A Stark Reminder

[GloriaPreussens 798]

 

 

The Ashen clad ride urged his mount onward, begining the long journey from Peremont ever Eastward, as the sun set upon his back and night came to embrace the land as a lover to its breast. No words, the only sound was the heavy breath of the horse and the soft "clip-clop" of its hooves on the cobble, and the sound of pushed gravel where stone failed to be placed. The Ashen rider moved onward, pausing over a nameless field, recalling bloody memories.
 

A white tabard, stained red, the shouts and clash of steel. A day where brother had fought brother. One of many more that would follow.

 

 

Gazing down, the Ashen rider caught the glint of something, dismounting to discover a small Lorraine cross among the bones of a fallen brother, the white tabard rotting and soon to be gone. A small prayer for him, the Ashen rider continued onward with his mount, their goal yet before them.

As the night grew from a black shroud to a moonlit twilight, the path before he came to a fork. Down one, the vassals who failed to answer their liege. Traitors in all but name, yet their actions would have had little effect. Even now they would bicker among themselves over which was better, but they are all inferior beings, barely tolerated. But onward the Ashen rider went, he was not yet upon the end.

 

Bodies littered the ground, bolts stuck from them and smoke still rose from a fire inside a wagon-fortress. Upon curious inspection, it was abandoned. Embers still red sat amidst ash, the same color as the tabard he wore. The rotting corpses, a feast for crows, carrion flesh for scavengers. The raptor birds cawed and fled as he rode past, before descending again to fight over scraps they had not earned. Fitting, in a way.

 

 

The smell of ashes. Not from a fire, these were distinct. A soldier and a warrior knew them well, the smell of burnt houses and bodies. Long had it been since this place was kissed by fire but the shadow of that day remained. Terrible and glorious, two words for the same event. Here, the traitors burnt in their death throes, and here, did the Ashen Sun blaze brighter than it had in years. A flinty gaze cast around the site, not even a rat dared come here. Moving forward, he took in the sights. The Ashen rider remembered what had caused this, who had demanded the sun's light as a right, and felt its blaze.

 

 

Shadows cast terrifying figures as a ray of dawn broke, the shadows receding and fleeing. Curious, perhaps it was simply a thought, but it seemed as if a memory burned to the very dust of this place. When ones comes to close to the sun, they burn.

As day broke, the Ashen rider turned west, and went home. He would not return, he needed no other reminder of what happened to traitors.

[James 425]

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