Marcus Arenitus of the Grevontian Holy Army held the spear in his shaking hand. The air he and his comrades breathed seemed harder to swallow then just a few minutes ago. But whether that was from the scent of blood and cut flesh attacking his nose or the holy golden magic that swirled around Arch-Priestess Valytan as she stood behind the main shield wall, he did not know. Their commanding officer, Raftlon Volostin, was yelling orders of "HOLD STEADY MEN!" Followed by "READY YOUR MAGIC PRIESTESS!" and "PROTECT THE CAPTAIN!" over the chaos that was but 20 feet from them and closing. Suddenly the wall of trees and shrubs on each side of the path that seemed so comforting before, now looked more like a greeny-golden deathtrap for them.
Marcus, and likely his fellow soldiers too, were under no illusion of what was coming their way now. Marcus had been told they were primitive people, little smarter then apes. The Dontunmen they called themselves. Northern Barbarians was what they were. Their superiors said to them that they wouldn't even have to worry as the Dontunmen were disorganized and savage. Just as likely to kill their own as they were the enemy.
That didn't look like what was happening as the blood of his comrades painted the dirt under their feet. None of the soldiers spoke, all watching their comrades being slaughtered in front of them. Marcus wanted to charge forward and join the fray with his allies. But he stayed put. It was agonizing to watch people he had known be slaughtered with help but a stones throw away and not being able to move forward.
"Marcus..." the rough, gravely voice that drew his eyes away from the battle in front of him, belonged to the soldier on his left, Galis Harenton. He was a young 17 year old boy but his face was hard and his stance strong. He looked like a warrior, not a boy.
"Yes Galis?" the two had meet when they'd signed up with the same recruiter. They couldn't be any different, Galis was confident and a good swordsman, but lacked the true will to fight for the empire. Marcus on the other hand, was weaker, less sure but ok with a spear and willing to die for his King. They'd formed an unlikely friendship over their training and were stationed in the same squad as a consequence. Now they were going to die together too. He'd hit Raftlon for this. Dead or alive.
"Promise me, when this is all over, that you'll help me string up Raftlon?"
"Ha, I was thinking the same thing" the words were accompanied by a hollow laugh, a traitor to his calm expression.
"Hey" Galis said, his voice less hard "if we are to die today, it will be a glorious death in the name of our King"
"I guess you're right" the laugh that followed this time was genuine.
"MAKE READY!" His attention was drawn back to the bloodbath ahead. Oh...Marcus nearly puked as the body of a Heavy Spearman fell to the dirt, an axe in his neck. He could see the enemy now, there were more of them than Holy Soldiers. Bodies littered the floor, caked in blood. It occurred to Marcus that, he had just been joking while a battle raged in front of him. It felt weird. Like he should feel something but didn't.
Marcus realized his spear hand was shaking, clattering against his shield before he stopped it. Trying to breath deep.
The barbarians wore savage expressions, and carried even more terrifying weapons. Scars, both old and new, littered their muscled frames, plenty of skin showing between their simple fur and cloth clothing. Marcus tried to steady himself but choked on air. The enemy neared, bearing down on the captains shield wall like raging, deadly moths to a flame. Only to be cut down by the magical bolts that flew overhead. It seemed the Arch-Priestess magic was working at least. Marcus didn't even realize when the two forces met, instincts taking over from his frightened brain.
Stab, unknown. AXE! block. Push. Stab, miss. Stab, blocked. RETURN STRIKE! Block. Check on allies, se-AXE! Dodge and block. Stab, blocked. Stab, hit, hit..... A heavy weight collapsed on top of his shield. Instinctively, he stepped to the side letting the object fall to the mud. The Barbarian was female, with long blonde hair tied up in a rough ponytail. Blood flowed out of a spear hole in her neck, drowning her in her own blood.
"TEU! ANSMAK LAR KAL POTUSNUC SAR! GER TEU!" the voice was fulled with rage as Marcus looked up, a male barbarian, anguish splayed across his face, began to run at him. He was faster then any human should be. Marcus tried to turn back into line with his brothers, tightening his muscles. But something hit his shield and sent him flying. As he landed, what little air he had left in his lungs escaped him and his vision blurred. The world rolling around him. Screams, clashing, spells, it all blurred into nothingness as one single thought sounded in his mind. The line was broken. They were all going to die.
He only just managed to regain his senses, kneeling to lift his surprisingly heavier shield in time to block the axe falling towards his head. When the weapon impacted with the shield, sparks flying, it sent Marcus rolling face first in the mud to the right. His vision still blurry, his breathing ragged, he tried to get to his feet again and reach for the short sword at his waist but the barbarian brought his axe back straight into Marcus's shield, thankfully in front of him from the roll.
He landed on something hard, his helmet not protecting him from the blunt force. His vision went white and cold, throbbing pain pulsed at his every breath. The cries of dying soldiers and frantic commanders on both sides of the battle filled his ears again, dimmed by confusion and pain.
"-CUS!" Cus? Who was Cus? A shape leaped over him, standing defensively in between the barbarian and him. Galis? The figure looked strong and confident, taking a defensive stance, spear ready to strike at the encroaching menace. Much like Galis. But Galis would never break formation less it was already broken. Oh no.
"Es Tervon Lek Ceulooan Nar? Duuon Zimewan Sar" the barbarians voice dripped with venom. He was intent on killing both of us, Marcus thought.
"YOU WILL DIE BARBARIAN!" Galis shouted, before rushing forward and stabbing. His first strike was blocked and the axe came down in retaliation. The blow deflected off Galis's shield in a spray of sparks but Galis himself wasn't the target of the strike. The blade of the axe smashed into the shaft of Galis's spear, cutting it in half.
Galis stepped back, drawing his short sword and changed stance. The barbarian smiled. A vicious, manic smile. As the barbarian advanced, Galis tensed. Marcus wanted to stand, but his legs wouldn't respond. So he watched. His brothers had been overwhelmed from best he could tell, but the few that remained still fought.
Galis blocked a swing from the barbarian and countered with a thrust with his sword. The barbarian sidestepped the attack, launching forward with his own thrust. Galis was too slow to dodge. Galis collapsed, the barbarian raised his axe, Marcus tried to scream and the blade dug into Galis's skull.
"GALIS!" Marcus's voice was raw. No. He can't be dead. NO! Vaskia be Damned. Marcus tried once more to stand but it was futile, he couldn't stand and his foe knew it.
"Gar Teu Sar" the axe climbed above his head, Marcus tried to move but he couldn't. This was how he died, with Galis. To a barbarian...
"Oh Great King of Kings, master of flame and bone.
Ruler of thee holy empire.
We are thy eyes.
We are thy blades.
We are thy will made manifest.
Show us thy Light of Truth and make us one"
...and the knife slit the mans throat. The axe fell behind the barbarian as new cries of challenge erupted from behind Marcus. 10 of them. They were but a blur of blood, steel and holy fury. The Kings Praetorian's. They moved without fear toward the barbarian horde despite being outnumbered significantly. Cutting through any who challenged them.
For the men that still stood, they felt a new surge of fighting spirit. Their God had sent his angels to help them. Marcus watched as the Praetorian's twisted and slashed with their ever changing shields and myriad of blades. it was like a dance of death to them. They each seemed to glow with the Holy Light of Truth itself.
The barbarians began their retreat. The Praetorian's didn't give chase. And then the world went black. The last thing Marcus saw, was the split, bloody face of his friend.