mario
Redshirt
- Local time
- Today 7:43 AM
- Joined
- Apr 5, 2012
- Messages
- 10
A piece I wrote the other day, will finish the story if popular demand exists.
As he drew his sword from its sheath for what he knew was the last time, Sigmund found himself strangely composed. Though his body tensed against the steely rain of arrows loosed upon the tailwinds of Death's chariot and plummeting rapidly upon the knoll on which he stood, in his thoughts, he was somewhere else. He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to take him into the thick fog of a dimly lit morning long since forgotten, looking out from the veranda of his estate onto the formless miasma of his past life. Cardinals are singing, low hedges of brambles are dancing with the strength of cool winds, and... can it be? It is! Claire, blessed Claire, emerging from the mist, her hands clasped together tightly as if holding prisoner some hidden treasure of the forest. She's coming, coming...
Wait, what? This daydream, he thought, has gone on for at least ten seconds. Was he already dead? No, that was impossible. He knew God granted his faithful swift and merciful deaths, but to finish a man without so much as a prick? Surely, the Almighty thought he could handle a bit more than that.
Sigmund opened his eyes. His armor, so far as he can tell, remained untouched. The knot of archers he had imagined would serve as his executioners were still there, their bowstrings still taut with the anticipation of slaughter. Unnerved, he chanced a quick glance at his surroundings. Besides himself, his attackers, and the skewed corpses of his countrymen strewn about him, not a single trace of human life presented itself. His means of escape, he observed, were severely limited, hemmed in as he was by the sea to his left, the archers in front, and a foreboding range of mountains behind. Only his right flank offered any hope of safety, but even this, he knew, would serve only to forestall the inevitable. His full
suit of heavy plate armor, normally his pride and bulwark against evil, now weighted him down with a constant, unyielding force.
No! He yelled inwardly. No running! Not today! Today, I fight!
As he began to brace himself for a charge towards certain death, he noticed suddenly a rushing figure. The figure, an officer in full battle regalia, strode purposefully towards his location, pushing the archers aside and ordering them to follow with a single authoritative swoop of his arm.
That fool! Die though I might, I'll make sure he follows on my heels!
Sigmund begun to charge. Almost at once, a booming command issued forth from within the officer's dragon-head helmet.
“HALT!”
Sigmund's body, shocked into submission by the missive's overwhelming force, complied.
“What is your title?” The officer now loomed over him, his onyx broadsword glinting menacingly in the light of the nascent sun. The archers encircled the pair, encroaching slowly like wolves closing in on their prey.
“Si... si... Sir Sigmund, of Norwich.”
“Sir Sigmund of Norwich, by the powers vested in me by the Lord Regent, I hereby sentence you to die. Kneel, and accept your transition to the underworld by my just and righteous hand.”
He did not respond. His eyes, peeled wide with fresh terror, traced a feverish line across the heavens.
The officer raised his sword, preparing for the culling blow. At once, a deafening clap rang out across the dunes, sending soldiers scrambling for safety. Something monstrous had just entered the water...
EDIT: formatting
As he drew his sword from its sheath for what he knew was the last time, Sigmund found himself strangely composed. Though his body tensed against the steely rain of arrows loosed upon the tailwinds of Death's chariot and plummeting rapidly upon the knoll on which he stood, in his thoughts, he was somewhere else. He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to take him into the thick fog of a dimly lit morning long since forgotten, looking out from the veranda of his estate onto the formless miasma of his past life. Cardinals are singing, low hedges of brambles are dancing with the strength of cool winds, and... can it be? It is! Claire, blessed Claire, emerging from the mist, her hands clasped together tightly as if holding prisoner some hidden treasure of the forest. She's coming, coming...
Wait, what? This daydream, he thought, has gone on for at least ten seconds. Was he already dead? No, that was impossible. He knew God granted his faithful swift and merciful deaths, but to finish a man without so much as a prick? Surely, the Almighty thought he could handle a bit more than that.
Sigmund opened his eyes. His armor, so far as he can tell, remained untouched. The knot of archers he had imagined would serve as his executioners were still there, their bowstrings still taut with the anticipation of slaughter. Unnerved, he chanced a quick glance at his surroundings. Besides himself, his attackers, and the skewed corpses of his countrymen strewn about him, not a single trace of human life presented itself. His means of escape, he observed, were severely limited, hemmed in as he was by the sea to his left, the archers in front, and a foreboding range of mountains behind. Only his right flank offered any hope of safety, but even this, he knew, would serve only to forestall the inevitable. His full
suit of heavy plate armor, normally his pride and bulwark against evil, now weighted him down with a constant, unyielding force.
No! He yelled inwardly. No running! Not today! Today, I fight!
As he began to brace himself for a charge towards certain death, he noticed suddenly a rushing figure. The figure, an officer in full battle regalia, strode purposefully towards his location, pushing the archers aside and ordering them to follow with a single authoritative swoop of his arm.
That fool! Die though I might, I'll make sure he follows on my heels!
Sigmund begun to charge. Almost at once, a booming command issued forth from within the officer's dragon-head helmet.
“HALT!”
Sigmund's body, shocked into submission by the missive's overwhelming force, complied.
“What is your title?” The officer now loomed over him, his onyx broadsword glinting menacingly in the light of the nascent sun. The archers encircled the pair, encroaching slowly like wolves closing in on their prey.
“Si... si... Sir Sigmund, of Norwich.”
“Sir Sigmund of Norwich, by the powers vested in me by the Lord Regent, I hereby sentence you to die. Kneel, and accept your transition to the underworld by my just and righteous hand.”
He did not respond. His eyes, peeled wide with fresh terror, traced a feverish line across the heavens.
The officer raised his sword, preparing for the culling blow. At once, a deafening clap rang out across the dunes, sending soldiers scrambling for safety. Something monstrous had just entered the water...
EDIT: formatting