Coming in for the Kill - [Solo/History]

[Aryr de Morte]

Aryr stood before the Temple priests as they announced who would become a soldier of the House Morte Royal Guard and who would be shamed in their failure. His father sat in the seat of the High Priest, his position and watched over the canidates. The priest next to him was reading from a battered piece of parchment that looked as though it had been to the Infinity and back. Aryr wanted to serve his House and bring honor and glory to his father's name. He was the twenty-fifth of the bloodline and as such would one day inherit the temple unless he disgraced his name.

"...Nai'dag Valsu, welcome. Soa J'nu, welcome."

J'nu... what a filthy mutt. His father is that traitorous bastard... Aryr held himself back from looking in disgust at the man.

"Aryr de Morte, welcome. The rest of you have shamed your names, you will continue your training until the next year."

Being accepted brought a great sense of pride into Aryr and undoubtedly into the other recruits as well. He was now part of the Royal Guard. The most elite fighting force in all of House Morte, no, the most elite fighting force in all of Eulaea. The Commander of the Royal Guard was busy fighting and could not make it to the ceremony. Aryr had hoped to meet him in person instead of having his envoy there to oversee the happenings. The shamed warriors sulked off with Captain Freyd, their trainer while the ten accepted soldiers stood silently.

"You ten are to become a part of the House Morte Royal Guard, this is the greatest honor one could receive," Aryr's father rose as he spoke to the soldiers, "you will bring victory and more importantly glory to the name of House Morte!"

Ten servants hustled in, each with a purple garment, the gold and perfectly round shield of the Royal Guardsmen, and a longspear. Each servant set their pile down in front of a recruit and went scurrying out of the room.

"In front of you is the cape, shield, and weapon of a Guardsman. You will wear your cape with honor, wield your shield with valor, and strike the enemy down with your weapon!" The High Priest's words shook the very foundation they were atop, it seemed.

From in back of them, heavy and commanding footsteps came. Aryr was tempted to look back, he had hoped it was the Commander but his training taught him to never look, breath, eat, or fight unless commanded to by a superior. The footsteps were baring down on the recruits, Aryr could hardly hold back the anticipation of seeing who was behind him. Suddenly the steps stopped in back of one of the men, Aryr could see out of the corner of his eye that the recruit had looked back to see who was coming. What happened next was a bit unclear to Aryr but it was something along the lines of the recruit being hit and falling down. The man walked over the fallen soldier and looked cooly and looked as though he were pondering the fresh meat that was the warriors in front of him.

"You should know better than to ever look back, what would that do to you in battle?" The man was tall, almost six and a half feet from the looks of it, and his muscles were large and developed, moreso than Aryr's own muscles. In short, the man had a commanding presence, "I am Captain Nataq, I will be taking you to meet the Commander and I will direct you in the field of battle. You will live if you do what I say, if not, then you will meet your end. If you don't have any questions, pick up your garment, shield and spear and put the cape on."

Aryr quickly bent over and pulled the toga-like cape over his head. The purple fabric was warm on his skin like it had been sitting in the sun for hours on end. There was more to the cape than he had thought at first, in front there was a leather strap that could be tightened across his chest to keep it on. The same leather strap that tightened it also had an apparatus to hook the shield's handle to so that it didn't have to be carried all the time. He picked up the shield in his left hand and carefully put his arm through the strap that would support it on his forearm and grabbed the handle. There were two small loops, which Aryr assumed were to hold the spear it so that one could carry something with the other hand. Aryr was unique in the fact that he was the only left-handed warrior ever to be in the Royal Guard. Every other left-handed warrior had been turned away and sent to the regular House Morte Forces.

Aryr was the second one to be ready to move, second to Soa J'nu. Soa disgusted Aryr to the utmost degree. His father was one of the rogue priests from the Temple of Infinity that created a House. House J'nu was the best contender against House Morte. Although Aryr respected Soa as a warrior, he didn't think him a friend.

At least he was honorable enough to stay loyal to the High Priest. Aryr looked around at the rest of them. These would be the men he would fight beside in battle, eat with, and eventually die with. It would be best to make friends with them, it was important to have a working relationship with each and every one no matter who his father was. Aryr decided he would talk to Soa for the first time ever at this exact moment; there was no better time than now.

"Soa, will you walk beside me?" Aryr looked at man. He was strikingly handsome and had short, brown hair and a cleanly shaven face.

"Yes, of course." Soa looked briefly at Aryr and then turned towards the long corridor that led outside the Temple. Captain Nataq had already gone outside and waited for the recruits to follow him. The two began to walk and upon seeing this, the others began to follow.

"One last word, soldiers," the High Priest, Aryr de Morte the XXIV walked slowly down the marble steps in front of his seat, "I want to wish you all the best of luck, come, kiss my ring."

All of the warriors turned and walked toward the older man. All in succesion they kneeled and kissed his ring, the High Priest whispering something in each man's ear. Finally Aryr came to his father, being the last in line, he kneeled, kissed the ring, and rose to look at his father.

