I am reminded, recently, seeing a newly-misted carrying his dead friend to safety, of the time when I first dealt with the spectre of death, and all of the gruesomeness it involves.
The Solamnics were clearing a village where I and my comrades had set up an ambush.Ii had been attached to a group that consisted of a half dozen archers, a dozen fighters, a priest and a wizard. My job was to spring the ambush by launching several balls of energy at their strongest point, while the fighters closed with them. The wizard would counter any magic the Solamnics could conjure. The priest was there for moral support and to bolster the line where needed.
After she fired her first missile in hostility, chaos reigned. There were more of them than expected. They rushed us on a hundred man strong wave, and our fighters managed so somehow hold them back.
I felt a hot blast and was thrown back, through a doorway and against the far wall. Something hitme and I blacked out with a sharp flash of white and a jab of pain.
When I awoke, I heard a gurgling noise. I thought it was me and my hand flashed up to my throat, but I was whole. I then noticed a heavy weight on my hips. I was seated against a wall, facing a doorway, and I could see out the doorway int the road beyond. I saw horses, and men, rushing past the doorway.
Looking down, I saw what was on my lap. It was a beautiful young man, my age, with what appeared to be a large chunk of metal, I could see that it used to be a breastplate, lodged through the young man's chain armor and into his ribs.
The man was awake, and looking down at his own chest, not seeming to comprehend the seriousness of what he saw there.
He turned his head and looked at me, and I saw the horror in his eyes as he realized what his situation was.
"Help me..."
I did the only thing I knew how to do. I did not feel pity for the man. I cut his throat.
I felt nothing.
I haven't thought of this young man in quite sometime. Now, he haunts my dreams.
