Fragments Gallery
Summoned Back
The ice crunched underfoot as the man strode forwards. Crimson rain had showered here only a short time before but now the fight had ended and all that remained were the stains, the fallen steel and the bodies. The ice and snow, once pure and clean, were now tainted red. Corpses, abandoned armour and fallen armaments lay scattered across the barren field.
The Wanderer was heavily cloaked in tattered grey cloth. In place of a face he had a shadowed crevasse in the mounds of fabric where his head should be. From the gaping hole where a normal man would have had a face only darkness could be seen. His feet, lightly shod in stained leather boots, made no sound as they swept across the pitted earth. Uncaring of the death that stretched before him the man continued on his trek. A keen eyed bystander may have noticed that he was not a scavenger there to pick the dead clean; for he never stopped. Instead he roamed through and checked the faces of all the dead he passed.
A dry rasp from one such man drew his attention. The soldier lay sprawled against a mound of earth; feebly he tried to raise his head as he grew aware of the other’s presence. From the scope of his injuries there was no doubt that this man would soon die.
The Wanderer gestured towards the fallen soldier and sparks of energy appeared around the dying man. He heaved a final gasp before the rattle stopped and his restless eyes stilled. The energy that had left the soldier flowed back towards the Wanderer and was absorbed. The power melted into the cloth engulfing the Wanderer. His form shivered before he continued on his way.
Several times more the Wanderer stopped to end fading lives before he fully sensed the location of that which he sought. Gradually the feeling, his certainty of the location of the one he sought, grew stronger and he drew closer to his goal. It wasn’t long before he found the solider he was looking for and knelt down.
The corpse before him appeared no different than any other he had seen on the field and yet still he knew for certain that this was the one. An aura lingered around this solider; this aura had drawn him to this field. Physically the soldier was clad in standard mail with turquoise surcoat and unadorned shield… nothing special. But he knew there was much more potential here than could be seen on the surface. In death this soul had unknowingly called to him and summoned him here across a great distance. This was the one.
“Awaken my child; your place is still here.” The Wanderer’s voice permeated the air and seemed to reverberate through everything in the area. It was a voice that one would imagine could be heard by the dead themselves. Even after the sound had faded a shade of the man’s voice lingered.
At first it seemed as though nothing had happened but then the corpse stirred. Fingers, stiff and frozen, clenched with a crack and then splayed open. Fabric rustled softly and steel screeched as the figure shifted. Limbs twitched that should have never again sought motion. An unholy glow shone through the thin lids of skin that covered the dead man’s staring orbs. Sluggishly those lids drew back and beneath gleamed fell orbs that had seen far more than life had to offer.
Eyes aglow the soldier shakily sat up. At first confusion was clear upon his face, his expression was that of one who had just been woken from a deep sleep. True bewilderment soon followed however as his memories came rushing back to him. He remembered dying. He remembered death and the place he had gone after.
How was it that he had returned?
“Who are you,” whispered the risen warrior, “How can this be?”
“I am the messenger,” Stated the Wanderer; the figure’s voice shook the soldier to his very soul. That voice had never been meant to fall upon living ears.
“How am I here?” asked the soldier again, “I remember… things that I shouldn’t be able to remember.”
“I pulled you back from death,” the Wanderer intoned, “You called me here, although you do not know it. You are one of my chosen and, should you chose this fate, your time has come to ride with me.”
“Ride where?”
“Past death. The final battle approaches.”
The soldier stood to survey his surroundings. The breadth of the killing field, seen through fresh eyes due to its newfound utter stillness, staggered him. He turned and gazed into the distance. A chill ran down his spine as he became uncomfortably aware of the wander’s scrutiny of his back.
“Do you need me?” asked the soldier, his eyes still on that distant horizon.
“Yes.”
“Why me?”
“You are special in ways you cannot imagine. The strength of your honour and valour have touched even the immortal halls which I normally tread. You were among the best this world had ever seen."
“My family… my friends… how can I leave them?”
“You already have and both are lost to you. You cannot retake the life you have left behind. Join me to protect them and that which they stand for or return to the halls of the dead from which you have been pulled.”
“I will ride with you,” the soldier said with a sigh. He had no doubt that the Wanderer spoke true. He could feel that there was no return to his old life for him. It wasn't a feeling that he could explain but it lingered with him regardless.
The Wanderer nodded as though he had expected no other answer. Energy sparkled in the air and a black portal opened a short distance away. The soldier started at its appearance but at the wander’s gesture he strode closer to the open gate. Soundlessly the Wanderer followed along behind. The gate hung in the air before them and as they approached he could see that the smooth black surface clearly reflected the surrounding world. They drew close to the gate and the soldier stopped. The Wanderer grew abreast and passed him but before he stepped through he glanced back, nodded, and stepped through the portal.
The soldier hesitated before he followed the Wanderer’s example and vanished into the gate. Instead the soldier examined his own reflection in the gate’s mirrored surface; he looked as he had before the battle, with the obvious exception of the glowing eyes. The grievous wounds which had killed him had sealed and faded away. In fact from what he could see even his old scars and callouses had disappeared. He was reborn.
After casting one last longing look at the world over his shoulder the solider stepped through the gate. It winked shut behind him and left the field in stillness once more.