The High Priest cupped his son's head with his right hand and whispered into his ear, "Bring great honor to our name and House, my son. Go with the blessings of the Temple."

The ten bowed to the High Priest and turned to walk to their Captain. Listening to his light footsteps on the marble floor reminded Aryr of how much he would miss the Temple. He walked side-by-side with Soa as they came out into the open, seeing only Captain Nataq standing on the patio-like foyer, looking directly at them.

[Aryr de Morte]

"Welcome to your first time outside the Temple as real soldiers!" Captain Nataq's slightly ugly face quivered as he spoke, "I'll be taking you to the battlefield. You'll get your first taste of House J'nu there. First, let's begin with introductions." The captain turned to the man furthest down the line on his left. "You there, what's your name?"

The soldier being addressed was tall, a couple inches above Aryr. Had deeply tan skin, he had been the son of a farmer before his eyes changed and always retained a golden tan that looked rather pleasant. His hair was very long, almost down to his thighs. The man spoke loudly, "Captain Nataq, my name is Nai'dag Valsu!"

"And you?" The captain turned to the next man down the line.

This one was a smaller man, he used a sword instead of a spear. Despite his size, he was a fierce fighter and had rarely lost in the training ring. Showing great potential despite his size. He was completely bald and had a commanding presence despite his lack of height. He stated simply, "I am Vot Durass, captain."

"What about you?" Captain Nataq turned to Soa, "What's your name?"

Soa's short, crisp hair and striking features made him stand out among the women but his fierceness during a battle was unparalled except by Vot's. He spoke, almost nervously, "Captain, my name is Soa J'nu."

"Is it now..? Very well. What is your name?" The commanding officer looked directly at Aryr.

Aryr stood out from the rest of the men. Holding his shield with his right arm rather than his left, as he was left-handed. In addtion to that he was the only one of this group of ten who had black hair and a small ring through his lip piercing. Aryr stood nearly a half a foot below Captain Nataq. Calmly Aryr spoke, "I am Aryr--"

"de Morte the twenty-fourth, of course." The captain went down the rest of the other men, the six others stated their names with enthusiasm.

Captain Nataq repeated himself over and over, "What's your name?"

Ohaju Bryt... the only brown-skinned man I've ever seen. He stands as tall as me and has extremely short, black hair and black eyes as the rest of the warriors here.

"What's your name?"

Of course, Luja Dajin, he looks like Soa with an uglier face.

Down the row of men the captain went, asking each and every one their name. Aryr wondered if he would even remember all of them.

Yow Kratox... G'dra Soleu... Ajaz...

"You will find that I can be a kind man, but I will warn you now, there is no retreat unless you hear me speak the words, if I tell you to die you will die, and if you go against my will there will be punishment, do you understand?" Although he didn't have to ask, the captain inquired anyways.

"Aye."
"Yes."
"Of course."

The mixture of voices passed over Aryr's ears. He simply nodded and kept his eyes on Captain Nataq, admiring the ferocity in his eyes and the menace his height would bring to the battlefield.

Captain Nataq turned around quickly and surveyed the people below, "You see them, those citizens? We fight for them, glory, and of course for the Temple. You never fight to stay alive, you never fight for love, and you never fight out of envy." With that said, Captain Nataq turned around and beckoned the fighters to follow him. The warrior strode quickly down the street towards the city gates. There were various shops being browsed and many festival-like activities as usual but as the soldiers walked by in back on their captain, the citizens stood at attention and saluted them. They would bring great honor and glory to House Morte.

The large man led his squad of Guardsmen through the streets to the gate. There was a sign above the gate that said Nu'eur la de Morte: Uy te Serche Liat.

Aryr let out a smile at the sign; Glory in your Death: The City Wishes you Well... I'm sure they do... I'll miss the Temple, and this town.

Aryr stopped the second Captain Nataq held up his hand for them to do so. They laid their eyes upon what was nearly the ugliest carriage Aryr had ever seen, "This is our transport to the front, lads. As you can see, it is nothing fancy, nor do we need anything of the like."

As they boarded the wagon, Aryr's childhood love, Nacidia, ran almost as fast as she could to him and embraced him like never before, "I hope I see you again some day, Aryr. Please come back, I would not marry another man." Aryr returned her hug in kind without saying a word. There was no room for words, and they were not necessary. He could easily die on the battlefield like anyone else, no point in making useless promises.

The men boarded the wagon and the driver was off. They were sitting on hard, wooden bench-like seats. Aryr looked at the city walls as they were riding away; Goodbye Satula Morte, my dear city.

[Aryr de Morte]

After nearly two days of traveling in that heat ridden carriage Aryr thought he would have rather walked the entire distance. It was not a Guardsman's place to complain no matter what the circumstances. All that mattered was serving the Temple and House Morte. There was the faint sound of battle, it wasn't far. Would they get into the fray that quickly? Aryr hoped so, he wanted to test his prowess in battle against the J'nu. Facing Guerdu forces would be nothing compared to the ferocity of House J'nu forces. When they finally stepped out of the wagon Aryr was glad to have the fresh, crisp air and gave out a stretch.

