Distress clouded my mind as I put on my battered armour. I sat alone; gazing over the courageous Scottish Army as their armour shone and glittered like stars in the night sky about to be stained by the blood of dawn. Brazen comments went back and forth the brothers like chirping birds. Let them be bold, I thought. The arrival of the foolish Norwegians would have no effect on The Scottish command. We harboured the strongest, bravest, most battle hardened of soldiers, with hearts of lions and ferocity of bears. They relished battle, determined to fight the course, prepared to die gruesome and bloody deaths if fate decreed; it was an honour to fight alongside. Valiant courage filled my heart. I felt truly unbreakable.
My courage dispersed as I looked out to the South, my stomach roiling as I heard the wind emit a steady and painful drone like a bagpipe as it shivered down my spine. These were the gates of hell. The howling wind lashed out and shrieked, submerging the battlefield with an icy mist. I gathered my sword and for a moment admired it’s elegance, the power I felt within my clutch, the power to take a life with my own swing. I allowed a glance at my reflection upon the graceful blade. In it I saw a scarred and seasoned profile. I allowed myself a sly smirk as I sought my next victory.
Then the wind changed, sounding the cries of many men I had cut down, all individual deep in my mind beyond reach. Their voices bellowed at me, the pure disgust and anguish within their words. The undiluted hatred echoing throughout my mind, and hitting me like a hammer. I was surrounded, I could hear nothing over the dreadful din; thunderclaps on my conscience, a tidal wave of sound, and then, in an instant; dead silence. It was over.
I opened my eyes and took my first timid breath in what felt like an age. I realised the camp was gone, and an unimaginable thick fog had taken its place. Grey and massive, the silent blinder slowly crept forward, enveloping everything within its path, the thousands of men, enveloped in this thick fog. It could not be? This can’t be of nature’s work? My very last glints of courage inside me; gone. Within came the unstoppable tendrils of fear that rooted themselves in my being.
A valiant, audacious soldier no more. For if you looked into my murky eyes, you would see me for what i was. Broken, defeated, ruined. A man once good, but corrupted by bloodshed and murder, affected greatly by that of unchecked, driving desire; to remain. These eyes wandered thoughtlessly over the vast, gloomy battlefield, where i saw the faint glimmer of three figures.
Even in my adulterated eyesight there was no mistaking the striking resemblance of The Usurper’s Justice. Three beastly profiles, all with reputations as large as their weapons. Eriksen- the mute knight, unable to speak with words, he lets his two-handed longsword do the talking.Falling in behind, Mord, the dwarf, equipped with his mighty hammer. Last of all the handsome knight Landor brought up the rear of the trio, his golden locks shone in the gloom of battle. The figures moved quickly, turning over writhing bodies and ending their lives with the swish of a front swing and a last wretched cry from the fallen. I started backwards, overcome by a terror foreign in my heart. My mouth open, screaming silent horrors. The bravado in the face of battle was shattered. Craven, craven! My former self shouted at me, but the façade was over. Fight or flight and this craven chose flight. Through streaming eyes I saw the mute knight motion in my direction and Landor cry out in triumph. I was spotted. The howling wind was replaced by the hooting and jeering of the group, but I would have chosen the blasted winds in an instant. As they started strolling towards me, the dwarf’s hammer swinging like a pendulum of death. I knew. I was sentenced to die.