Homeward Bound (Zeyad)

Ragged clouds skittered across the dusky sky, over the torn and rent lands of the Plague Lands. Zeyad rose from his knees, finishing his plaintive plea to the Light, and stood over the body of the young girl, a tear falling from his eyes onto the dry soil beside the body. Another soul lost to the Scourge, and the ravages of the battle still fought in the dead lands near his home.

He had no idea why he was called to return to the destroyed city, Stratholme, once a thriving place, now full of evil, fear and death. Images raced through his mind of the home he once had, the life he once had, before the heir to the throne killed the innocents of the town. His friends, his family, their lives snatched by the single hope they held.

As the gates of the once great town grew closer, Zeyad tried to push the encroaching images aside, to further focus on the increasing resistance of undead. The images refused to give way, but someone enraged him. All the anger he held somehow found its way forth from the sword he held, from the blasts of holy power he called forth. He shuddered as the power ran through him. “Light, clear my mind so I may see and follow the path before me,” he muttered, but it did no good.

“The living are here!” The yell rang out through the city, as Zeyad made his way under the arches. The images raged, and flashed through his mind, faster and faster, ever more hectic, as Zeyad moved forward. The Kings Square, where he had played as a child, now filled with shuffling undead. How many of you have I known in life? Thoughts ran faster, and faster through his head, as the anger continued to build. My people, betrayed. Slain for what?.

Elders Square, again nothing but ruins and a home for the deceased. The images reaching a crescendo. In the face of the lumbering corpses he could see his friends, his mother, he put his hands to his head and screamed.

Suddenly, everything seemed to stop. The undead stopped moving towards him, the images stopped flashing. A single clear, sharp voice echoed in the paladins mind. Come to me. Come forward. It was irresistible, in that moment. The plated feet moved forward, slowly, shuffling. The voice repeated its call. The heavy portcullis dropped behind Zeyad, as he slowly made his way towards the Ziggurat placed in the back of his city, slowly trudging ever onward, now heedless of the abominations surrounding him. The door swung open, and a black pall fell over Zeyad, and he remembered no more.

- Written by Zeyad