"Listen men, I'm bringing you to the Commander and then we're probably off to battle. If not, I don't know what else the Commander may have in store for us. Be prepared." Captain Nataq led them for about a mile to a small and weathered looking tent.

The Commander stays in this? It's worse than the rest of these tents...

"At attention!" Captain Nataq had them in two rows of five with himself standing on the left side of the soldiers. Each and every soldier immediately shoved their spear into the ground, holding it as perfectly vertical as they could, their shields glimmered invitingly in the high noon sun.

The man that walked out of the tent was a disappointing sight. His face was bloodied from battle, purple cape was torn from the swords of House J'nu coming at him. He was a bit taller than Aryr, but not by much. Aryr had heard rumors that the Commander was a cruel but extremely intelligent and cunning man. He had won countless battles but lost a few key ones. You could win all the small battles and none of the large. True success was choosing what battles to save your strength for, that was neither here nor there. All that mattered was serving and obliterating the enemy at any cost.

"At ease, I'm sick of people standing at attention, you know better Nataq." The man walked up to the soldiers who were now only slightly more loose in their stances, "You there," the Commander pointed at Aryr, "You're the son of the High Priest?"

"Yes Commander." Aryr replied in the monotonous tone he was trying so hard to avoid, speaking with passion was what pleased superior officers but he couldn't make himself do it, Aryr was sick of being singled out as unique or needing special treatment because of his father's position in the Temple hierarchy. He was also sick of being viewed as the priestly type. After all, his eyes turned black, he was trained and accepted as a warrior of the Royal Guard. The handsome soldier resented people treating him as though he were so different from the other soldiers standing by his side right now.

"Good, glad to have you honoring your name. In the past, sons of priests have diverted from their jobs. That goes for the rest of you, there is great honor in what you're doing. You will serve well if you listen to the beloved Nataq." The Commander walked back and forth briefly, "Captain, bring these men to the front and get them into the fray, there is no need to waste time."


~*~

The battle cries grew louder and louder as the ten Royal Guardsmen arrived closer to the front. Most of the soldiers that were fighting weren't even part of the Royal Guard, only part of the House Morte Specters. They Specters made up the bulk of the House Morte military and were commanded by the same man who commanded the Royal Guard. Only the High Priest himself knew the name of the Commander and anyone who asked was executed. The Commander could offer his name but this one chose not to.

The battle was at hand though. Such thoughts weren't to be thought during such a time. They were nearly at the front, lightly jogging now. Aryr could see the crimson capes of the House J'nu soldiers coming ever closer. Running through the hordes of purple capes made Aryr sick with anticipation, there would be nothing like impaling House J'nu warriors.

Suddenly the thoughts rushed into Aryr's head;
What if I die?
My father...
Satula Morte, my home.
What will Nacidia do without me?!

Aryr shook the thoughts away, they were but forty or so paces away from the battle, the sounds grew loud, drowning out the last of Aryr's thoughts. All that mattered was the battle, glory, and honor.

Holding his shield and spear with a tightness like never before Aryr crashed into a J'nu soldier who wasn't aware the Royal Guards had entered the battle. The man fell to the ground and looked up in fear at Aryr.

"No mercy, brother." Aryr stabbed him harshly with his spear and quickly removed it to move on the next victim. His blood was boiling with the excitement of his first kill, it had been so easy to take life. Would it be as easy to take the next?

The second was standing, ready for him this time. Aryr charged at the man in his fury, matching the J'nu ferocity and then increasing it tenfold. The man held up his rectangular shield to block any spear attacks. That was no trouble for Aryr to get past, he simply bashed into the man with his own shield and pushed as hard as he could, the man was blown off his feet. After landing on the ground he shortly had a spear end in his chest.

The slaughter continued...


~*~

It was well past sunset when the festivities began at the tents. The men had laid down their shields and began drinking the best mead they could find. The few women who served as archers in the House Morte fighting forces took part in the celebrations.

Large fires, good ale, plenty of warriors to spend the evening with. This would be a pleasant night.

"Victory!"

Every soldier within earshot gave out cries of joy and their chests swelled with pride.

[Aryr de Morte]

The night had gone too fast. The festivities were now over and Aryr missed them the second he woke up. A splitting headache greeted him as he sat up, too much booze was the cause. The Guardsman hoped that it wouldn't keep him from doing anything he was asked to. A battle at this point could be crippling to the House Morte forces. Aryr stepped out of his tent to find that the sun was shining brightly directly in his eyes, making his head throb even more. After squinting for roughly thirty seconds he could open his eyes without his head feeling like it would explode. There were irritating sounds going on. The soldiers were packing up their tents and belongings to get ready to head out.

