Paragon
01-17-11, 02:32 PM
((OOC: Solo.))
This is not what I wanted...
Despite being in a thick forest covered in snow, I felt like I was on fire. Small streams of the setting sun gave me what little light I had. The stench of blood and iron was hanging in the air, and I could smell it with every deep breath I took. These woods seemed unreal to me. No birds chirping, no animals frolicking about, not even any insects crawling along the ground. Despite its trees, bushes, shrubs, this was not a forest; It was a battlefield. I sat slumped against the trunk of a tree, staring at another in a similar position across from me.
However, he was dead. With a spear wound through his heart, he sat with lifeless eyes staring into the abyss. I did not want to kill him, but things don't always turn out the way you want them to.
We were engaging a Sway regiment in this forest, opting to try to rout them to take control of the forest. I was part of the militia: The members of the main army that were recruited from towns and villages around the country. The people whose histories were unknown, whose loyalties were not to any specific lord or baron. We were large in number, almost entirely unarmored and carrying only the most rudimentary weapons, and most of the people I was with had never seen a real battle in their lives. They sent us in into the very front lines. Alone, blind, and without any help from the main army, we could only wander around the forest. Our formations grew weaker and our groups became more and more separate, until finally I was by myself. The forest's density was incredible. The trees were growing so close together that their roots stuck out and pressed against each other.
That's when I was attacked. He came out of nowhere, and I readied my father's spear to strike him. I was well trained, and felt that I could aim my blow to avoid his vitals and still incapacitate him. Yet, the spear had a different plan of action. Was it my own hesitation? Did I not have it in me to kill another human being? I could not thrust my spear, but I felt that it was thrust for me. The spear adhered to my survival instincts, and sought to protect me. In the end, I saw up close the lights in his eyes disappear. I pulled the spear out, and here I am now.
I have not moved since. I tried to get up once or twice but a severe wave of nausea swept over me and sent me back against the tree. I haven't felt this sick since the first time father took me hunting. No, this was much worse. A human and a beast could not compare. I am not so petty as to blame my spear alone, in any case. My father always taught me that the weapon never made the man. It was an old spear, crafted long before I was born. While others could not see it, I knew that it was much more because it was created by my father.
After all, the things he made... were legendary.
This is not what I wanted...
Despite being in a thick forest covered in snow, I felt like I was on fire. Small streams of the setting sun gave me what little light I had. The stench of blood and iron was hanging in the air, and I could smell it with every deep breath I took. These woods seemed unreal to me. No birds chirping, no animals frolicking about, not even any insects crawling along the ground. Despite its trees, bushes, shrubs, this was not a forest; It was a battlefield. I sat slumped against the trunk of a tree, staring at another in a similar position across from me.
However, he was dead. With a spear wound through his heart, he sat with lifeless eyes staring into the abyss. I did not want to kill him, but things don't always turn out the way you want them to.
We were engaging a Sway regiment in this forest, opting to try to rout them to take control of the forest. I was part of the militia: The members of the main army that were recruited from towns and villages around the country. The people whose histories were unknown, whose loyalties were not to any specific lord or baron. We were large in number, almost entirely unarmored and carrying only the most rudimentary weapons, and most of the people I was with had never seen a real battle in their lives. They sent us in into the very front lines. Alone, blind, and without any help from the main army, we could only wander around the forest. Our formations grew weaker and our groups became more and more separate, until finally I was by myself. The forest's density was incredible. The trees were growing so close together that their roots stuck out and pressed against each other.
That's when I was attacked. He came out of nowhere, and I readied my father's spear to strike him. I was well trained, and felt that I could aim my blow to avoid his vitals and still incapacitate him. Yet, the spear had a different plan of action. Was it my own hesitation? Did I not have it in me to kill another human being? I could not thrust my spear, but I felt that it was thrust for me. The spear adhered to my survival instincts, and sought to protect me. In the end, I saw up close the lights in his eyes disappear. I pulled the spear out, and here I am now.
I have not moved since. I tried to get up once or twice but a severe wave of nausea swept over me and sent me back against the tree. I haven't felt this sick since the first time father took me hunting. No, this was much worse. A human and a beast could not compare. I am not so petty as to blame my spear alone, in any case. My father always taught me that the weapon never made the man. It was an old spear, crafted long before I was born. While others could not see it, I knew that it was much more because it was created by my father.
After all, the things he made... were legendary.