Mahn's Fall

Through wandering eyes I beheld that last light that shimmered in the pale radiance of the dead and dying. It was a lasting vessel that at once arrived to harvest the long and wonderful dead. Their travesty of Mahn no longer an issue keeping them held to the ground that their bodies, now void, were left to. I was allowed to bear witness to all that was to behold the grateful dead and see how their torment was released.

A countless dead amongst the living, for they, the battled-worn masses, and their huddled collective, knew that they were dead inside as they at once followed the orders of the master’s into a slaughter. The knights atop their steads, acrid breath emerging from the Warhorse’s shimmering in their seated armor, the mercenaries and their battle-hardened ways all lined up in a single file as the call to arms was given, the militia and all the men whom ran amuck in the fields that once housed those whom they cared for greatly, I watched and was made to witness the atrocity of those whom came before and thereafter. I watched atop my perch as if I were not to take part, but to record and give warning of those whom left and were defeated. I watched. I listened. I learned.

It was once the line broke that the fall began. The last known of Mahn rose and stood, doomed as it were, it was a fight that I cannot begin to describe in a way that would make any of those whom read this more engaged… to be honest, when the flag fell and Mahn was no more a mere memory, it was then that all I thought possible was taken from me as that last dying light crossed the mount and all I knew before me was lost. We, the lost and forgotten were given no quarter or tribute, we whom remained battled none and allowed them to take us upon themselves as captured and wounded. It was here when I were to remain, atop this perch and bare myself to the vessel that emerged from the sea, from the clouds, as if it too knew that the last dying embers of the beings known as Mahn were destined and obliterated. None shall know their names as I do not.

I sit and record all I see now. The vessel, larger then any that has come before, and none will there be after. I was allowed to watch the collectors harvest, as if they were sowing a field. Each body that was harvested, the soul emerged and the body at once sown into the field as if it were to remain and become forgotten. The decay was instant as they had stated to the dying as they harvested, they told them there was no afterlife fore they had no need of one. They stated to the dying that they could live once more but as the conquerors or go with them as they could be made into something more. With each being touching those dead, each was given and taken into account, I watched helplessly as the choices made allowed them all to revive or be harvested. The horror ensued once more as the final member of the last vessel whom housed the lead of Mahn, they approached without waiting for his dying to grow deeper inside his mind, I stood atop my perch and peered with eyes that I knew not I had, they surrounded he, more then four and twenty surrounded him with haste as they all loomed over and spoke in more riddles then that of a riddle master, it was in his eyes that I bore the last, it was his last glimmer of life as I watched it fade. As if he were but a façade of his former self inside a skin that was not but a hiding place, they surrounded and captured.

Before me one stood, his eyes many, covered his body which they all seemed to glare and focus upon me. A command to write and record over the silence that was to accompany me as my only companion, I did and doing as told. I still sit here waiting for the day that I will allowed to be harvested with those whom I watched fall on the last days of Mahn, as if I were to fight for none but always in those battles between fools and their lovers, as did the one whom gave me the task.

I am nothing more then the watcher, the last remaining of a dying breed, a last of all that was and will ever be as I am now to watch the new rise of what taken place, MAN, they stole the name and made it their own, I have been watching them for a long time and as I see them, as I had then, they care little for anything or anyone, no sense of compassion in their minds or hearts. I watch now as they burry their dead and forget them as many have before, they are not grateful or proud of their grateful dead, I see them all and I have not once seen the harvesters return.

It makes me wonder what it was that engineered the harvesters to come once but nay return?