Love Abduction

[Zarsies 6795]

In the bleak gloom of the fallen sun does a troop of crooked folk creep through an equally bleak cemetery. The robed entourage move in an elongated shape, formed around a long shape which the strange people appear to be carrying. Striding fluidly over the defeated roadway, the gathering moves through the graves at a moderately swift pace. They come to a short pause as they reach the edge of the woods, the second tallest of the men at the group's head raising his metal bound hand. Gauntlet grinding quietly against its joints, the hand falls and the man speaks in a warm voice in the chilled night, saying, "Hold..."

 

 

The group quietly comes to a stop, just at the edge of the forest's darkness. The man who previously spoke comes around to the opposing short side of the object which they hold. The shrouded beings, without word, lower the end to the ground at the speaker's feet. With the tilt those from the front lift the object to stand onto the ground upon the dry grass. The swaying fabric which had concealed the object falls at the top corner, revealing about a third of the shape. It appears to be a coffin, a very intricate one at that. Beautiful ebony latticework lines the edges of the sarcophagus and the lace pattern licks up onto the poles by which the group carried it. The original one to call for the halt elevates his metal digits, moving to pinch the left over clothe that obscures the eyes of the group.

 

With a ginger tug he pulls it free. As it topples he removes his own hood, the cyan feathers of his mask perking up now that they are unburdened by his cowl. The man shifts his odd, rigid visor a bit and pulls it up to lay it onto the top of his head as he looks upon the coffin. All of those present, remaining quiet, share quiet whispers and too remove their shrouds. The pallbearers hold up the obviously weighted coffin and move aside to allow the moon's illumination to strike it best, showing its front.

 

Tears streak down from the darkened face of the speaker, raining over his Dark Elven flesh of grey. He holds out his gauntlet and touches the coffin's glass case, peering in alongside the rest. The casket holds a boyish figure, one of pale grey skin and a great rack of horns, utterly motionless and without a doubt beyond the reaches of life. Quiet mutters slip from the small group, saying amongst one another, "So well preserved," "Surely we must thank Knox for his dedication," and "It's been years..."

 

"Yes, yes. Knox is to be thanked. The boy's embalming is indeed skillful," calls the Dark Elf, saying in a mildly cracked voice.

 

Another of the robed figures calls in a hoarse, brutal voice akin to an orc who has gone without a drink for eons. "Could he be revived?"

 

The Dark Elf shots his head to the speaker, retorting flatly, "No one would ever want to do that. And no, the child is lost. O'so lost."

 

The voices recede, coming to silence as they drape the cover back over the Demon's countenance and conceal the casket. They reclaim their bars, lift the coffin, and march on into the dark. No words share themselves as the group moves on, although the Dark Elf continues to weep and huff as he draws his hood back once more as the others do. They slip into the gnarled roots and hanging limbs of the thicket of timber, fading into the shade as they march on towards snowy peaks and icy plains on the far horizon.

[Elad™ 560]

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