Twice Cursed

Twice Cursed

Their bodies and souls were no longer their own. Their hearts beat no more. Even when they seemed to escape, the reality was that it was only temporary, death was the only possible escape, and it had been stolen from them. They were cursed do walk undead and un-alive. They were caught between. Their bodies were covered in the wounds and decomposition of centuries. The very idea of hope had fled from them.

The rider knew only one relief, when he brought death to others he felt their souls released and caught a glimpse of what lay beyond. The horse was mindless it existed only to obey the rider. In a way it had died the day they were cursed. That was the slim comfort the rider knew, and the horror, not even his mount fully shared the torment.

All of it was because of one single mistake, like original sin it seemed so harmless. The silvery pool had been so still so luminescent it smelled of refreshment. The crone sitting before it warned them not to drink, but they were so near death. The first sip melted their thirst until it passed down their throats. Somewhere near their stomachs it became an icy lance stilling every aspect of their living beings. The thirst returned, never to be satisfied. The cold passed to every cell of their bodies numbing them to all comforts. Not even the fires of Armageddon had warmed them. The world had burned around them and they felt none of it.

Their only task, to end those that had survived. Only when the whole world was dead and dust would their curse be lifted. Only then would their unnatural thirst be slaked.