Shit, where are we moving to?

Aryr could see a Guardsman approaching out of the corner of his eye, he slowly turned, caressing his forehead with his left hand in the process.

"Aryr?" The man bent down to see his face, "You look terrible. How much did you drink? I'm supposed to tell you that we're packing up and heading to the Gha desert to combat the Guerdu forces."

"Yeah? All right," the handsome fighter looked around, "I can see that they've been up for a while. I drank too much for my own good. See you around, Nai'dag."

"Yeah, see you." The Guardsman made his exit with a nod.

Marching to the Gha desert... That wasn't a pleasant thought, the barren wasteland was hotter than anywhere Aryr had ever been, or so he heard. Men could sweat endlessly in the middle of the night there. Fighting in the Gha desert would be hellish. The House Guerdu forces were an insane bunch, and reckless too. They would be easy to defeat despite their intensity on the battlefield. Their tacticians weren't so good at being tactical. They always preferred trying to win by outnumbering the enemy although it was becoming harder and harder with their commanders losing battle after battle.

Aryr decided to walk about the camp a little bit before he packed up his belongings. Perhaps he could cure his headache a bit before attempting such a feat. Everyone looked at him with a slight expression of respect on their faces. He wasn't quite sure why but even other Guardsmen were doing it as well. Perhaps it was his ferocity in yesterday's encounter with the J'nu forces. Aryr wasn't quite sure how many he had slain in his bloody high. He was just passing the Commander's tent when he heard...

"...de Morte killed thirty-one yesterday," the voice he thought was the Commander paused a moment, "it was vicious. He's a good asset."

"Aye, Commander. He's proved to be a good tactician so far as well. He showed great promise in the academy." The voice of Captain Nataq rang out of the tent.

The Commander, Aryr assumed, sighed softly, "What is his background other than the fact that he's the son of the High Priest?"

"Well, after his eyes turned black..."

Aryr began listening more intently. He knew the story well, as he had lived it. He went to the training grounds where everyone who had their newly changed black eyes went. The training was rough, breaking the rules, not being good enough, lacking strength, lacking intelligence; all these were followed by a good beating. Aryr had received his share at the training grounds. After becoming flawless in his duties, Aryr was moved to the academy where tactics were taught to those trainees who showed higher intelligence so that they may one day become a commander. There, he had learned the tricks and techniques how to trap, confuse, and outwit enemy commanders, using the terrain the best it could be used. Time and time again he had been beaten for having an unworthy idea or plan that the instructors deemed as unproductive or counterproductive to the House Morte cause...

"...Aryr?!" The brute of a Guardsman had been saying his name for quite some time apparently, as he was getting impatient.

"Oh, yeah... what is it, Ajaz?" Aryr looked around to make sure nobody was watching him sit apparently doing nothing outside the Commander's tent.

"Hurry up and pack your things, we leave in three motions of the sun. Your speed is accepted." Ajaz walked off quickly after saying what needed to be said.

My speed is accepted? What is that supposed to mean?

Ajaz was a bit of an idiot at times, using the wrong word. Aryr made way back to his tent, after arriving, he went in and retrieved his smaller items. The shield, spear, and rations he was given. He took the small wooden rods out of the tent's fabric, making it fall limply to the ground. The Eulaean carefully rolled up the heavy cloth into a wooden cylinder that was meant to be easily transportable. It wasn't so easy though, they had been roughly carved and one often got splinters from picking it up which could be fatal in battle. After he got the tent to fit nicely into his splintery wood, Aryr looked up to see the Commander approaching. He stood straight up, at attention.

"Stop that," the Commander sighed slightly, "I hate it when people come to attention for me. We're all warriors here, after all."

"Indeed, what words do you grace me with?" Aryr relaxed now, still slightly uncomfortable in the Commander's presence.

"Grace you with? None. I have a proposition for you," the worn soldier looked around a bit, "how would you like to lead a troop into the next battle? Y'know, test out your skills a bit."

"Against House Guerdu?" Aryr's eyes lit up in delight.

"Indeed, in the deserts of Gha, I think they're stationed in a canyon, it will take some work to lure them out." The Commander's stoic expression changed to amusement.

"I'd be honored" Aryr bowed.

"Very well, we set out in two motions of the sun." The Commander made his leave.

The desert would mean nothing, canyon or not. Aryr would lead his soon-to-be troop to a glorious and bloody victory.

"Your sloth is accepted"
This was an intentional malapropism (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malapropism).

[Aryr de Morte]

After five days of marching, the House Morte forces arrive at the edge of the Gha desert.

The march had been long, boring, and uneventful. Aryr hadn't even needed to take out his tent because the closer they got to the Gha desert the hotter it got. It was hot enough to make the soldiers sweat without doing a single motion. Marching didn't help the condition much, so far it was miserable. The sun was shining brightly down on the men, making their golden shields glint slightly when they shifted their shoulders in discomfort. As they neared the hot, white sands of the desert the wind picked up considerably. Aryr had heard that the winds of the desert were vicious and could cause sandstorms that tore men apart. He hoped that was an exaggeration, so far though everything seemed to be true to the myths.

