Thread: A Horse for Pestilence (Lord DreamCrusher/Iridel)

Morgan Sommers had always been fascinated by the microbial and the infectious. There wasn't any clear point when that fascination started, but it certainly was helped along by the gift of a microscope at the age of five. That fascination led to a love of biology, and later a college degree in microbiology, and Bachelor's of Science in Pharmaceutical Sciences. A love for her studies, and later her work, made for a sparse love life and no long term partners. But it was worth it. Her dedication and her knowledge landed her a position with the government working to counteract and create new forms of biological warfare. When offered the position she could see the gravity of the choice she was making. Her creations could be used to harm. To kill. And yet, at the same time it just might save her country. Protect the home of the people she loved. How she could say no that? Some days were certainly easier than others. Finding a cure, or a way to avoid infection or disease was always a high point. But she never reveled in the successes of their weapons or took pleasure in when they were used. Morgan turned a blind eye to it. Ignored the innocents that fell from diseases crafted by her and the others, and continued working. It felt fitting then that disease is what did her in. Cancer provided a slow end to her life, consuming her and pulling her away from her work in those final days. Nothing that was done could help, and she accepted it as punishment for the things she'd done. Morgan was 32 when the time of death came. She woke up to a brilliant light. Her body was the way it had been in her prime, no longer ravaged by disease and chemotherapy. But her soul was not clean. Dark marks on her legs looked like pox marks, staining her and damning her for the work she did. The people she helped to kill. And as if to confirm that's what it was, a voice spoke up. Your work and your life has led to much good and saved many lives. But the harm and the evil you have done cannot be ignored. Your soul is blackened by the plagues you created and cannot enter into heaven. Morgan opened her mouth to protest, but instead found herself falling only to land on hard earth. The air around her was stiflingly hot, and the other souls nearby bore the black stains of their sin just as she did. Her chest ached from guilt, and she couldn't help reliving all the news she'd heard about her work. About how many people had fallen to things she'd helped create. Perhaps she did deserve to be here. To stay in Purgatory and suffer. Her thoughts were interrupted by an imp calling out the arrival of Pestilence, Spreader of Disease and rider of the white horse. Only, what the figure was leading was no horse. It was a soul whose sins had coalesced into a black mark on their flank like a brand. With the things they wore they looked like a mockery of a horse, and they showed clear obedience to the being. Morgan and those around her watched as the horse was set free and relieved of its duty before being led away by imps who promised it a special home with all the others who had served. That show seemed to draw attention, and souls who had clearly been here longer judging by their scars and injuries began adding to the crowd. Voices called out from all sides to be chosen. Each and every one of them trying to gain the attention of the rider. Some used the commotion to quietly slip away and avoid being chosen at all. Morgan tried to follow and leave, but the eager souls pressed in around her, pushed her closer and prevented her escape. Jostled and shoved she got turned around and escaped the crowd only to stumble and land at the being's feet. Looking up she felt fear freeze her in place. She didn't want to be chosen to play mount for this thing. She just wanted to find a way to correct the mistake that had been made. Or to at least atone for the evil she created. But she couldn't do that if she continued to help spread it. Last edited Sep 5, 2018