"We all preferred peace, didn't we?"
A remarkably clear thought for the situation. All the men and women by his side had to think something different. The loving Shibbi most likely thought of her two beautiful daughters, the nine-year-old Ica and the three-year-old Αm. The skittish Cish undoubtely pictured his looming death. What Thomod thought, none would ever know. A mysterious man of little words he was.
Together with those three, Lemann was tasked with guarding the southern border of the hamlet. Lubbe, the army's commander, had ordered them to station in the barren lands just outside Steppedress. The cereals and legumes normally growing there had long since been harvested, and whatever men remained in the village were probably feeding on their own horses the last few days. They had suffered a massive defeat just over a week ago, at the hand of the cursed point-ears. Now they were holed up in a washed up town, like rats in a trap. All awaiting imminent death.
Just minutes ago, Lemann had heard the first screams coming from the village. He knew he was to stay at his post until ordered otherwise, but damned be Lubbe's orders. The incompetent fool He darted for the village as soon as he heard the shrill war-cries of the elves, accompanied by the growls of their war-beasts and the screams of men and women being torn apart.
And now here the three of them stood, hidden behind the corner of one of Steppedress' wooden shacks. Only twenty meters from them the battle raged furiously. People, his people, were dying there, and all Lemann could think about was peace. Those godsforsaken pointears would end them all. But he would not die a coward.
Lemann was the first to charge, followed immediately by Thomod and Shibbi. As he ran towards the frey, he felt his recently sutured wound had opened again. One of the elves had managed to shoot him through his chest. Less than an inch from his heart, the doctor had said. "Lucky to be alive" is what he had said. But a life like this was not lucky. It was hell.
The only word suitable to describe the battlefield was carnage. The once white central square was covered in blood and viscera. People screaming for mercy, elves gnawing on the limbs of the dead and dying. Yet Lemann was oblivious to it all. He just charged.
Screaming, Lemann awakened. His entire body covered in sweat. It took some time to realize where he was. His bedroom, in the Riverguard's fortress. He had not dreamt like this for at least a decade. Not as intense at this. Not as lifelike. Dreams like this had been regular, and compared to the most intense ones, this one was passable. He only relived the beginning, and was spared of the worst parts. Still, it was a setback, for all those years he had been better now. As he came to his senses again, he muttered a single phrase.
"Must have been that fucking soup"
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Topic: Mong Kima - The Nation of Pearls (DF 0.47.05) (Read 254231 times)