"Halt!" A voice came from the left of Aryr, it wasn't a House Morte voice either, it had a strange accent. The Commander turned his steed to face the mysterious speaker. Aryr glanced over, the man was weathered from what he assumed was the desert winds. He had the yellow garment of House Guerdu on, an enemy.

"Who are you to tell me to halt, Guerdu?" The Commander stepped off of his horse.

"I patrol the border near here on behalf of the House Guerdu Destroyers." The man seemed to be alone with only shield and sword in hand, there was nothing he could possibly do against the entire House Morte Royal Guard with the backing of the normal House Morte forces, even if they had an ambush force somehow magically hidden. The soldier shifted uncomfortably in his boots.

"Do you now? What do you say I'll let you live if you bring the message to your commander that House Morte is coming and we mean to fight." The Commander threw a big smirk on his face. The soldier pondered for a moment, "You may even use my steed as a token of my honesty."

"V... very well. We shall meet on the battlefield I suspect." The man ran to the horse and rode off as fast as he could.

The Commander turned around and laughed, everyone followed suit. Everyone except Aryr; That was foolish, they won't become fearful, they'll get ready and be aching to battle us now...

Regardless, the House Morte forces, good as they were, could be a bit too cocky at times. Aryr looked back at his newly formed unit, consisting of the ten Royal Guards he graduated with. The serious tone on his face hushed them quickly, they would be foolish not to listen to their new leader's commands, verbal or otherwise. The new unit under Aryr's command was what he hoped was the most elite one in the entire House Morte invasion force. They were, after all, ten of the most vicious, brutal, and skilled warriors. There would be nothing that could stop them.

They marched.

The deserts were hotter every step they took. It seemed that they would never reach this canyon that was spoken of before they died from dehydration. Step after step, each one became more difficult than the last; This will change once we're on the eve of battle. We'll become re-energized and ready to crush the House Guerdu forces. The eve of battle. The most precious of moment's in a soldier's life. It was a time for him to say his parting words to comrades, commanders, and most importantly, himself.

After nearly three hours of hot, gross, and tiring marching the Commander made the dearest announcement he could possibly make, "Men, the canyon is about two miles away."

There were cheers throughout the entire army as the word spread. The battle would be upon them soon enough. They would draw the Guerdu forces out during the night. Arrows would rain down on them, the House Morte archers were all women, and they had graceful and quick hands, ideal for reloading arrows and aiming quickly. The men had brute strength, something honored amongst House Morte, and they made the best of soldiers. The House Morte forces would set up camp until nightfall. Then, there would be blood.


~*~

It had gotten considerably cooler outside of Aryr's tattered tent. This of course was a good thing, an event they could quickly change for the Guerdu forces. Aryr didn't know much about magic but he did know that the mage who came along with them could simply snap his fingers and have the ends of the arrows the House Morte arrows start on fire. This would start the Guerdu tents on fire and draw them out of the canyon. That's where they would meet the House Morte army. They would be crushed with an ironclad fist.

There was nothing they could possibly do to stop the conquest of House Morte and the Temple of Infinity's glorious campaign across Eulaea. They would carve their way through, into the history books of every Eulaea scholar and teacher. Man and woman would hear the name Aryr de Morte the XXV and shudder at the thought of crossing him. Not yet, however, there were more pressing matters at hand. Getting to that point would get harder as they came closer to the J'nu and Guerdu capitols.

Aryr had come up with the plan of shooting fire arrows into the canyon in hopes of starting fires in the Guerdu tents. Hopefully the flames would spread, injuring some in the process, killing, and of course the ultimate goal was to get them into the open desert where they would be overcome and surrounded by House Morte with no way out.

The eve of battle.

[Aryr de Morte]

The forces of House Morte stood ready. Their blood boiled like the tar pits of Alzatar. The battle was breathing down their necks and along with it came death. Stepping further and further into insanity and bloodthirstiness was the way battles this grand were won, and every soldier was doing so. Only the commanders needed to be calm, cool, and collected, so Aryr was. The nine men behind him were the finest soldiers in this entire army, the elite; they rivaled even the most feared J’nu Destroyer Squads. The archers behind them were set, he could feel their breathing, their calmness - even at the front of the massive House Morte army. Feet shuffled in anticipation, Aryr however kept still and watched the canyon intently. They were half a mile away, surrounding the entrance that was only half that distance. Still, the House Guerdu didn’t see them, couldn’t prepare for what was to come.

“Archers! Ready your bows!” The bow captains shouted their commands down the line, the archers pulling their arrows from the quivers and strung them carefully, fingering the feathers as the waited to shoot.

“Archers, ready!” The archers pulled their strings back, the fine sounds multiplied by the silence of the infantry. Suddenly, the arrow tips burst into flame; forging a light that was so bright even the stars seemed dimmer than before. The mage was indeed powerful.

