So, this little piece was something that I wrote in about an hour, after a discussion with my 23yo son, who happens to read/write fantasy novels. Basically, in a nutshell, I was challenged to “attempt” to write Fantasy, and this (“poem”, as he called it) was the result. Apparently, it’s “discovery writing”, given I had/have no storyline……Huh, who knew? The names are dumb, but hey, I had to come up with something on the fly. Feel free to offer feedback, so that I either have something to throw in his face, or, know if crow is gonna be on the menu.
The darkness flickered of orange and red, as flames danced around the bodies of the departed. Souls lost in battle of a fierce nature, stretched towards the sky, masked by plumes of smoke, while the air was heavy with the mourning or those few that remained. All seemed lost in the aftermath, but, their day of reckoning would come, and, it would come hard, and swift. For no brother shall be lost forever, who’s death is avenged by another, for that is our creed, and what will be the undoing of the damned. The men of my charge that lost both life, and limb, shall strengthen the will of the few that remained, and victory shall be ours, lest we lay with the lost for eternity.
The skies light fell slowly as preparations were made for battle. A battle that would come before the dawn of a new light, and one that we would take to them. As children gathered the horses, and wives readied our gear, we amassed our weapons, and sharpened our swords. The fires burned hot of metal, and the sound of iron on iron was heard above all else, as spear tips and axe heads were forged, each one made for any foe willing to oppose us in battle. The men moved as if one. One man, one village, one right, one family. For the truth was known by all, that if some were not lost, all would be. So we will fight with strength as one, and give offerings of sacrifice to the Gods of Sortia, for our return.
Our men were not gathered to fight for a kingdom of riches, but, rather a village of farmers, gatherers, and hunters. Men willing to die for the right of their wives and children, to remain free of the rule of Cynth, that would just as soon see them dead where they stand.
Our numbers while few, totaled 146 brave men. All husbands, fathers, brothers, and marksmen, rife with determination, at all cost. We would fight to our deaths, as our forefathers before us, if necessary. Leaving but 22 men behind, to stand alone, and protect what is ours, should we fail in our mission.
The army of Cynth, while numerous, where once as we are. Rich with family and crop, they were brothers, fathers, husbands, and slaves only to the land in which they provided for their families. They were under no rule of king, nor sword. They cared not for riches, nor robes, but only for their family, their village, and their honor. They could not know that now, their sacrifice in life would come at a much greater cost, than had their death come young, at the hand of those they now obey. With their villages pillaged and burned, and the bodies of their wives and daughters pierced with flaming arrows, they retreated into their sorrow, and joined that which they despised, for only to save their sons. These men we do not hate, but pity, for their loss in this lifetime has been great. But, for the same purpose that they have chosen to follow the ruler to which we despise, we will strike them down, instantly. For we shall not show allegiance for our son’s sake, but shall show courage and honor for our wives and daughters. For our sons, like their fathers, are warriors, and our name is known. The loss that we’ve felt in this war however, is already great. Though we have not yet met these men in combat, we have once called them Brother. Now, we shall all stare into the eyes of another, until for one, the light fades, and the soul departs. For, this battle shall not cease, until shackles have bound our hands, or, the land has consumed our bodies. As brother to brother, we shall all live together, or we shall all die together. To the end.