The Battlefield in this story is a place of emotion. Some would think that all emotion when death comes calling would be bad or fearful. I’m here to tell you that’s not the case. Granted this does happen from time to time. Those who fear death or those who had more to do. Or at least are under the impression there was more to do. But when the time comes the time comes. Rarely anything in the universe can offset death.
Our story is about those who fall in the name of their lords. In the name of their gods, or just in the name of honor. Those who stare death in the face have two reactions and two reactions only. One is of the warrior who embraces death. The warrior who has been told his life would lead to this and that it would be glorious to die in battle. Or maybe those who have lived long enough to see the world turn evil and dark and wish for a better place. The second reactions is fear or regret. Not always is it the emotion of a coward. Some fear death because of whom they leave behind. Some had more to do in this life. Some are rich and plump and would miss the pleasures of the mortal world. Others will have committed heinous acts against law and justice. Those who fear what is waiting in the other side for them!
But in my experience after the battle the fields get cold, some turn to snow, but most turn to autumn when the trees give there blessings to the earth which with forever be stained with blood. In the spiritual world the old battlefields will always display the blood that scars them. Forever those who were lost and never found peace become wraiths of sin, and regrets. Wraiths that carry in their bags a thousand candles. Candles that melt away into oblivion. The wraiths consume the natural essence of autumn and then the snow and then the sun. They then take this power and convert it into a spiritual fire lightning the way with candles to oblivion.
The servants of loneliness, the watchers of those who pass by. Yearning for connection to the mortal world, yearning for an afterlife. They become powerful in their solitude, they become mentally strong from hundreds of years of nothingness. A wraith so strong after thousands of years can begin to feel the air again. They have been attached to the world so long that they become one with it. Those who are lucky enough to become this become wraiths of nature and of seasons becoming a servant of Pantheon protector of nature, craft, and the seasons.
To those so aware of the world that surrounds our own you might just be able to reach out to those who still wander. Those who create a campfire in the void of realms. You might just sit and talk for a while. For the dead have many stories to tell, they may be sad they may be a bit morbid but nonetheless. They tell stories of love, girls they fell for before the war. They speak of family that lived hundreds of years ago. So pull up a seat around the campfire of death for the living still have a great deal to learn.