The Fanatic

Joreah kissed the floor, shabby and coated with dust as it was, the cold touch of marble upon his lips, providing a shocking truth as to the character of his god in and of itself. He kept his head there, paying no mind to those around him. He allowed their whispers and their condescending looks to wash over him, his belief would not be shaken by such worldly intimidation. He ignored the dull pain in his knees, caused by kneeling on such a hard floor for so long. His attention, his focus, his very life belonged to his lord, Nesfet, god of all. 

At last he began to rise, and all whispers around him were silenced at once, the men in armor standing around him, their eagerness palpable. These men expected something, they had seen him create miracles, they needed him to guide them. Joreah ignored all this, finishing the rite as was proper; by thanking Nesfet for the blood coursing through his veins, and the unaddled mind within his cranium. At last he faced his dogs, wiping the last of his tears of worship from his eyes. The men’s armor gleamed, the remainders of his company, men with long locks and proud faces. 

Disgusting. There was no place for a clean uniform in war, there was no need to hold your nose high in front of your captain. The last vestiges of his once powerful company was an assortment of pampered nobles and sons of lords. Joreah would never forget that these men had retreated, dragging his unconscious body with them, as they had turned tail and fled the battlefield, leaving behind the true might of the company to fight off the enemy. If these men were not Da’lian, Joreah would have put these cowards to the sword already, alas he needed them if they were to face the oncoming storm. 

He said nothing, and instead marched out, climbing into the saddle of his horse in one fluid motion. Upon his horse, the captain looked down at the group of highborn, and at last he spoke, his voice filling the air around them. “Hear my command, followers of Da’li; Make ready! We ride east at once, and shall regroup with the main host led by Lord Carun! Those who falter will be left behind.” 

At once his company split in two. One half rushed to their horses, intent on following his orders to the letter, Joreah would have to keep these men in mind, they were loyal. The other half however, balked. Their mistrust, caused by their recent loss against House Halid, evident on their faces. From the latter half, a man stepped forward, their leader, Joreah decided. 

“My lord! The armies of king Hummayudin chase us with a strange fervor, it was a miracle from Nesfet that we managed to carry you to safety! Surely you do not wish to throw us into the flames again? I propose that we remain here, until the bulk of our force arrives, only then do we join up with them.” With the last sentence the man had turned to his comrades, arms raised, calling upon their support. 

Joreah nudged his steed forward. He neared the mutinous leader, whose back was still turned, rallying the support of the other balkers. Too late did the traitor realize, Joreah unsheathed his sword, and in a single strike he relieved the man's head from his body. The spray of blood, as the decapitated body toppled, drenched the mutineers' armor, dirtying it into a shade of dark red blood. Much better, thought Joreah. His horse had not even flinched at the death of the man, and instead moved to stand in the pooling blood, allowing Joreah to tower over the cowards. 

“I will brook no argument against my commands. As soldiers it is your duty to throw yourself into death’s maw at my orders. Those who disobey will find their fate no different from this scum.” Joreah leveled his sword at the men who were not already on their horses “Do you dare?”. 

The men surged for their horses, not before some hesitation of course, and finally the company was prepared to move. With the captain at the forefront and his men behind him, the tiny force began to ride, following the setting sun, each man hoping they would survive the journey until they had merged with the might of Lord Carun. 

At first the journey passed uneventfully, fields to their north and hills to their south, Joreah was forced to acknowledge, though corrupted with blasphemy, this land had its allure. However, all thought was dashed from his mind the moment the company spotted a single rider atop the nearest hill, torch in hand. The group slowed to a halt, unsure of what to make of this man. The rider reached into a bundle, tied to his horse's saddle, and withdrew something before throwing it at them, using his free hand. 

The company stared at the object as it rolled down the hill, finally revealing it to be a single head. The remnant of the soldiers who attempted to fight off House Halid, thought Joreah. Unimpressed, he stared up at the man, daring him to make the next move. The horses skittered nervously, and the men tried to control them. At the same time the lone rider changed tactics and instead withdrew a single book. Even from this distance Joreah knew it was a holy book of Nesfet. Grinding his teeth, he could do nothing but watch as this soldier of House Halid touched the book with his dirty and corrupted hands. Then the rider did the unthinkable. 

He took the torch he was holding, and touched it with the book. Immediately the word of Nesfet went up in flames, and the rider dropped it to the ground, no doubt goading them. This was all lost on Joreah however, he only had eyes for the book as it lay there burning. With a scream of unbridled fury, he charged, determined to kill this disbeliever. His company had no choice but to follow their captain, and give chase as the lone rider spurred his horse to a gallop, and disappeared behind the ridge of the hill. 

Enul Ghun! Joreah would not let the bastard escape, he would face divine justice, Joreah would make certain of it. The company struggled to follow the rider, as he was alone and unarmored, and therefore unconstrained unlike the group. Through fields and besides forests the chase was led, the men of the company voiced their concerns begging their captain to see reason and abandon this foolish pursuit. Joreah however, only had eyes and ears for the blasphemer and the torture he would deal the rider when they caught up with him. At last they began gaining on him, once the rider made the mistake of entering the forest. 

Joreah, taken over by his rage, ignored the strange nature of this chase, and eventually found himself led into a clearing. The rider disappeared into the undergrowth beyond, and around the captain all hell broke loose. Arrows flew from everywhere, and his men were cut down. Cursing himself for falling for such a stupid trick, Joreah finally ignored his rage and turned his focus towards the ambush. 

“Shields up! Firmate Lance! Retreat!” The commands were given, and the more loyal soldiers obeyed at once. Those that hesitated, did so only for a single breath, as they realized they would be cut down if they did not comply. As one the company charged in the direction from whence they came, arranged like a lance's spearpoint, so as to better break through the circle. The captain understood that slowing down even slightly would allow the ambushers to completely encircle them, and then they would be like fish in a barrel. The horses charged out of the clearing, knocking away soldiers of House Halid, who were attempting to complete the ambush. 

The company thundered away, Joreah counting every single man who was shot in the back by an arrow, whilst they retreated. If they had fallen into the ambush without horses, they would have died. If they had tried to defend instead of escape they would have died. Joreah imagined the many possibilities that could have come about, thankful that they didn't. At last the company left behind the forest, and continued speeding eastward, until the sun set. 

“Captain! We must allow our horses a moment of rest! We will not make it to the main force if they die!” Joreah acknowledged the man, and signaled for a break. The company halted near a raging river, and began setting up camp beside it. Though the men seemed focused on their work, Joreah did not miss the occasional glare directed at him. Ignoring all this, he strode towards the river, intent on answering the call of nature. 

As he stood there, his stream merging with the larger, he saw a ridiculous sight. The rider from before, again, holding a burning book, again. Years of being taught to punish disbelievers came to him, and so Joreah jumped into the river with the singular goal of killing this nuisance. The freezing water hit him, and fear brought with it rationality. The captain had jumped in, fully armored, and so he sank like a stone.

He hit the riverbed, and attempted to jump back up, a ringing filling his ears and a crushing sensation in his lungs. He surfaced for a moment, enough to vaguely glimpse a small force of riders crashing into the company’s encampment, slaughtering his men, before his armor pulled him down again. The pain within his lungs was unbearable now, and in a fit of desperation he tried to breathe. Instead of air, his lungs were filled with the surge of river water, and as the pain consumed him, his struggles weakened. 

At least he would attain a position within Nesfet’s eden. Surely he would be allowed in… Surely he had followed the doctrine to the letter… Surely…