“Archers, fire!” The arrows were let loose suddenly, the sky blotted out by the orange hue of the flame.

It was only ten minutes before the first wave of the soldiers came running out from the canyon, even from half a mile away Aryr could hear the blazing tents. The soldiers that came out first halted the second they saw the entire House Morte army at their doorstep, ready to fight in the cool night’s breeze. The moon was full and their blood boiling. Aryr felt like a lycanthrope ready to turn, only his lust was to kill the enemies of his honorable House. Wave after wave came through, the armies of Guerdu assembling to face the superior opponent. At last the commander of the Guerdu forces came riding out to meet the House Morte commanders and Aryr was one of them. He ran after the rest of the commanders who were on horseback, struggling to keep up. The lone Guerdu commander stepped off his steed, as did all the men standing between these two armies. It was custom to let the horses free, they did so. The Commander of House Morte addressed the opponent first.

“Good day to fight, not too hot. For us anyways.” A smirk arose on his face.

Sarcasm, why does he insist?

“Aye, a good night for a grand battle.” The other commander mocked, hoping to get a reaction out of the House Morte commanders. They all smirked except Aryr. This was no laughing matter; their blood would be spilled. Where was their honor?

“May the better army be honored among their ranks.”

“Aye, we look forward to doing battle, you tactics are well received, House Morte.”

With that, the leaders all ran back to their respective armies, readying themselves to battle the other. Aryr decided it would be necessary only for their first battle together to make a speech to the men. As he approached they looked in anticipation for what he was going to say.

“Are you ready for glory?” Aryr shouted.

“Aye!” All of them responded in unison, hitting their spears on their shields after they shouted back.

“Are you ready for honor?” Aryr inquired.

“Aye!” Again all of them responded in unison and again hitting their spears on their shields after they shouted back.

“Let this day not be forgotten by our sons!” Aryr thrust his spear into the cool night air. The men simply banged their shields again and again for the next few moments. Aryr turned around, his blood had reached an unbearable level, and he wanted to kill. The entire House Morte army looked at the Royal Guardsmen in awe, they were ready to serve, kill, and die. Most of the more common soldiers did not see such things as the Guardsmen did. Few were able. Aryr looked back at the army, stepping out in front of them, he would make them see it his way, the Commander looked at Aryr with curiosity as he stepped out for the entire army to see.

“Forces of House Morte! Tonight, we will crush Guerdu and not a single soul of theirs will survive, not one!” Aryr paused, eyeing the faces of House Morte, “I will die for any one of you to live another moment, if it means you kill another soldier of House Guerdu, would you do the same?!”

The Royal Guards shouted in response, of course saying what sounded more or less like a yes while banging the weapons upon the golden shields.

“Do you not see the honor the Royal Guard has? Do you not want such glory, if you do you will respond to me with a fervor like never before!”

Suddenly, the quiet night lit up with the sound of thousands of men, all screaming their approval and smashing the weapons they carried upon their shields.

Honor and pride. Finally.

Aryr ran back to his own men, readying himself for the final time before they charged the House Guerdu army.

“Ready yourselves!” The command was shouted down the rows of now even more eager soldiers.


A few moments passed...

“Charge!”

Aryr’s feet moved in an instant, planting into the sand and propelling him forth like a thousand oxen. The rest of the men kept up well, they too were fit to fight and bring glory to the House. Guerdu was charging at them now as well. What they did was foolish, the House Morte army would become even more bloodthirsty, seeing an eager opponent.

When they first crashed, Aryr’s spear flew through a man’s skull, he fell like a ragdoll with such ease. Blood spewed onto the light sand; Glorious! Aryr moved on to his next victim...

[Aryr de Morte]

None were left alive.

Not a sound remained on the battlefield save those coming from the soldiers that were the House Morte army. It had been a slaughter that would make the children of Guerdu shudder in fear when they heard that the might of House Morte was crashing down unto their capital. Now though, it was time to collect the dead children of the House. Their shields would be melted and statues would be forged of them, as was the tradition. It took great skill and patience for the crafters to do such, basing their creations off the dead bodies, which were sometimes mauled beyond recognition. They did a wonderful job nevertheless and it was their honor to present the statue to the dead soldier's closest relative or their spouse.

Aryr would not go home as a statue this day, instead he was crippled for a while. A Guerdu soldier had stabbed him in the thigh, the blade running cleanly through before the man had ripped it out. It left a gash from the Eulaean's knee up to his hip. Now, the toughest part of getting a wound came, the closing. It was not something to be taken lightly, passing out from the pain would embarrass even the weakest of fighters and Aryr had seen the weakest endure it. Soa came along with a long metal pole, red hot from the fire at the tip, it was time to close the wound. The wounded soldier bit down on the leather strap he was allowed and clenched his hands as hard as he could. Suddenly the searing pain began; slowly it ran down his leg. It was like a thousand needles of fire burning his flesh. Then he could smell it, the burning skin reeked and made Aryr nearly throw up.

