Diary of Stuff (Volume I)
2001-11-20 18:29:19 (UTC)

Story Snippet from about 13 or 14 years ago...

We rode out onto the plains of Arth with such a
vengeance and hatred that only the dead could bear for the
living. The dead, that which we were, commanded by one
whose name was spoken with much malice and fear, came
fifteen thousand strong with no other purpose than to
slay. Upon the horizon amassed the last armies of the
living. Our cruelly barbed arrows shot into the ranks of
human flesh at tenfold the rate at which their screams were
heard. Our mounts trampled still others as my brethren
hacked and hewed through the forest of necks and other
choice portions of the human anatomy. The last
confrontation, the last battle between the armies of good
and evil, flesh and bone, on this desolate wasteland akin
to our home below, was in our favor. Father was pleased,
although feelings of happiness and joy are unknown to us, I
could sense it.
I spurred my mount upwared towards the clouds. Just
under its smoky belly I halted, for my kind aren't allowed
to pass through. Peering about, I called out with my
mind, "Cythe."
"Yes?" came her answer, as soft and soothing as a bath
in a river of warm blood. One would not think that she
controlled the crucial battle against the upper beings at
that moment.
"How are you faring?" I asked.
"Their pride is strong, but their faith weak." Again
her soft spoken voice washes over me with a sense of utter
calm. "It won't be long before we are victorious. And
"They are no match against our might and Father's
will. Most have given themselves up to him already, the
others perish with their foolish hopes of being saved by
their deserted king."
"Father must be pleased."
"Yes, can you sense it?"
"Yes, dear brother, I do."
Our minds separated then, she having to concentrate on
the assault above, and I on the massacre below.