The Unquiet Dead

The one who is yet to rest and rise knows not why he was awoken. He is but to slay and bring down his foes to what he once was. But he will regret all that he has done. The release of death won't be an escape for him when he is risen again, and again, and again.


2. Chapter II - Criminal Famine

The Iron Hall was empty of councilmen and a Queen. Only the desperate King sat at his throne, head cupped in his hands. The flames around him still flickered, the statues sat still and the black and silver knights stood by the thrones solidly. Quiet was the air around them. Yet soft footsteps came down the long walkway, with The Prophet coming back in, hands behind his back and only still his eyes hidden by black fog. The king lifted his sorry face out from his hands to look upon who approached him. 

"Your Grace." The Prophet began. 

"Prophet." he replied. "You come to see me?" 

"Yes, Your Graciousness. I must have a word with you in private, if I may." he questioned, looking at the knights with his attentive glare. 

"I will not leave the King's side, Necromancer." the knight in silver tensely growled suddenly, stamping his gargantuan halberd into the iron floor as it echoed with aggression. 

"Ser Rágan," the King called as the black knight turned to his left. "Leave us. Man the entrance corridor." The knight did as he was commanded, bowing finally and making his way to the exit of the hall, slamming the door behind him securely. "Ser Veld will not leave my side here, Prophet." he claimed, as the silver knight gripped his weapon as tight as a noose. "Now, what is it you want?" 

"To discuss with you about the matters at hand, Your Grace." 

"Yes, doesn't everyone these dark days..." he sighed. "Slaughter here, starvation there, and all manners of misery every soul is coming to me to complain about..." 

"Fear not, Your Grace. Chitchin shall not fail me in finding me that sacred soul." 

"Well it had better be damned soon, Prophet." he slowly rose from his glamorous chair. "Walk with me. I must show you something." he exclaimed, his tremendous height dwarfing The Prophet at his feet. Ser Veld clung to the King like a shadow, and the three made their way to a window on the wall of the keep. It looked out upon the entire city from high above. "The Vovoarácks have destroyed everything, Prophet. Everything." he muttered as he leant against the vertically long glass. The Prophet too watched as the people below moved about, miserable and no sign of happiness. No shred could be found of such beautiful emotions upon any of their faces. "Look at them. Their expressions seem as though they have swallowed ash in their mouths..." 
They all kept looking down at the people, the sight of a small boy in the market place wandering around the crowds alone and glum. He strolled to a bakery stand, where there was little bread to be sold, all stale. "The Vovoarácks have pillaged and slaughtered all this land had." The boy looked upon the bread with hunger in his pupils, and famish on his lips. "Spilt blood on the uncounted scale. Burnt property on an unprecedented amount. Food is becoming more and more scarce as farmers have been ripped apart, along with all forms of livestock." The young lad snatched a single roll and darted off in a hurry, but the baker was only too aware. "Carts of supplies become raided within hours of their departure." The boy did not get far at all. A baker in such times should only carry a small hand crossbow behind his back. Collapsing to floor with a bolt in his spine, the boy bled out and screamed with agony that could be heard all the way up in the keep they watched from. It could not be seen, but The Prophet's expression turned to that of shock and trauma, his lips gaping ajar. 

"Stealing is a crime within these walls." The Prophet murmured, "But so is starving as well, it seems."  

"Prophet," the King replied, calmly and still gazing out of the window. "Crops can be replanted. Homes rebuilt. Animals bred." he turned his stare back down to The Prophet. "But lives replaced? Emotions of such hate forgotten? These are tasks not even a man of my stature can fulfil." 
They all looked back down at the bakery stand, and the boy's body was already being fought over. Not for protection, or proper funeral, but to be cannibalised as men and women ran off with any body parts they could rip off. "Your faith with the Lady of Life had best be adamant, Prophet. This soul had better bring back peace and prosperity to us all, or all of us will die with the land." The King strolled back to his throne, Ser Veld still following along; leaving The Prophet to still watch on in horror as nothing but a few scraps of flesh and a blood soaked floor remained of where the boy had lain.

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