Finally the pain had run its course down his wound, closing it tightly and keeping his leg from infection. Infection would mean death, and death was something only to obtain on the battlefield by a soldier. His lip piercing had nearly ripped out as he bit on the leather strap and his palms had leftover marks from where his fingernails had dug in. The strap lightly fell out of his mouth and the soldier sat up, then taking a look around. He was still on the sand where he was first brought, so he hadn't passed out at all. He remembered every gruesome second of the pain so that helped assure him that he had remained concious throughout the ordeal.

"You okay?" Soa inquired.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Winning the battle is what matters, I'm fine." Aryr looked around at the faces near him, all of his men stood around him, suddenly silenced by the approaching figure he made out in the background. It was the Commander.

"Aryr de Morte, the Temple gods surely watch over you!" The man bent down and helped Aryr to his feet. As he put pressure on his right leg it screamed at him in agony, telling him to lay down and rest. He would not do any such thing.

"They watch over us all." The handsome man said in an almost mutter, the pain was screaming for him to stop, or to cut the leg off.

"You're going home for now. Do not argue with me, this is an order from myself and the High Priest; your father. There, you will meet Nacidia at the city gates and you shall take up quarters in her new home. Understood?" The Commander rarely gave anyone a stare like the one Aryr was receiving now. It was almost menacing and the man knew better than to disobey a commanding officer.

"Yes, when do I leave?" Again a mere mutter came out of Aryr's mouth.

"When you're ready, do you have everything you brought?"

"Only missing my tent."

"Good, you won't need it, you'll have a new one when you return, come with me and I'll help you onto the carriage." The Commander lent his shoulder to Aryr, the man was considerably shorter and the perfect height for Aryr to rest his right arm upon. Although he hated to admit it, he needed and appreciated the help he was receiving from the Commander. The sand hurt his leg even more than he suspected a more flat road would, his leg sunk deeper than it should have every step and it made the pain in his leg shoot up into his chest. They had finally reached the carriage that was to take Aryr home; he was aided in boarding it along with nine other wounded men. They were off, the carriage wheels dragging in the sand as the horses pulled it along.

[Aryr de Morte]

As we were in the carriage back, I realized something. I wanted to go home, to talk with a woman who loved me and though I didn't understand as we were riding home, I loved her. It was there, the feeling that we would make a new life together. Even as I slept, I dreamed of my ideas. I had no clue whether they were rational or not, or even possible.

Ideas are fleeting things, to be sure. There isn't one idea that cannot be changed if the mind is properly swayed. One idea could lead to another, giving one the sensation of a new idea, when in reality it is just evolved. I say this because of the news that I hear from the front. A messenger came by not an hour ago with the news that House Morte would wait to march upon the capital of House Guerdu. I had strongly advised at the time, that they march upon the capital while the enemy's morale was low. Even them banding together could not have stood against our might.

As the carriage bumped its way into town, Aryr awoke. It had been a long ride, and a long time away from his city. He would have to visit the infirmary at the Temple to get his leg on the way to fully healing, there he would probably stop and see his father as well. As they rode into the town, Aryr remembered that he was to meet with Nacidia first. She would no doubt have heard that he was injured and need to be brought to the Temple first thing. At least that was the hope; her being surprised was the last thing that the soldier wanted right now.

They arrived discreetly, not a soul suspected the soldiers home except the ones who were to greet and take care of them, among those people was Nacidia. Her beautiful face was the first thing Aryr noticed as he stepped out of the carriage. It was round and elegant, with high cheek bones, wide set and warm almond colored eyes, and a perfectly set mouth. Her black hair was smooth and rich, swaying back and forth in the light wind.

Just as I remember you.

Aryr dreamed of the girl much more than he admitted or even hinted at. Nacidia was his first love and would be his only love for as long as he lived, Aryr vowed to himself in private.

"Aryr! Thank Daryq you're all right!" Nacidia nearly sprinted at the soldier and hugged him, all while he was limping his way to return her warm welcome.

"Hello, Nacidia. I trust you're doing well?" Her arms were flung around the much taller man's neck, she backed away after a moment of gripping him tightly and he looked into her deep brown eyes.

"Yes, I've been just waiting for you to return. Oh my, I forgot about your leg! We'll get you to the Temple right away!" The black haired girl led him on to the Temple, everyone stopping and nodding at Aryr as he passed.

The honor a soldier of House Morte deserves.

They finally reached the grand steps of the Temple of Infinity that housed his father, the High Priest, along with his many servants and the various worshipers of Daryq that prayed in the temple. There were too many steps leading up to the colossal structures doorway for Aryr do go up them fast, it made his leg burn in agony with a terrible sting. Regardless, he eventually got up the marble steps with Nacidia's help.

I didn't realize how much I miss this woman, what a sweet lady to help me with such small tasks.

