Excelsior

Sweat stings the eyes of the king, once known to all of the land of Excelsior but now a distant memory that has died with the passing of each generation.

The very guardians of Excelsior, once claimed friends of the brave who defend the terrified inhabitants of the battered town, now point their chipped and dull swords and spears toward the last remaining free town of Excelsior. Their eyes, fixed on the once destroyed cathedral, now restored castle of King Nefarinn. Their very skin saturated with blood of the shadowy creatures they slain in the name of Excelsior’s defence.

Just as the beasts of the amassed army began to beat their war drums for the march, the king started his ride up and down the frontlines of his remaining soldiers and countrymen. Fathers, mother, sons and daughters stood there. Some armed with the best gear of the kingdom, and others with worn leather sparring armor and broken blades. Some even stood there with a pitchfork in hand, which pleased the king greatly. He knew that the most armored clad warlord was a formidable adversary, but he had no upper hand on the one loved by the fearful innocent, the one defending his family and country. With a heavy and hopeful heart, he said only one thing…

“Evil will never prevail before the defenders of honesty and generosity!”

There was no cheer, but a collective focus and drive spread over the masses. The king then jumped off his steed and joined the ranks of his subjects. Quietly, they all watched as the beasts across the field from them changed from a march to a full sprint, creating a wedge focusing on the king himself. With this display, the king gave out a hearty roar and charged the field…dropping his shield and gripping the hilt of his sword with both hands. The very sword his grandfather wielded when he too met his enemies on the field of battle.

Beasts on all fours tore through the ranks first when the bodies of rusted metal and cracked leather collided. Many were instantly lost from the bloody impact, but the heroes pushed on. Large monsters never seen before were juggernaughts of the onslaught, but the heroes exploited their flanks. They pushed on. Family members lost in shadow lunged their swords toward their once loved ones, and were met with hesitant and sorrowful retribution. Most were seen as freed from their bonds, but others lamented the killing of their own blood.

When the realization of possible victory crept into the mind of the king, he was met with a cold breeze up his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and the entire world slowed down to an eternity. All the beasts and converted that were engaged with the king dropped back and cowered. Terror, was stricken with fear. The king jerked his head around with his sword up to block any possible incoming strikes, and saw before him the very image of tragedy.

Behold, it was the ethereal Bael, the once long guardian of Excelsior and rumoured legend…now standing before the resistance. He too was covered in the blackness that smelled of tar and decomposing flesh, but it oozed from wounds that would’ve been mortal to any living being. The flesh that once covered his face was peeled off, and now the only things distinguishable from the fleshy mass were his two black eyes. The outline of arrows, swords, and spears lodged in the torso of the angel glistened in the twilight of the moon, but appeared to be there only in spirit. It was as if the weapons were lodged in his soul. Down fell from the gangly and blood-soaked wings of the massive seraph, and revealed the rotting bone of his impressive wingspan with every lost feather.

The beast entranced the king, and he could not help but stand and stare in amazement. Bael then stretched out his wings, and revealed from behind his back an iron-framed mirror. Out of reflex, the king prepared to parry a strike and glanced into the surface of the mirror. It reflected the blood, screams, and heat of the ensuing battle around him. It reflected that cries of the mortally wounded beasts that initially tore through the ranks of the resistance, it even showed the weakening of the shadow-tainted warrior lines. But, it did not reflect him.

Suddenly, he heard a whisper behind him. The king quickly turned to meet the voice, but there was no mouth that delivered it. The king look back to engage the hulking beast, but the fallen angel was gone. Not only was the angel gone, but all invaders were gone. All the men looked around the field, and saw nothing. No blood, no bodies, no fleeing invaders, just their fallen behind them. Cheers of victory eventually blasted among the defenders, and the king returned with his country men and women back to the barricaded town.

When all the warriors returned, they were greeted with embrace and tears of joy. Most were puzzled with the results; others attributed it to blessings bestowed upon the brave. Everyone rejoiced and dined in the courtyard, sharing embellishments of their grand trial to those who stayed behind to tend to the young, elderly, and ill. After the dinner of all free citizens of Excelsior was finished for that night, the king called his acolytes and town elders to his meeting hall within his castle for a meeting to discuss the events that occurred that day.

When the town elders entered the room, the king had his back to them, shaking. The community leaders looked across the table to each other and wondered what ailed him. One man said, “My lord, no need to weep for the lost, their sacrifice saved our kingdom.” The king said without turning around, “Lost, not lost, it makes no difference in the end.” “Sure it does my lord, they have ensured peace for this land”, replied the man. The king laughed long and hard, and with a drastic change in depth, he trumpeted from his mouth a deafening scream that paralyzed the men in the room with fear. The sound of the doors to the room slamming closed averted their attention. When they looked back to the king, he turned around with a bloody dagger in one hand, and the peeled flesh that once composed his face in the other. Gazing around the table with his bloodshot eyes, he said…

“Peace has lost its grip here, forever.”