Finally, the rains had stopped.Grey clouds raced by overhead, the setting sun gleaming through breaks to light up parts of the horizon.
Giant trees dotted the landscape, old and gnarled. Moss covered from the bottom up to the lower branches, sagging heavy with the passing rain.
In a small clearing, tents stood erect, dripping water off the edges. One lone flag moved heavily on the pole.
Nearby stood a single man, swaying gently.
He stood nearly 7 feet tall, dark hair, enormous build and eyes that shone with endless power. In his hand, he carried a mighty staff, topped with the skull of one of his most powerful enemies, slain in a battle long ago. The man had triumphed over this mighty adversary after a grueling battle and placed the skull upon his staff so that he might use his enemies’ power from beyond the grave. And, thought the man, it gave him great pleasure to know that with each victory, the skulls previous owners’ soul writhed in hell.
Despite his forbidding appearance, the man looked ready to fall over from exertion. All around him lay the bodies of Orcs; their bright orange uniforms smudged with dirt and blood. The only sounds came from the man standing and from a single Orc, lying at his feet.
Struggling weakly, the Orc looked up at his death. With a ragged breath, the creature, speaking in a guttural tongue, said, “My death shall not go unnoticed. The Deathfist shall hunt you down.”
Having heard this same epitaph a dozen times already, the warrior glowered and raised his staff high. The eyes of the Orc widened in terror, as the empty sockets on the skull began to gleam with feral power. The dying Orc had time for one small shriek before the staff came down and staved in its skull, ending its life.
Only when all was silent, did the man allow himself to slide slowly down his staff to kneel in the blood-covered dirt. His breathing came in ragged gasps and his head hung in exhaustion.
After a few moments passed, the man closed his eyes and uttered a small word of power. Mystic light flowed from his hands and surrounded his slashed and battered body, closing the wounds and infusing his form with new life. Only then did he rise to his feet, whole in body and spirit once again.
Gripping his staff tightly in hand, he surveyed his handiwork.
“If only they had not attacked.” he thought, “I would have simply passed them by.”
He had come close to death again. The thought of dying once more brought a wince to his face. Not only was it painful, but the gods exacted a price for each death they brought him back from. He had asked about that once, feeling brave and cocky after his first death.
“Why did you let me die?” he asked his god.“I?” said a disembodied response. “I did not let you die. It was your foolishness and rash judgement that caused your death. But since you see fit to judge me, then this shall be your lot. To never rest, never be welcomed into the dark embrace of the black sleep. And lest ye think that will make you more powerful than you are, with each death you will lose some part of your power. You may regain that power if you please me, and more besides. I do this so you know who your master is.”
Still feeling brave in the face of his master, the man asked, “Why must I lose my power? And why not resurrect me where I am slain?”
“Still you question me. Perhaps it amuses me to see you struggle. Perhaps not. In any case, what I choose to do is none of your concern. If you cannot act wisely, and use the power I give you to remain alive, then why should I make your struggle easier? I have far more important matters to attend to than the life of one mortal. Now go and question me no more, lest I keep thee here in pain and suffering to amuse me and my court.”
Since that time, the man had died only a few more times. Each time, his master would send him back to do his work, and the man never questioned his god again thereafter.
And the power came. Swiftly and steadily, his power grew until he was too mighty to be slain easily. But still, there were times when he had come close. Like today.
A thought came to the man, and the corners of his mouth curled upward in a smile of satisfaction. It would take time. Lots of time.
Gathering his mystic might around him, he screamed another word of power and sparkling light shot upward from his raised fists. It was a message. Anyone nearby would see it and know it for what it meant.
Another spell began, and swirling light surrounded him. The light spun around his figure moving ever faster, until it covered him from top to bottom, then, with a bright flash, the light vanished. And the man vanished with it.
Now the only sounds came from wolves as they fought over the Orc corpses laying all about the clearing. The only witness to the mans passing, were the empty eyes of the dead.
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