Vigil (IC Tale)

The dull scrape of stone over steel rasps through the woods in the last hour before the dawn. A silent sentinel sits on a boulder near the edge of the forest, his glowing green gaze flicking out over the scorched, blasted path that leads to the shattered gates of the city. The stone and steel are his. He tests the edge of his axe against thumb, nodding curtly in satisfaction at the finely-honed edge. He stares out over the barren wasteland, his mind drifting away against his will to the first time he stood this watch with one of his Sisters.

He knew all the tales. Shalaria had not spared him the horrors. All through the night she'd instructed him matter-of-factly about the various strengths and weaknesses of the weapons he'd be bringing to bear. The crystal pendant she wore about her neck flashed in the light of the small campfire as she held up her own weapon for him to examine. "A sword will catch in the ribcage, a mace will only stun them," she'd say, as she drew her own whetstone across her own steel. "A good heavy axe will defeat them every time." She'd gestured up to the watchers at the gates almost dismissively. "Arrows are all well and good, but fire and rage are better." Then she'd return to sharpening her axe, testing it's edge against her thumb. Before dawn they'd put an end to a score or more. In the last hour before dawn, Shalaria had been struck down, and her body burned with the others by his Brothers and Sisters.

He stares down at the wasteland, waiting for the telltale signs. He does not wait for long -- the watchers on duty never do. The poisoned earth of the wasteland is tainted beyond redemption, and the earth never keeps its darkest secrets. Patches of black soil stir restlessly, the earth churning as ragged claws burst free from their clinging womb. Rattling moans shatter the silence like a raven's harsh call across a carrion ground. Two rotting figures rise, followed by a third, then a fourth. They turn dead, empty eyes towards the campfire at the edge of the forest, shambling towards the single life that waits for them at the edge of the forest. The silent watcher rises to meet them, tightening the grip on his axe as the cruel moonlight reveals the scorched and shattered remains of a crystal pendant still looped around the neck of the lead Scourge. A grim smile plays about lips as the Dead Scar gives up its dead, and his fallen kin.