There he stood with sword in hand. Looking out over the fields. He walked among them, the long departed. Checking over armor for family crests. The wealthy nobles had paid good money to guide their spirits first. Of course, he knew this was pointless. Souls go when they please, and return all the same. The issue lies with those who do not understand they are dead, or those who refuse to. A phenomenon common on the fields of battles long passed. But that did not really interest him right now.

He was looking for a Regalian surcoat, a family of some note in the border lands between the two kingdoms of Erasta and Celune, the only one with any weight in the middle-ground game of royal politics as a matter of fact. The youngest son of house Regalia, Hensen, was due home from the ****** Fields days ago. Armed with the best weapons and armor a royal name could buy, and still sent to die all the same for the gain of his father. Not that it mattered, but that wasn’t his place to say.

He searched for some hours, scanning through the corpses until finally he broke concentration with a sigh and a smile.
“Ah, there you are!” quickly he moved the bodies of the dead around him in order to make some space, carefully inspecting each one for wounds as he did so.

He pulled out an ornate flask and a small hooded lantern with a gently burning candle from his bag. “Well Hensen, today’s your lucky day!” He turned to face the others around him, “Buuuuut..you!” he said, pointing a finger at one of the solders. “You’re quite a stiff looking fellow, but remarkably well preserved considering. You’ll do nicely.” With that, he began pouring out the contents of the flask in a circle around him. Taking special care not to splash Hensen as he did so. Once 3 full circles leading to and from Hensen had been made, he placed his lantern on the body he had noted.

Once he was sure those preparations were done correctly, he pulled a flute from his pack and began to play. The somber, eerie notes of the Taker’s song rang out soundly through the fields. And in a few moments time, seemed to be joined by voices unknown, keeping the tune. To the untrained ear, this chorus would appear to have no origin, but he knew better. And as the voices grew louder and louder with the song now rapid and thunderous in nature, he let the instrument loose from his lips and held his sword at the ready. Suddenly there, a spirit came, quick as a flash and gone again. And a moment later, a burning sensation. It made the first pass. Luckily, not fatal.

It came again a second time. Though now that he was expecting the attack, not fast enough. In an instant he turned and instinctively his blade had found a fatal resting place. With a horrified look, the spirit let out the word, “Taker…” and was gone in a blink. The body of the soldier it had once belonged to now drained entirely of what little color remained as he turned to face Hensen. “Right on que.” He said as the spirit of Hensen began to flutter in and out next to the body of the soldier. For a few minutes the voices continued to sing until eventually the song came to a quiet close. And with a start, The eyes of the soldier opened.

“Welcome back Sir Hensen of Regalia. We missed you.”

What’s yours is mine,
What’s mine is mine,
Peace of mind is hard to find,
So I will give it to you,
All so we can live.
No greater use am I,
Than so great a use as this.

But to some I am defined,
By that kind of trait,
And so many of them hide,
In such a loving place,
For it seems a heart so true and kind,
Is a rarer find these days,
But I like this heavy thing,
So I will hold the weight.

And every little sin,
Shall find a hold in me,
To you I welcome in,
Everything you’ve seen,
So sit beside and tell me now,
Of bitter life,
What’s got you down?

I will in time,
Take that too,
And leave behind,
Something new,
Peace of mind,
All for you,
And maybe I,
Will have some use.

For all the want of greater men,
To hold their power as a pen,
To open history and write within,
Their name forever until the end.

It is the work of simple folk,
Who find themselves truly woke,
By flames of passion fiercely stoked,
That see their names remembered.

So to that end then no surprise,
That for all great men to arise,
An air of humbleness in life,
Must always tame those truly wise.

For all great kings can walk with men,
Of lower standing and think them kin,
And speak of things unknown to them,
Whilst keeping crown well-centered.

There you are old friend, I haven’t seen you since...how long’s it been? Doesn’t matter. You’re here again. So why don’t you pull up a seat? Please, it’s like you never left. Emptiness on tap, I cry until I’m deaf.

You thought childhood was bad? Well this **** gets worse. See I’ve been around the block now and I know how this works. You can cry as loud as you want if no one sees the hurt. And you get front row seats, VIP, for everything it’s worth.

But I’ve heard that it’s nothing, a token joke at best. This life that we’re all loving, is nothing but a guess. So don’t tell me that I’m blessed or that I have the best and biggest heart. My life’s a work of art but the canvas fell apart.

Here’s a piece for them and you, but I hate to break the news. A pictures worth a thousand words but mine aren’t any use. Since the day you left my side without a muse, my life’s passed me by, and I’m back to what I knew.

The gift in pens,
fit to ascend,
mere mortals to the mantle of the heavens,
has left me in a state of haste...to die in place of a goodbye that was never said.

And I’d say it now,
but no one is around to hear,
that could appreciate the sound like you.
In truth, my memories speak “I’m sorries” soft enough to make angles weep at what will never be heard...and my final words to you will forever be said regretfully.

Respectfully yours,
A memory.

Take a look at my history and it’s easy to see why I’m afraid of just being a bottle of pills sat next to a diary on standby, in case talking isn’t enough this time.
It all starts with the words “Don’t tell anyone else...”

Well I’ve kept up my end of the bargain. I’ve kept your secrets for you, hell I even took them with me when you were gone, and I’ll take them to my grave for you. But don’t tell me you’ll hate me, or that you’ll leave or walk away, don’t tell anyone else, but you will anyway.

Friends come and go, but please take the things you own when you leave.

Break in case of emergency,
Emotional uncertainty,
Anxiety,
A struggle with sobriety,
A squabble with the family,
Or something no one else can see,
When you need a friend for listening,
Who else to them,
But quiet me?