Writing - Tamingthemuse challenge
Jul. 24th, 2010 07:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jadedmusingsTitle: "The Marauders" (Oh, look at me being all original.)
Fandom: Original
Prompt: #209 - Marauders
Warnings: None except for some violent/disturbing imagery I guess.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A soldier fighting an army of the damned recalls his final battle as it happens.
Word Count: 718
Notes: I have no earthly idea what this is. My muse wanted dark and disturbing I guess. I think she did it pretty well.
Under cover of night they come, a wave of warriors rolling over the land like the sea beating relentlessly against the shore. In their wake they leave naught but trampled earth and ashes. Some say they taint the air with their evil, turning those who breathe it into abominations who lust for the blood and flesh of their fellow humans.
From the tower, I can hear them. Though it is faint, the shrieks and groans of the monsters reach my ears and for a moment I have the urge to fling myself to the ground to bring about the sweet release of death. It would damn my soul, but I can imagine no hell greater than another battle with these creatures of Hell.
I recover my senses and focus my attention on the priests flitting about the room blessing weapons and men for the coming battle. At the front of the room a withered old man leans heavily against a wooden podium. His voice wavers and cracks as he reads from the Book of Revelations. A part of me wonders if I imagined his eyes gazing knowingly at me when he speaks of the dead walking the earth.
I kneel as another priest comes to me, his hand hovering over my head while he fervently prays for my soul’s protection and promises salvation when I fall in battle.
When, not should. They know we cannot possibly win against the constant onslaught with daylight as our only reprieve. Or perhaps he knows I won’t live to see another dawn.
If he notices my flinching when he anoints my forehead with holy water, he doesn’t say anything. I bite my lower lip to keep from yelping as the water burns into my skin and I try to take comfort in the knowledge that my end is near, but I can find none when I know what I will become.
The sun is sinking low on the horizon when the blessings and reading are finished. Before the fight that is to come, the old priest tells the story of the day when our nightmares were realized.
They came from the sea, he says, souls of the damned crammed aboard a ship blacker than the night. In life they were called marauders, sea-faring sinners who reveled in shedding the blood of God fearing men, women, and children. So evil were their deeds that God brought down a mighty storm to destroy their ship and kill everyone aboard, but even death could not end the marauders’ lust for battle and power. With Lucifer’s aid, they sailed out of hell, charged with stealing souls to use in Hell’s army. Thus began our suffering at their hands.
A horn sounds announcing their approach. Their moans are louder now, the noise reverberating through my head until I can scarcely think of anything other than blood and death. I see the old priest being led away to a heavily barricaded room with the women and children. Loud wails erupt as mothers and wives kiss their sons and husbands good-bye.
No one cries for me. The damned have already taken my loved ones away.
The horn sounds again and the drummers begin to pound out a marching beat. Together we march down from the tower and out into the courtyard. Beyond the wall the dead await sunset and through the iron bars of the gate I can see them rising up from the ground. A few of them are wearing the same armor as us, men who were killed and tainted by their evil. I look into their soulless faces and see my fate staring back at me.
As the moon rides the sky, I can see the marauders’ weapons. Spears and swords carved from the bones of their victims take on an otherworldly glow in the silvery light. Slowly the horde marches toward us, their eyes alight with the fires of Hell. Slowly my humanity slips away and I long to run my sword through the soldier standing next to me. I want his blood, I want his flesh.
I want his soul.
The wind carries the sound of my laughter over the courtyard as I pull my sword free of its sheath and give in to the desire to slice and carve into my fellow man.
Fandom: Original
Prompt: #209 - Marauders
Warnings: None except for some violent/disturbing imagery I guess.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A soldier fighting an army of the damned recalls his final battle as it happens.
Word Count: 718
Notes: I have no earthly idea what this is. My muse wanted dark and disturbing I guess. I think she did it pretty well.
Under cover of night they come, a wave of warriors rolling over the land like the sea beating relentlessly against the shore. In their wake they leave naught but trampled earth and ashes. Some say they taint the air with their evil, turning those who breathe it into abominations who lust for the blood and flesh of their fellow humans.
From the tower, I can hear them. Though it is faint, the shrieks and groans of the monsters reach my ears and for a moment I have the urge to fling myself to the ground to bring about the sweet release of death. It would damn my soul, but I can imagine no hell greater than another battle with these creatures of Hell.
I recover my senses and focus my attention on the priests flitting about the room blessing weapons and men for the coming battle. At the front of the room a withered old man leans heavily against a wooden podium. His voice wavers and cracks as he reads from the Book of Revelations. A part of me wonders if I imagined his eyes gazing knowingly at me when he speaks of the dead walking the earth.
I kneel as another priest comes to me, his hand hovering over my head while he fervently prays for my soul’s protection and promises salvation when I fall in battle.
When, not should. They know we cannot possibly win against the constant onslaught with daylight as our only reprieve. Or perhaps he knows I won’t live to see another dawn.
If he notices my flinching when he anoints my forehead with holy water, he doesn’t say anything. I bite my lower lip to keep from yelping as the water burns into my skin and I try to take comfort in the knowledge that my end is near, but I can find none when I know what I will become.
The sun is sinking low on the horizon when the blessings and reading are finished. Before the fight that is to come, the old priest tells the story of the day when our nightmares were realized.
They came from the sea, he says, souls of the damned crammed aboard a ship blacker than the night. In life they were called marauders, sea-faring sinners who reveled in shedding the blood of God fearing men, women, and children. So evil were their deeds that God brought down a mighty storm to destroy their ship and kill everyone aboard, but even death could not end the marauders’ lust for battle and power. With Lucifer’s aid, they sailed out of hell, charged with stealing souls to use in Hell’s army. Thus began our suffering at their hands.
A horn sounds announcing their approach. Their moans are louder now, the noise reverberating through my head until I can scarcely think of anything other than blood and death. I see the old priest being led away to a heavily barricaded room with the women and children. Loud wails erupt as mothers and wives kiss their sons and husbands good-bye.
No one cries for me. The damned have already taken my loved ones away.
The horn sounds again and the drummers begin to pound out a marching beat. Together we march down from the tower and out into the courtyard. Beyond the wall the dead await sunset and through the iron bars of the gate I can see them rising up from the ground. A few of them are wearing the same armor as us, men who were killed and tainted by their evil. I look into their soulless faces and see my fate staring back at me.
As the moon rides the sky, I can see the marauders’ weapons. Spears and swords carved from the bones of their victims take on an otherworldly glow in the silvery light. Slowly the horde marches toward us, their eyes alight with the fires of Hell. Slowly my humanity slips away and I long to run my sword through the soldier standing next to me. I want his blood, I want his flesh.
I want his soul.
The wind carries the sound of my laughter over the courtyard as I pull my sword free of its sheath and give in to the desire to slice and carve into my fellow man.
