LaCarte Family/Anulith

Death

Anulith LaCarte died in Unotosa during a battle with Arcaea on July 17, 2010 at the age of 55. These are his last moments.

Anulith LaCarte flexed his fingers trying to work the stiffness out of the thick leather of his gauntlets; well he would tell anyone who asked it was the gauntlets and not his aging, scarred hands. He remembered well so many years ago when he received the scars across his palm. One when he made the decision to follow The Way. The other when he and Pontifex Dormondt had become brothers. It was good that Dormondt had returned from his journeys. The two hadn’t gotten a chance to catch up as they once had, the situation at hand had never provided the opportunity. However, just knowing that Dormondt was alive and leading others to the truth eased his mind. He had searched for weeks after he first went missing but had no luck in finding him. Then, over the years he began getting word there had been sightings all over the island. Finally, confirmation came from Arcaea that Dormondt had indeed returned and would be visiting the Dark Isle. A burden had been lifted that day that Anulith had not even realized had become so heavy. Now, though, he faced a new burden. His breath misted heavily in the early morning fog that hung about the battlefield. The sun was still half an hour from being fully risen and fighting back the fogs that rolled off the ocean at night, engulfing Unotosa. Ah, Unotosa. He had called it home for many years, until just recently. His dear friend, Vite LaMorte had held the region when it was newly acquired. Vite had been killed during the wars with Sartania. Captured while doing reconnaissance and beheaded for it. The whole island didn’t threaten to march upon Sartania then if they didn’t cast out their Judge. No, the only island that cared about that death was the Dark Isle. He had his vengeance, however. His hands had dripped the blood of the Sartanian dogs and he had stood upon the walls of Niel and pissed upon their heads as they fled the city. He should have pissed acid for the wretches just moved south and started a new realm dedicated to their demon god. His focus returned to the battlefield as the Marshal yelled her orders. Archers to the front lines! Anulith and his men moved forward as one. All the recent training really had been paying off. Across the field, he could see the Arcaean troops forming lines and advancing. Archers, draw! The bowstring kissed his cheek as he raised the bow into position. Mindlessly he pushed forward on the thick Dark Isle wood until it felt as if it would snap or his arms would. Loose! A volley of arrows went sailing in a perfect arc towards the other side of the battlefield. As they landed, some found homes in the dirt but most found homes in the bodies of Arcaeans. The numbers were too great though. They had not yet lost enough to loose their nerve and turn tail. Draw! Another arrow nocked and rested against his cheek. Loose! Again the arrows flew toward their target, which was much closer, perhaps halfway across the field. The words were out of the Marshal’s mouth as soon as the last arrow had been loosed, Loose at will! Anulith didn’t wait as he knew his men weren’t either. There would be just enough time to loose one more arrow at point blank range before the Arcaeans reached them. Already, the Arcachonian infantry were moving through the lines of archers to meet their foes. Anulith loosed his last arrow at a particularly big Arcaean and didn’t even wait to see him fall before turning to his captain, Give the order to retreat to a better position. Lyonith’s Call disintegrated around him into very small pods of 3 or 4 which spread out for better vantage points. Anulith turned to retreat to a better position to finish watching the battle with the Marshal when something on the ground caught his eye. There, only thirty feet from the battle that waged, Anulith knelt to inspect what had caught his eye; he didn’t see the Arcaean break away from the main battle and start running toward him. He dug at the object in the ground, pushing as much dirt away as he could. The Arcaean closed the distance, now just 20 ft separating them. By the Adgharhin, it was here all along! This changes everything! The guttural growl of effort was the only warning he had before it all disappeared. He had touched it though. He knew it was there. Somehow that knowledge validated the recent years in some way. A fire began to spread through Anulith, as if he floated in a river of it. It was so intense yet so inviting. What had originally been brilliant white now faded to black with the most awesome geometric swirls or color. The texture of the object still fresh in his mind or was he still holding it? It became hard to remember. The warmth, oh gods the warmth. He felt himself being lifted and pulled. The geometric shapes came and faded and swirled faster and faster one seeming to lead to another without pause. His mind was becoming confused and foggy. Where was he? What were all these colors? What had he been doing? Suddenly all the spinning and whirling stopped but there was no sudden jerk like when a horse suddenly stops. No, it was very smooth, just as if he had never been moving in the first place. Instead it was reality around him that was moving. The vague outline of a figure appeared before him. WELCOME HOME, FAITHFUL SERVANT.