direct any critisism or praise this way
..........................................................
When I was a child I thought of battles and war as glorious things,
where men fought and died honourably, with great courage
and sacrifice against an evil enemy. The usual stuff that kids
are brought up to believe through song and story.
Maybe that's why I always wanted to be in the army: to be a good man.
Today I stand with a thousand souls, as ready as I can be to take
as many lives before my own is taken. Typical of the bastard to put
us paupers on the front lines, should never have expected anything
better than being expendable.
The first of the pawns onto his majesty's chessboard of carnage.
The pipers are playing, and the emmisaries have already returned
to each side with the decision to proceed.
Behind us are a group of archers, behind them are the pikemen,
and behind the pikemen the cavalry. Cowards.
All we have is a short sword, a small wooden shield and our fighting spirit.
We'll be lucky to last two minutes.
But one thing is for sure, every man in these ranks will fight
for his life today, and likely lose it.
The order is given to march.
The mantra of leather and steel shuffling through the foggy dew.
The footsteps and heartbeats in unison.
I'm nervous, this is my first battle.
I can feel sweat on my brow and down my back. Yet I feel
comforted in some way, knowing I'll die on Irish soil with my Irish brothers.
The pipers have fallen back to play to the pikemen and archers.
The archers take aim.
The celtic warpaint hides the fear on my face.
I can see the enemy clearly now, they can see me.
We are running now.
Someone shouts to stick close to each other.
All at once we raise our battle cries and steel to the heavens,
as a salvo of arrows streaks across the grey morning and into the enemy ranks.
I see men falling and getting trampled upon. The arrows that
didn't kill them felled them under the feet of their comrades.
The battle cries are deafening, they are closer now.
We slow to a trot as the two merge, they come thick and fast.
The battle, the glorious fight of good versus evil is here
and it is neither good nor glorious, it is bloody and terrible.
Left and right we are falling to our deaths under the enemy's
steel and arrow shafts, it is inevitable.
My arms are growing tired and I feel weak, the mud and the
blood of the slain is slowing us all down.
I am close to giving up.
I am struck down.
My last thoughts are drowned with pain.
I lie in the mud with my fallen brethren,
looking past the battle towards the heavens
through the fog of death.
** thanks to cloud for the input**