"Thank you, Nacidia. Would you like to come in with me and meet the High Priest himself?" Aryr glanced down the stairs, dreading the trip down should his leg take time outside the Temple to heal.

"Wow, the last time I saw your father I was a small girl, I can't even remember what he looks like even the slightest bit!" The woman's eyes lit up, "Yes, I'll come in with you, Aryr."

The soldier led her through the doors into the Temple, large oak giants is a more accurate description of the doors, standing nearly thirty feet tall and ten wide each, it took around ten priests to open them up and close them each morning and night. The couple were immediately ushered into the back chamber where healing took place, his father was standing at the far end of the oval room, almost ten paces away from the entrance.

"Welcome son, and who's this... my dear Nacidia? How are you my dear?" The High Priest, Aryr de Morte the twenty-fourth came forward and kissed Nacidia on the forehead as was the custom in Eulaea when it had been so long since meeting. The man turned to his son, "Again, welcome. Shall we begin healing your wound?"

Nacidia had stayed totally silent, perhaps in awe or in confusion. Either way, Aryr wanted his leg fixed and was glad his father cut to point. He knew the drill, he layed down on the floor, totally relaxed and closed his eyes, eventually falling asleep.


Nearly an hour later...

The soldier awoke refreshed and feeling great, his father standing on one side of him and Nacidia on the other, both looking down at him. Aryr arose from the floor and they kept their eyes on him.

"Is something wrong?" Aryr inquired.

"No, not a thing son, we were simply talking about how long it may take you to awake the moment you awoke, rather odd." The High Priest glanced at the door as a Temple Guardsman walked in.

"My lord, we have many more waiting to be healed, what shall I tell them?" The guard had his head only partially in the door, enough to hear the High Priest's response.

"I will take the next one, I am finished with my son. Thank you."

"Of course, my lord." With that, the guard made his exit, gently closing the door behind him.

Aryr took that as his cue to leave and walked towards the door, beckoning Nacidia along, she obeyed. There were no words necessary between father and son now, the work was done and Aryr had more important things to take care of. His leg was completely mended and required no further attention. They would now make way to Nacidia's home. The couple exited the Temple and made the necessary turns and the necessary walking to reach the girl's house.

The entered and Aryr felt a strong sensation of dizziness from the perculiar smell. It rushed into his nostrils, the smell of incense and a stronger version of Nacidia's seemingly faint perfume. The carpet was deep maroon and the walls were made of a dark wood that Aryr couldn't quite identify. All the furniture seemed perfectly in sync with the rest of the home. She had the gas lamps burning already as there was very little lighting from the windows, each side of the house had another home nearly touching it.

"Would you like something to eat? I have some fish that only needs to be put over the fire for a little while if you'd like." Nacidia almost bounced about, obviously excited to have company such as Aryr over.

"Yeah, that sounds lovely, thank you." The handsome man took a seat at one of three chairs that surrounded a sturdy table.

I'm liking this, maybe I should just forget all this business about fighting.

It was a thought to consider.

[Aryr de Morte]

The meal Nacidia had cooked for the soldier was good and filling. That's something he hadn't had in a while. There was a lot of fish being cooked and expensive furniture in the house, the Eulaean girl was left an obscene amount of money when her father died in the war, she was left to fend for herself. The good thing, of course, was that she had more than enough money for her to live out the rest of her life, and her children could live their lives, and their children too. So she could afford a lot of fish for Aryr to eat and comfortable furniture.

The soldier found himself looking across the table into Nacidia's deep brown eyes. They were soft and warm like her skin, the color of honey. Aryr found himself liking every aspect of her personality, body, and attitude. There wasn't a single flaw he could think of.

"How was it?" The girl looked at the empty plate, rising to take it back into the kitchen where it would be washed.

"Good, thanks. So, how've you been all this time?" Aryr handed the white ceramic plate to her as he spoke.

"Oh, I'm good. I just worried about you while you were away and when I heard that you were coming back here I have to admit, I was so happy." Her voice was muffled as she walked into the other room but Aryr could hear the affection in it.

"I'm happy to be back, really." The soldier raised from the table; I really am, I'm not just saying that. I never thought I'd hear myself say or think this.. Aryr walked into the archway leading into the kitchen and leaned against the side, watching Nacidia as he went about her chores. The way she fluidly went about her tasks, from one to the next. It was a beautiful scene despite it's pure simplicity. Aryr hadn't seen home life for years, all he had known was war and fighting. Finally he was getting a chance to see the other side of what his life could have been. If he hadn't had his eyes turn the black at the turning age, he could have been a trader, a mage, an architect. That was not the case though and while he was proud to serve in the Eulaean military, it was something that if given the chance before, he would not have chose.

"That's good, I'm glad you're back too, Aryr. I missed you while you were away, we used to spend a lot more time together, it was nice the way things were." Nacidia was looking at him, her hands in a large tub of water cleaning off the dish Aryr had used to eat his meal on.

{More coming later.}