Realm of Bones

The woman’s agonized screams rent the air as the life that had grown inside her was excruciatingly expelled. The child of prophesy lay red and screaming as the priest examined it carefully so he had been right the child to end the war was at last born, his sibling followed quietly unwanted and unplanned for and lay untouched and barely breathing between her mothers already cooling dead thighs.

Pafarne cradled the black haired child to her crooning softly. Spooning life into it with care and love “there my sweet little girl eat and get strong and beautiful, My own precious baby I will care and love you let the priests have their golden boy I have my own sweet raven haired girl” Oberline gurgled softly her body wrapped and held secure in a warm loving embrace by her adopted mother. Pafarne took the baby to her own small dwelling away from the foul screams and stenches of the Citadel and Oberline grow into a warm and loving child no fury ever broached her calm happy demeanour.

The baby squalled in furious anger its bellows drowning all noise from those trying to calm and placate it its body swaddled in black. A priest clumsily tried to feed it while it balled its fists and growled. The priests paled in fright as a tall imposing figure entered and reached for the child and commanded “Quiet Rasticar save your fury for the future and what it brings you ” the babe quietened immediately and slept its hands grasping at a small black symbol with a blazing phoenix worn around the strangers neck.

The years passed so swiftly Pafarne looked at Oberline now running around in the full bloom of youth how little a time ago did it seem she had been a helpless dieing babe with her mother dead from her and her brothers birth. They had both become use to the constant draining of the town’s men as they travelled to the battlefield to fight and die few returned and men were getting less and less. Always the same question from Oberline “why?” and to this she had no answer other than “ always has it been so and always perhaps it shall be child.”

The war raged continually always-fresh men to fight and crumple to the ground to add their blood and bones to the futile and draining battle of greed. It was always the same the town of Sorek’s brave men fighting those of Karenly both fighting for the river and its rich and varied gems. Soon even the gems were forgotten and the battle continued for no reason that either side could remember the river sank into the bone-strewn earth, carving great caverns and leaving Lakes and swirling patterns in sand, mud and bones.

In the citadel they watched and waited their time for action was not yet they took the fallen and animated them into travesties to serve at menial tasks beneath there supposed lofty ideals. Rasticar relished tormenting the dead and shambling zombies fascinated at where they came from he was merely told from outside our halls.

Rasticar pounded his fist into the priest’s already bruised and split face the blood coating his fist and clothing, “ I will not do my lessons, I do not feel like it “ he screamed as he beat the tutor continually. As always he got his way the tutor skulked away to recover while his pupil played.

Rasticar’s eyes flashed with pure hatred and loathing as he slit the throat of his long suffering tutor as his feeble gurgling breaths died away Rasticar growled and turned back to the doors and out of the citadel a sword clasped in his hand.