The sun sat on the horizon and shed its light upon the land in sweeping rays, piercing through the branches of trees and the windows of houses like spears of God. Perhaps it was his attempt at repelling the undead that now roamed the world, albeit ineffective and nearly pointless as the dead did not seem to mind much if at all. Perhaps it was not an act of God but merely one of nature, and the undead simply preferred to wander more freely in the dark of night as opposed to the piercing light of day. Perhaps God was still watching over the world, but if that were true then it would seem there was nothing he was capable or willing of doing. For the last three months it seemed that humanity may well be on their own through these trying times, with little hope of salvation through prayer and worship. And yet some still believe in their faith and their gods, despite what others might think or say. For them it is the mere promise of hope and salvation that fuels their will to survive, the promise that their suffering is not without purpose, that a day of victory will come and the truly devout and faithful will survive to see it.
The rest do not think of the heavens, they do not hold out hope for a god to save them. They feel they simply cannot afford to think themselves saved from damnation just because they pray to a deity of questionable integrity, not when a sword or axe has proven more effective in their defense than a desperate plea to the indifferent sky. They are focused on surviving, and many of them know that in order to survive this epidemic they must also help others to survive as well. That isn't to say that they all now scorn the heavens above for seemingly abandoning humanity, though there are certainly some who do. And aside from those at the very opposite, extremist ends of this spectrum, people for the most part have managed to coexist within their walled cities remarkably well. Of course that's not considering the uneasy relationships held between the cities themselves, nor does it account for cities experiencing a crisis of leadership - like Mynelis of Rhogein.
Dharrec sat back in his chair, eliciting a whimpering creak from the wood as it adjusted to accommodate his shifting his weight. The candle upon the table in front of him flickered in a desperate struggle to repel the darkness that clouded the rest of the room. If it weren't for the growing presence of light bleeding in from the windows, the candle would've surely been smothered by the all-encompassing and suffocating blackness. Dharrec let loose a sigh as he turned his attention away from the battle of light and dark, focusing instead on equipping the rest of his armor. His mind, however, did not follow. Would humanity be like the candle? Their light - their life - being strangled by the dark but unseeable force of undeath, only to be saved from such a great evil by the resurgence of the heavens? Would that truly be their last and only hope for the survival of all humanity? Or could humanity pull through on their own, and push the undead back into the shadows they crept out from?
Tired of his thoughts but unable to rid himself of them, Dharrec shook his head in a futile effort to clear his mind before strapping his vambraces on as noise and movement began stirring behind him. The unyielding light of day clawed its way up the walls, quickly dispelling the darkness and illuminating a number of beds and their waking occupants. It was almost time for the midday guard shift, and by all accounts the sun was behind schedule. Delayed by the arrival of winter and perhaps inconvenienced by the cold, the sun only just arrived late into the morning as it had done throughout the winter of every year prior. Though, now that the world was struck by a plague of the undead, there was a hint of doubt - a sneaking suspicion that maybe the sun would continue to shrink, never to return to its full might out of some inescapably profound fear of the undead. A silly notion, certainly... but a frightening one to consider.
Having had enough, Dharrec rose from his chair and pushed it up under the table where the candle still sat and burned away. The insignificant little pillar of wax once again found itself the center of Dharrec's focus, though it's flame quivered almost uneasily. Reaching his arm up to lightly pinch his tongue, Dharrec brought his wettened fingers down to extinguish the candle's light. Casting a wide glance over the room as he swiftly and subtly wiped his fingers the rest of the way dry on his longskirt, he then grabbed his helmet and tucked it under his arm as he was turning to leave the barracks. Captain Hannigan was taking all of the volunteers he could get for more excursions beyond the walls, and Dharrec had participated in enough of them by now to
earn his place on the roster.
But as he stepped out into the cool morning air, relieved he wasn't further north in Oroulam of Apolund where the temperatures would be much cooler, one last morbid thought crossed his mind. Even if humanity did survive through this... what's to stop a god from extinguishing the survivors like he extinguished the candle just a few short moments ago? Dharrec thumped the side of his head with the edge of his palm and shook it again, taking a moment to breathe before donning his helmet. There would be no place for that kind of thinking beyond the walls...
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