The ship had travelled down the river and was just now coming into port. The passengers filing out into their camps along the shore, dragging their belongings through the muddy sand. Corse, as his friends called him, was somewhere in the crowd, though none of his friends were with him. His face blended into the crowd, just as indefinate as the expressions he normally held. As the group marched on, steadily and wearily, there was a rippling throughout the water. Strangethat had never happened before.
Arus was there, dragging the slower people to the camps. Though what he was physically doing was very violent, Arus was quiet and had the facial expression of a tired old man. Corse had dreamed of him before their arrival, waking up in bed lining that was too wet to sleep in any longernot that he had a choice. As long as this place had existed, Arus was here, and as long as Arus was here there was myth about him and his ways. This oddly matched group of people walked along in their pre-funeral funeral procession, knowing tommorow that most of them would die.
It was the middle of the night, Corse figured sometime between 2 and 3, when he heard it. People. Water. Noise. My god, they must have a death wish thought Corse and his bunkmates. They lay still in their beds, waiting for it to endbut it doesnt. Slowly, the most brave of the bunkmates processed to the windows. Outside must have been at least half of the group that filed into the camp roughly 10 hours prior. They were all running to the beach. Running, as if they had murdered Arus and those whod sworn under him.
Slowly, the door to their bunkhouse opened, as the one who called himself Domas closed his eyes and pulled. They had all expected a savage beating when the door opened. But it never came. They ran, ran like sheep being chased by a fox. Corse broke off from the rest of them, running off to the side when he heard something odd. The pillars are moving on their own! The pillars!. Some indistinct face who Corse had never and will never know, so he kept moving. But something was wrong. That old bridge, so long ago sieged in some other war that hed never fought in, something was wrong with it. It was breaking apart, slowly yet very visibly, almost defying gravity as it crumbled in pieces. Not that there was an entire bridge left to start with or anything, most of it was already sunken and destroyedbut what was left waswrong.
He watched it, but another scream about the pillars made him turn and look. When the bridge had been laid to waste long ago, it had shifted off its foundation pillars, which still visibly stood in the water. Only now they swayed back and forth, like wind blowing through a field, they moved as single blades of grass. On top of some of the pillars lay perched some sort of building, though its construction was unfamiliar and seemeddistant.
While the others were keeping there distance to the pillars and the building, Corse swam right up to them, and without hesitation climbed up and inside the opening of the building. It barely had a few items in it, as if someone just moved in, and when Corse turned to tell the rest his discovery, before he could even see a face he saw black. When he regained consciousness, we was being dragged again. Arus. It had to be. Just when the devil himself realized that Corse was awake, he propped Corse up, forcing him to walk. The wind felt cold, he thought, when he realized what had happened. One must understand that in this world, in this culture, hair is a prized thing. The ultimate embarassment is to have your hair cut, and thats just what they did to him. Everything was bald, except for some small tufts of hair in the back. He could already hear the laughter and taunting. What Arus said next pretty much summed it up for him Corse the CorpseI like that.
Only an hour or so before the sun rose, Corse left the camp. He didnt say goodbye to anyone. He never left a note. No one knew how or where he got out. He simply vanished and was not seen again until many years later. You see, the day that Corse escaped from the camp, before any executions had begun, the camp was destroyed and the prisoners there set free. Somewhat ironic that the only person who had ever escaped the clutches of this place in over five years would escape the day that it all ended. Arus and his brothers, as he called them, had all been killed in the same way they themselves killed thousands. Corse was somewhat of a legend and a mystery among the people, telling their children and grand children the horrors of this war, so that they would never repeat it themselves.
It was 16 years later that Corse showed up. His hair long, full and kept in a samurais fashion. His clothing looked ceremonial and he brandished a blade, caked red with blood. Apparently when he left the came he came upon a monastery for a dark religion. When he entered, the priest was dead and his murderer asleep. Corse picked up his blade and made a mess of the murderers neck. Then he stole their clothes, food, money, weapons and became The Vigil. The Vigil was the story parents told their kids to keep them in line. If you were bad, he would come in your sleep and turn your sheets red with your own blood. It was Domas who recognized him from so many years ago. He smiled, leaned in towards Corse and whispered Your hair looks good, and leaned out with his finger pressed to his lips.
