A dark gray overcast lay silent over the rolling hills and grasslands. In the western sky the sun just barely broke through the coverage, providing a serene fault in the nearly uniform clouds. It had just begun to rain, sparse and light droplets being carried to-and-fro with the icy wind as they journeyed towards the rich soil, tall grasses and the warrior who stood by stoically, the horde of soldiers behind him, an opposing army in the distance, and the enemy a single footstep in front of him.
The warrior simply stood there and stared at his enemy through the six eyes of his mask, the face of a demon. Rain had just begun to mat down his short, spikey black hair. Rivulets began to trace patterns over his armored chest. His armor complimented his mask, being of the same colors and designed to strike fear into those around him. Bare arms, a wide chest and shoulders, plate armor which tapered to and edge hanging loosely at his hips.
The enemy stared back, his sword planted in the soft dirt while he leaned casually on it.
"So," the masked man stated. His voice was otherworldly, like several voices with no distinct gender echoing in reverse.
"So," the other, heavily armored and grotesquely muscled stag stated. Then, with a sudden smirk that was menacingly accentuated by the deep, dark rings under his eyes, he continued.
"This is where it'll end, I guess," He said, taking a look up at the western sky for a moment. Silence again, until he looks back at the smaller man. When he locks his eyes back on his lightly armored foe, a condescending tilt to his head, he snorts a small laugh.
"Perhaps this is more of a beginning for one of us. Either way, more likely than not both of us will fall by sunset tomorrow." All six of the eyes on the smaller warrior, which seemingly were made of flint, flashed without ever moving.
"You best not fall before your blood stains my sword. That, I could never forgive you for," Came a warning from the smaller warrior. The behemoth chuckled darkly.
"Like I said before, I've never broken a promise in my life and I don't intend to start now," To which the masked one gave an approving nod. The stag then pulled his sword from the ground and turned to leave, sheathing his sword into the crimson scabbard at his hip.
"Thrash," came the warriors distinct voice. The stag halted and turned to face the haunting call. With a couple smooth movements the warrior reached down the front of his chest armor, the only armor he wore, and yanked free a thin chain from his neck and held it out at arms length. At the end of the chain dangled a small pendant. Four triangles, the corners touching and the sides curved to form a circle in the center.
"Remember the fallen,"
"Ampere," Thrash started. His grin was erased immediately as he looked at the necklace. Old and nearly forgotten emotions stirred violently within the confines of his war-blackened heart. The sight of what once was and never will be again conjuring up memories of another lifetime. Shame flickered briefly over his features before his grin covered it again.
"Always and forever, Blade Dancer. Though a memory that may be."
As he walked away, heading back to his army, many of his thoughts were centered around another life. Rain began to fall harder over his form, splashing off his antlers and into his eyes. It wasn't a glorious life he remembered from so long ago, but neither did he think it lacked the occasional moments of splendor and adventure. Simply the life of a friend he once knew and all the hardships they faced together whirled endlessly across the front thoughts of his already burdened mind.
He could not, WOULD not allow such thoughts to cloud his judgment. He had a family, an entire army of skilled mercenaries who were raised to feed off the spoils of war. They were good, they were strong, and they were eager to fight. And they were all counting on him to bring them to victory.
What once was will never be again. This was no time to dwell on it all.
As the large stag finally disappeared in the distance, becoming just another speck on the horizon among the army of ants, the masked man turned back to his own army. Carefully inspecting each of the front-most of his warriors, his wolf commanders, he gave a nod of approval.
"We are outmatched. Have no delusions of a glorious victory, take no time to hope for a swift victory. We are likely to loose all in this gamble. But, we must make a stand. This is our home, this is our temple, this is our kingdom. There is one reason why we fight to die today, and we will make sure our enemies know how great our might is.
"Honor. Without honor, you have no place here on the sacred fields. I want you all to check your men. If any one of them feels unworthy, if any of them feels fear, send them where they are more useful, back to the castle to fortify the defenses. They who leave will be the only ones who may live." In response, the commanders shouted orders to the men to form ranks, and each commander traveled down the lines to talk with each of his men and women individually.
Ampere looked back out over to the other army. He whispered, so softly that the sound of his words barely even reached his own ears. Words with so much pain laced through each syllable that he was glad the mask was over his eyes.
"So, this is how it'll end, my love."
