Krall Scyinth Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

A large man stood amidst the multiple rent forms of what had once been living creatures. An onlooker would assume that this stoic form had been sorrowfully contemplating the ruined corpses, and not the deliverer of their demise. They would, perhaps, not be entirely incorrect. However, there were no onlookers here save the souls of the freshly dead, who writhed with contempt briefly before dissipating; or perhaps they had been transported to some location unbeknownst, the beckoning of which we must all answer. The low plains with sparse uncut grass of varying vivacity cowered under the light rain that perpetually listed from the clouds. These lowlands extended out to a long range of mountains, stretching a distance that was difficult to grasp.

Man of stone and measured fury removed the anvil of a hammer from its inverted resting place and carried it once more before continuing along his unmarked path. A path predetermined by his future actions that he had not yet decided upon or taken. He had a goal, but saw no way to get there. These men he had shown the consequences of their mistakes were trying to stay his hand from discovering their secret. They were commissioned by the strange thing that had come into control of so much in this land, silently manipulating people from unseen places; causing society and more to shift into a new era. An era of light. One where people would cease to fight and murder, to steal and deprive.

The man with the hammer did not know why he had to stop this beautiful future. But he did as he was told. He was designed to prevent this from happening, as had all of his forefathers. They had successfully held back the tide of peace; now he must live to die; die to keep death alive.

His armor was dense and strong. Neither heat nor blade could tear it from his flesh. Nor could he.  It was shrouded in a black cloth, held in place by  spikes emanating from his pauldrons. The armor was named Resolve, to remind him never to falter. As for the man's name, that was unimportant. He did not know and he did not need to know. His hammer stood from the ground to his heart, and his stature was half again as great as a human's. Its head was forged from some unknown metal; and box shaped. It tapered in the middle where it met the handle and bore spikes on either end. It weighed as much as a horse. The handle was also of unknown origin, neither wood nor metal and was inscribed with many small words that could not be read, forming small bands along the shaft. Its name was Life.

The man with the hammer remembered these things as being told to him, but he did not know by whom. He had never heard his orders spoken; he simply knew what he had to do. He knew his quest was of great importance. Occasionally doubt would arise, about his many years of wandering and killing, but he still knew that he was right.