Originally Posted by
Aiyma
You can learn an awful lot about a person by their title, it is our only true possession; you cannot lose it, you cannot break it. It is something you wear with pride, and defend with honour yet can be poisoned with ease. People take their name for granted, they fail to realise it is what separates us from the animals. Our name is our tomb, even our soul parts with us at death yet our name stays true; what we do in life echoes an eternity.
17 years. War had taken its toll on even the greatest as we marched for days, weeks, months. Years lasted a lifetime and there was no light at the end of our tunnel. My days consisted of waiting for the moment where I saw what I called "hope". It was when the sun hit its lowest point over the Kolisa mountains when the brief red glimmer signaled the end of another day in hell. Today I learned there was no hope.
We were defending what was ours, hordes of the enemies planned attacks left us with a barren wasteland, beaten homes and enough sorrow to last a lifetime. The bloodstains of my dearest and beloved still pungent on my loins fueled me, for the first time it was rage and anger that powered me. This turned me into a cruel fellow.
Now for 2351 sunsets I have survived in this sordid landscape after the great war and I was ready to pounce. I had not only replenished myself, but forged a spite-fueled war machine out of myself. I was prepared. My frostburnt hands looked worn and tired as I grabbed my tarnished blade and knelt. Hope is a decieving partner, but I had faith. I approached St Diable castle with an absurd sense of pride, I thrust my blade to the sky before dropping it to the ground with a tremendous thud which even the Iktar mammoth could not replicate. This drew the immediate attention of the guards, who were now in a seemingly unexplained sense of panic, perhaps they knew their fate. I drew my bow and fired true, the arrow buckling through the glacial wind yet managing to strike its target right through the neck. I was not searching for an easy death, and this painless kill only intensified my lust for battle. My second and third arrows soared like eagles, each landing their target with alarming precision. I ran.
The iron guard horn rings in my ears as the flood from every exit. This is what I have trained for, this is what I have yearned for. I screamed with the yell of a titan and flung myself into the crowd. A flurry of metal and crashes of shields filled the air with war. I tore these minions apart like ants, their putrid corpses now lay in a pool of my own victory. As I further enter the castle, guards stand strong to no prevail as I tear through the halls leaving no survivors in my wake. As I stored through a gold-laced door I saw him. The man responsible for so much anguish; the murder of my family, my home, my life. 17 years I have only seen red and now was the moment I have been longing for. I flung my tired shield at him with a strewd sense of arrogance and fury in my eyes. We brawled, with each clash of swords another hate-filled memory burst into my head causing my to strike back with increasing force. In one swift leap I evaded his low parry to heroically thrust the sword straight into his shoulder. He fell. On his filthy knees he pleaded for his life, reciting Col. 1:14 in hope of some repent. The man I have become felt no pity, no remorse. This desperate act only caused me to enjoy the moment all the more as I took my blade from his shoulder and forced it into his other arm. The shriek that followed could break a man, but it only fueled me. As I reclaimed my blade for a second time he collapsed on all fours. I raise my foot onto his head before driving my blade down into his back with an almighty battlecry.
Hope was the reason I was triumphant, yet it is still a devious character. My expected fulfilled victory was not as I expected, I wanted more. The rage had not left my body, searching for blood. After 17 years of war, it was supposed to have come to an end yet instead; it had just begun. In some mentally unfit state I had forgotten my own name. I had resorted to raiding and murders to satisfy the demon inside me, locals began dubbing me the God of Unholy War; Ares. The one who let hate consume him.
I had lost battle, lost the war, lost myself.
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