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Xtra Stuff Members Stories Battle
Xtra Stuff Members Stories Battle
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| Members Stories - Members Stories | |
| Saturday, 19 April 2008 13:02 | |
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{jcomments on}Silent figures standing shoulder to shoulder, the only sound the clink of armor as restless feet shuffle on the hard compacted dirt. Hearts race, the air thick with the smell of fear, nervous men holding tightly to each passing moment as if were there last, but yearning for an end to the waiting. They watch the approaching army appear from the swirling clouds of dust in the valley below.
Palms slick with sweat, hands shaking as they nervously shift their grip on sword and axe. Nostrils flare, sucking in lungfuls of warm dry air though parched mouths, licking cracked lips, parched by the burning sun overhead. Hundreds stand waiting, each alone in a sea of men. Some look eagerly at the foe arranged before them, anger and rage burning deep in their bellies, the lust for battle glowing in their eyes. But most fight the terror that threatens to overwhelm them, legs shaking, they hold onto the last thin strand of courage that remains. Some stand unmoving, eyes closed as they think of loved ones or pray to the gods above. Each hopes they will not be amongst the fallen when the sun sets over the battlefield. A trumpet sounds behind them, signaling the advance; slowly the line takes the first step towards it fate, each foot fall accompanied by the clash of armour and weapons. Down the slope they move, wide eyed, closer and closer towards the wall of shields and steel arrayed below them, the sun glimmering off the deadly spears that wait eagerly for their arrival, the tempered blades calling to them softly. The trumpet sounds twice; the men start to jog forward, the perfect symmetry of the line lost as those thirsting for glory, eyes burning with blood lust out pace those gripped by the hand of fear. A roar erupts from the enemy ranks, drawing the attackers on, the clash of arms against shields deafening the advancing men, their own challenges drown by the cacophony of noise, the hills echo with the beat of metal on wooden shields. Three blasts from the trumpet and the warriors break into a run, yells of pent-up anger and fear bellowing forth. The charging mass pour down slope covering the last hundred paces in a heart beat. With an earth splitting crash, the weight of men and steel smash into the packed ranks, roars of rage are replace by the screams of dying men. The attacker’s bodies torn by the bristling spears and slashed by razor sharp swords fall to the dirt, the first rank are ripped to shreds, the men at the rear driving those at the front forward relentlessly. The enemy’s front rank, crushed by the force and weight of the attack, their bodies crushed under foot. Men hack and stab at each over, limps sliced from torso’s fly through the air, severed heads falling to the ground, staring up aimlessly at the bodies they had occupied seconds before. The headless corpses held upright by the press of warring men. The air filled with the stench of sweat and fear, the ground thick with the blood of the dead and injured, red mud clawing at slipping feet, pulling down at tired legs. Desperation grips them all, as each man fights for survival in the heaving riot of battle. Ears deafened by clash of steel on steel and the agonizing screams of the wounded, vision blurred by sweat and blood, men gasping for air in the confines of the slaughter. The sun creeps across an unseen sky, the light slowly fading, weary arms swinging blunt swords, broken spears batter at dented armour. The battle draws to an end as exhausted troops retreat from the conflict, small groups appear as the dead begin to outnumber the living, darkness falls and the sound of battle begins to fade. Worn and beaten men stagger to empty camps, falling to the ground, their minds and bodies numb. Falling into an exhausted slumber they don’t hear the cries of the dying or spare a though for the dead, they have seen the end of the battle, but nothing matters just the oblivion of slumber, as each falls into a deep weary sleep, motionless as the corpses that scatter the relinquished battlefield.
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| Last Updated ( Saturday, 05 July 2008 11:10 ) | |