Arus was there, dragging the slower people to the camps. Though what he was physically doing was very violent, Arus was quiet and had the facial expression of a tired old man. Corse had dreamed of him before their arrival, waking up in bed lining that was too wet to sleep in any longernot that he had a choice. As long as this place had existed, Arus was here, and as long as Arus was here there was myth about him and his ways. This oddly matched group of people walked along in their pre-funeral funeral procession, knowing tommorow that most of them would die.
It was the middle of the night, Corse figured sometime between 2 and 3, when he heard it. People. Water. Noise. My god, they must have a death wish thought Corse and his bunkmates. They lay still in their beds, waiting for it to endbut it doesnt. Slowly, the most brave of the bunkmates processed to the windows. Outside must have been at least half of the group that filed into the camp roughly 10 hours prior. They were all running to the beach. Running, as if they had murdered Arus and those whod sworn under him.
Slowly, the door to their bunkhouse opened, as the one who called himself Domas closed his eyes and pulled. They had all expected a savage beating when the door opened. But it never came. They ran, ran like sheep being chased by a fox. Corse broke off from the rest of them, running off to the side when he heard something odd. The pillars are moving on their own! The pillars!. Some indistinct face who Corse had never and will never know, so he kept moving. But something was wrong. That old bridge, so long ago sieged in some other war that hed never fought in, something was wrong with it. It was breaking apart, slowly yet very visibly, almost defying gravity as it crumbled in pieces. Not that there was an entire bridge left to start with or anything, most of it was already sunken and destroyedbut what was left waswrong.
He watched it, but another scream about the pillars made him turn and look. When the bridge had been laid to waste long ago, it had shifted off its foundation pillars, which still visibly stood in the water. Only now they swayed back and forth, like wind blowing through a field, they moved as single blades of grass. On top of some of the pillars lay perched some sort of building, though its construction was unfamiliar and seemeddistant.
While the others were keeping there distance to the pillars and the building, Corse swam right up to them, and without hesitation climbed up and inside the opening of the building. It barely had a few items in it, as if someone just moved in, and when Corse turned to tell the rest his discovery, before he could even see a face he saw black. When he regained consciousness, we was being dragged again. Arus. It had to be. Just when the devil himself realized that Corse was awake, he propped Corse up, forcing him to walk. The wind felt cold, he thought, when he realized what had happened. One must understand that in this world, in this culture, hair is a prized thing. The ultimate embarassment is to have your hair cut, and thats just what they did to him. Everything was bald, except for some small tufts of hair in the back. He could already hear the laughter and taunting. What Arus said next pretty much summed it up for him Corse the CorpseI like that.
Only an hour or so before the sun rose, Corse left the camp. He didnt say goodbye to anyone. He never left a note. No one knew how or where he got out. He simply vanished and was not seen again until many years later. You see, the day that Corse escaped from the camp, before any executions had begun, the camp was destroyed and the prisoners there set free. Somewhat ironic that the only person who had ever escaped the clutches of this place in over five years would escape the day that it all ended. Arus and his brothers, as he called them, had all been killed in the same way they themselves killed thousands. Corse was somewhat of a legend and a mystery among the people, telling their children and grand children the horrors of this war, so that they would never repeat it themselves.
It was 16 years later that Corse showed up. His hair long, full and kept in a samurais fashion. His clothing looked ceremonial and he brandished a blade, caked red with blood. Apparently when he left the came he came upon a monastery for a dark religion. When he entered, the priest was dead and his murderer asleep. Corse picked up his blade and made a mess of the murderers neck. Then he stole their clothes, food, money, weapons and became The Vigil. The Vigil was the story parents told their kids to keep them in line. If you were bad, he would come in your sleep and turn your sheets red with your own blood. It was Domas who recognized him from so many years ago. He smiled, leaned in towards Corse and whispered Your hair looks good, and leaned out with his finger pressed to his lips.