#geheena

Invention of “hell”

I hope you are not disappointed.” He’d said. Words that echoed in her mind, over and over – Katniss and her sorry state, Benjamin falling, the armoured hounds charging the Executor; images that haunted her mind. Another spell, another incantation to the revered shadow, another unlife spared from the clutches of true death, yet the hindering weight in the pit of her sunken chest lingered. A hefty burden the cleric just could not place. Was it sadness? – No, not quite. Neither was it pity, for she was incapable of it lately, she had found. Chk-chk. The roaring of a rifle, smoke, the clinking of a shell – rinse and repeat, a chorus, a cacophony sung behind her; Valter’s, Jericho’s and Hangart’s courtesy, of course. The trail of shadows, smoke and the flutter of dark cloaks behind the enemy lines, the deathstalkers in their finest hour. Eldritch words and otherworldly spells, flung all over, featuring colours and effects that had her cheering as a child. A roar of battle, the clanking of plate – A fallen comrade and there it was again, pulling her down further, under; weighting her down. Chants and hymns and he rose again, renewed vigor channeled into relentless strikes, a storm of rage. Realization dawned upon the cleric at that point. She was scared – Dread. It showered her being, for the loss of her comrades, for true death. The very same shade of death following her during life, would haunt her in the unlife. “I hope you are not disappointed.” But she was.