining silver plate. All with black and white tabards. Some paused to chant causing bursts of light to flash upon the caravan boss and his guards as well as the armed ones.

They all wore similar expressions, grim determination. They were frightening and Stace wanted to run and hide but not without his mother and brother.

Stace finally managed to get his mother to drop his brother but then she tried to grab /him/ by the throat. That is when he got a clear look at her face. At her milky white dead eyes. Stace scrambled back, tripped and fell onto his back. She followed him down. Her arms reaching out to him. Stace screamed. He screamed with all he had.

Then the tallest man Stace had ever seen suddenly appeared next to him. The black haired man was huge. He must have been 7 foot tall with shoulders as wide as an oxen. The man was lit with light somehow. The enormous sword he held dripped with gore and blood. He wore the same silver plate armor as the others and for the first time Stace could make out that the black and white tabard had measuring scales stitched into it. The man's bearded face was stern and uncompromising as he looked down at Stace’s mother. He spoke a strange chant with a voice that was strong and deep. As the last word left his lips something happened. His mother simply toppled over and fell to the ground in a heap.

The man spun around faster than Stace thought possible in that heavy armor as if his strength was more than his muscles allowed. He turned all that bright determination towards the red robed man.

Marcus didn’t wait and watch the animated woman fall to the ground. He spun on his heel to face the necromancer. “Yield or you will meet my Lord this very night!” was the only warning the mage received.

The mage wasn't interested in yielding and tossed several magic missiles at Marcus. Marcus felt the sting as they pelted his armor and helm. He didn't feel badly that the mage had not yielded. He repaid the mage for his part in the atrocities committed this night with a single thrust of his blade into the mages sick black heart.

Marcus swept the field of battle with his blue eyes and a small boy rose from the carnage. Marcus's heart sank. He hated it when children were involved. Yet he was committed to his calling and steeled himself. The boy couldn't have been older than 5 or 6. The lad was dirty and splattered with blood. Marcus gritted his teeth and didn't try to swallow the lump in his throat. He began a prayer to turn undead.

As the divine power rushed forward Marcus watched. The lad just stood there, his mouth gaping with a look of fear on his face. Marcus waited a few more heart beats for the child to fall into his final rest. When that didn't happen it dawned on Marcus that he was not looking at a zombie.

“Merciful Lord,” Marcus breathed. “You are alive!”

Stace watched as the mans features went from stern to puzzled, to surprised, to compassionate in the span of mere seconds. The man quickly shouldered his shield, hurried forward and scooped Stace up. Stace didn't have time to struggle or cry out against this stranger. All he could do was watch the crumpled form of his mother become smaller and smaller as they moved away from the carnage.

“My name is Marcus, lad.” Marcus's voice was quiet and urgent. He turned his head to look at Stace. Marcus black hair was pulled back into a tail that had started to come undone.

“Stttace, sssir.” He offered in just as quiet, although shaky, voice. His father would be upset if he discovered Stace had forgotten to be polite.

Marcus paused and gave Stace a strange smile. “You are very brave and need to remain so for just a while longer. Hold on tightly and keep your eyes closed.” Marcus didn't wait for a response apparently expecting Stace to do as he was told. He couldn't put the lad down. There was no safe place to leave him this close to the battle. There were still undead and mercenaries being chased down. He needed to get the boy to their staging area just past the last wagon with the rest of the horses and Father Aster. The boy would be safe there.

The group of necromancers Marcus and his comrades in arms had been tracking had ambushed a large caravan of wagons. The overturned wagon he jogged past had almost made an escape. Almost. The scorched earth and burned oxen indicated the liberal use of arcane fire to keep the wagon and its contents within the necromancers grasp. They had lost no time in killing everyone and making use of the bodies as blade fodder.

Marcus moved towards safety at a jog. Stace did as Marcus told him and he held on tightly and closed his eyes. He felt Marcus's arm tense and tighten. Then they stopped. Stace thought they had reached their destination and opened his eyes. There was an eery howl. Stace couldn't help it, he turned to look.

Marcus heard the howl of a conjured undead and he prayed. His blade flared with divine energy just in time to greet a zombie shambling towards them. The unfortunate man had taken a blow to the head and had the evidence of this, in blood, on the side of his bodies face. Marcus sidestepped the ambling creature easily. He pivoted to place himself behind the zombie. Then with a quick, powerful kick to the bodies backside, he sent the creature sprawling.

The lad he held, Stace, chose that moment to scream. A quick glance told Marcus Stace had seen something behind them. Marcus tightened his grip on the lad and spun around. The two skeletons were almost upon them. Despite the lack of a shield, Marcus managed to keep the skeletons away from himself and Stace. Divine energy flared with every strike of Marcus's blade. As soon as he could, Marcus set Stace down. He shoved the boy, none too gently, behind him. As the skeletons beat on his breastplate and took swipes at his face, Marcus prayed.

The divine power that answered his prayer to turn undead flooded the area. The zombie toppled into some thick underbrush. Both skeletons fell apart then fell to the ground. The bones scattered like leaves in a strong wind. Marcus turned to Stace. He knelt on one knee and took Stace gently by one shoulder with his free hand and searched Stace for injury. “Are you all right, Stace?”

Stace stared back with astonishment, his voice full of awe. “Yo...You... dddid that... with a ppprayer?”

Stace sat hugging his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth. He’d been like that since Marcus has dropped him off with Father Aster. Now returning, leaving the other Doomguides performing last rites and tending to the dead, Marcus crouched down. He put his arm around Staces shoulders. The boy had stopped crying. Father Aster had cleaned him up a bit. Marcus thanked his Lord that they’d brought the Ilmateran Father Aster with them.

“This is not how death should happen, Stace.” Marcus took off his amulet and set the sturdy chain about Stace's neck. “This amulet was my fathers. I would like you to have it as I have no son of my own. It is the symbol of Lord Kelemvor.”

Stace took up the amulet that had the same design as Marcus's tabard. He examined it as Marcus continued.

“Your mother, father and brother are all together in the fugue plane speaking with Lord Kelemvor right now.” Marcus had been the one who found the other little boy who looked exactly like Stace, even in death.

Stace found his voice and asked in raspy tones. “They are?”

Marcus nodded. “Yes. I imagine they will speak of many things as Lord Kelemvor guides them onto their final destination. No one is alone after death, Stace.”

“D..Did they forget about me? Is that why they left me here?” Stace felt more tears threatening to spill onto his cheeks and drew his tunic sleeve roughly across his eyes.

Marcus hugged Stace closer. “No. No Stace they did not forget about you. Will you forget about them?”

“No.” Stace replied firmly.

“That is right. We remember those who have gone to Lord Kelemvor. We honor your father, mother and brother for their strivings in life. They are reflected in you, Stace. You will carry on for them and one day you will be honored just as we honor them now.”

Stace nodded. He decided he liked Marcus. He wondered if he would ever be as strong and nice.

“Would you like to help me prepare some water for blessing?” Marcus asked, his deep blue eyes gazing into Stace's light gray red rimmed ones.

Marcus watched Stace as he filled the little bottles with water from his water-skin in preparation of being blessed. He admired the boy's strength. It would not be the next day nor the next month, but Marcus thought that, in time, Stace would be all right.
KALYIN -- "Black Cobra will aid your injuries should you stand close.... or he may strike you, depending on mood."

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