Life Goes On.

[Temp 2006]

There had been a flurry of activity amidst the Noble District of Kaldonia, the shouts beyond muffled by the thick layers of stone seperating Thersist from the world above. Oddly enough, the shouts halted almost as quickly as they'd begun. For some time, Thersist simply assumed that a public display of some sort had been arranged and yet, there was an oddity. There was no cheering, no outcries of disappoint, only odd-placed silence.

He rose from the depths of the Marked halls, only to find an empty city. Somewhat confused, he walked out into the emptied streets. He'd kept joking to himself within his mind, this was all some form of bad joke or he'd simply fallen asleep. At any moment, he'd expected hell itself to seep unto the city from between the cracks of the paved stone beneath his boots. For a moment, he simply stared, hoping that something would just happen, that a single instance would bring the horrid silence to an end and yet, there was nothing.

Baffled, he moved on from the apparently abandoned city, climbing the mountain of stairs before the Imperial Palace. As he peaked the steps, the unmistakeable 'click' of half a dozen crossbows emitted from what had felt like the walls themselves. He looked unto the walls, extending arm and opening his mouth as if to speak and yet, nothing would rise from within. Instead, he stood in place, staring unto the walls like a fool. The awkward silence was broken by a single word, and Thersist flinched, bracing himself for the cruel fate lain before him and yet, there was nothing. The moment dragged on for what had felt like an eternity, the word repeated and finally setting itself within Thersist's skull. It had been his name, not an order, not his undoing, and not the hellish nightmare's conclusion he'd assumed.

Baffled, he just stared unto the small mass of Soldiers atop the walls and behind the gates lain before him. "Thersist, sir. Are... are you infected, sir?" A man of the Imperium, and of the First Company, stood before him. Before the man could repeat himself a third time, Thersist spoke out, "Wha' the 'ell is goin' on?" Speaking amongst themselves, conclusion was met and Thersist was allowed entry to the palace. A small gathering of the Officers was held and the men were briefed. Some strange sickness set in on those of Kaldonia. Many of it's citizens rushed unto the lands rumored to hold the cure. Whilst the mass of bodies were from Kaldonia, the men made an effort to seal off the noble district while the Chivay Family was properly hidden away. The officers apparently had demanded such an action, directly falling back on orders and eventually forcing the men of the family from the palace.

The Imperial Family protected and noble district secured, the officers began to discuss plan of action for the city and after lengthy discussion and argument, it was agreed that the spread of the disease was to be contained. The officers had moved to tend to their personal orders and Thersist simply stared to the large oak table they sat about. His role was quite simple and yet, he'd remained frozen in place. Muttering a silent word of prayer, he rose from the table and moved to leave the palace, descending the steps and returning to the halls of the Marked where he gathered those of his company and awaited the return of the citizens. A small patrol of the Third Company approached the Marked Halls, declaring the return of the citizenry and offering aid to the men below. The group rallied and simply stared unto the city before them, a few citizens limping about, whilst others hid within their homes.

Looking to Thersist, the men prepared themselves and awaited order. Nodding to the others present, Thersist looked unto the city before announcing the order to purge the diseased within the city. The men went into motion, killing anything in the streets, be it man woman or child. The violence had been short lived and majority of the 'combat' consisted of nothing more than firing a bolt into an unarmored sickly figure before moving on. The outburst of violence was quick and the defenseless had been cut down. The streets paved in blood and puss, the men continued on to Hadrian's wall. Majority of the first had held the walls and followed order, keeping any others from entering the city and denying exit to any still within.

Order was given and the men were gathered before the gates. Thersist looked over the men, a tired and almost disconnected expression across the bulk of the men's faces. Nodding to himself, he approaches the Decurion in control of the wall and requests to speak to him. Moving a short distance from the others, he asks a simple question, "Were any o' ours infected?" The man's gaze shifting from Thersist to the graveled path about the wall, he responds with a simple, "Aye, sir.. Two." His expression darkening, Thersist turns from the Decurion and extends arm to the wall, "Present the two! Before the Gates! NOW!"

A man enters the wall and shouts for the two, quickly jogging from the wall and falling back in line alongside the others. As the two emerge from the wall's interior, the men are repositioned and the two are placed before the gates. Sliding off his helm, Thersist looks to his distorted reflection a moment before looking to the two unfortunate men, their fates obvious. He raises his left fist, shouting to the line aside him, "LOAD!" The line looks to Thersist, before hesitantly doing as they're told. An odd silence falls over the mass of men as Thersist simply stares to the two. Forcing himself to continue, Thersist speaks out, "Let this be example to you lot!  Failure will yield identical fate! Do not disappoint the Imperium!" The line remains silent, simply staring to the two. Bringing down his left fist, Thersist shouts out, "FIRE!" An audible hail of bolts is released unto the two young men, their figures immediately going limp and collapsing.

Staring to the corpses, Thersist speaks out a final time, "Drag the corpses of the sick ou'side the city. Use spears or staves, DO NOT touch the damned diseased with your 'ands. They're to be burned! When this 'as been tended to, Decurions, ye' will maintain patrols and the wall will remain manned! Tend to it." Sliding back on his helm, Thersist mutters, "Creator Forgive," before moving off.

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.