Men shouted indistinctly as they hoarded forward, the sound of dying men and horses stalked their mission forward. As wailing met their ears, man turned on man. As Azrael stepped forward rolling his shoulder, a whimper echoed from below. Twisting the blade in his hand, his eyes gleamed down. The groaning body of a bloody man lay at his awake. Dirt under his nails, grasping onto the Eramadam soil, crawling as the blood seeped through his armour. Azrael knelled down beside him, pressing his sword into the ground and splitting the soil underneath the man's fingertips.
His eyes dark Azrael questioned, "Why are you crawling that way?" His lips pressed together, eyes sliding towards his blade. "This wind you feel is from Eramada. Brisk is it not?" Azrael pressed his hand on his thigh and lifted himself off the ground, flipping the hilt in his palm. The man groaned in response. A painful, sharp groan as if the bloody leftovers of man knew he would die. The despair seeping through the stench of blood carried on the wind. Azrael inhaled hovering the blade above the back of the man's neck. The man groaned again but the painful exhale was cut short as the blade plunged through the back of his neck. Pressing hard on the blade, it entered the soil, splitting the grains and ground soaked in blood. Azrael's breathing grew heavy, as his men continued forward. The green feather on the brim of their helmet danced on the brisk wind that pushed them into the land of Athrolila.
The land of deepening ridges and green pastures was dried with the essence of blood. Crimson as it first may seem, but quickly shifted into a lasting shade of brown. Dying the grass and exterminating the nutrients in the soil. The metallic taste of the red liquid pouring into the land.Soon the yellow sand and salt will melt into the liquid that would spill, draining the life away from them and the land. Eramada had taken the Kelece River and set their villainous sights on Delta. The yellow sand of Athrolila carved a battle one would not soon forget.
~
The grey stone contrasted against the green. The bricks winded up the tower, twisting and curving but never out of place in the curvature of the tower. Her heart rumbled and she pulled the longbow back. The tip of iron pointed towards the sky. Watching for the blue feathers to drift over the ridge. Lisandra placed the fletching on her freckled cheek and pulled the splinter of wood backwards. The court of Heartland beside her. Watching the towers. The green feathers below.
Her red hair was pinned back, a strip of ginger licking the neck of her amour. Lisandra held her position.The arrow flew through the air, meeting the wave of arrows. Finding its place. Lisandra pulled another out of her quiver and pulled it back, watching the hundreds released to find their mark on the battlefield, some embedding the iron tip into the soil, others in the necks of blue feathers.Lisandra freed the second arrow from the bow's grasp and observed the splinter fly and arch down to the ground below. A war cry signaling the third wave. Lisandra placed a third arrow into her bow, and then a hallowing cry from the end of the line forced Lisandra to pull back, her aim not on the battlefield, but the blue feather drifting through the archers. The glinted of a blade, cutting through the air, her archers mere obstacles in its way. Lisandra felt her throat burn as she ripped a sound, that echoed across the tower and its sub-branches.
"TURN!"
The yellow swirl on her forehead just above her left temple connected with another on her right crinkled as she raised her brows. The symbol of leadership. Countess. All the archers pulled back their arrows on one another. Positioning themselves to fire at the blue feather.Lisandra pulled the arrow the fletching kissing her cheek as the blue feather appeared in shooting range. Steadily to release Lisandra's eyes widened at the appearance of more blue feathers.
"FIRE!"
The wave of arrows were no match for the wave of blue. An ambush. Lisandra ripped another two arrows out of her quiver, placing them in her bow.Soldiers in blue came sprinting forward, their blades slicing through the air. Cutting the arrows carelessly. Lisandra sent herself off into a jog and then slid between the gap between them. Standing up behind them and releasing the arrows, embedding the iron into the back of their necks.Lisandra reached for another as a blade sliced through the air. An armoured soldier following it. The blue feather wavering. As she ducked the blade crashed into her amour. The screeching, echoing noise reached her heart. As the blade rose it created a thin line up her forehead. The red line thickened as she rose her head.
~
His blood thickened as his arms slide into the shield. Drumming rhythmically his heart echoed, clattering against the shield. This brown hair is tucked away underneath the helmet. The visor snapped shut as Riley pushed it down with his free hand. Pulling his blade out of his belt, and the singing of the blade echoed in his ears. He inaudibly mumbled a prayer. The whisper to the Gods pinging off the metal.
Riley stood his arms aching. Not the feeling of tenderness but rather the indistinct physicality of the dread that plagued him. With a swallow and heavily inhale he pursed his lips together, his tongue retreating behind his teeth.The shield pointing to the sun's glare bounced off the beams of a light yellow onto the drying wheat fields where he stood. Holding his position Riley took a step forward, spreading his stance and covering himself with the full-length shield. His sword prepared in an up thrust position.
~
His eyes burned as the chemicals filled the air, the cloud of orange filtering through the green pastures. He raised his gloved hand to press against the helmet's visor. Flipping the blade in the opposite, Marcus wrapped his calloused fingers around the hilt, pressing the metaled fingers into the green hilted blade. Shifting left to right he threw himself at the cloud, slashing and throwing the blade, wrapping and positioning himself behind on the outskirts of the cloud. Marcus glanced behind him. The fogged vision of the visor blurred the sight of the King behind him. His eyes glowed as he swallowed. Tapping his gloved fingers across the hilt of the sword he bit his tongue and plunged the blade further into the cloud. The harrowing screams escaped the bubble of orange as he blindly walked deeper into the patch of cloud.The stench of hope had drained from his sweat and tears as he carelessly slashed and plunged his sword into the rhythmic hearts of others. His dry throat scrapping out a war cry, the broken and empty voice echoing across the plains.
~
Every rattle of the stones advancing down the river made Azrael twitch his fingers in anger. The interweaving ripples of cold water pondering over the smooth grey rocks and the twinkle of bubbles reaching the surface growing and aching inside his gut. Awaiting the signal.The orange cloud has finally dimmed its ripe colour and floated towards the hills. Marcus' troops closed in behind his. He swallowed the guilt plaguing him, raising his chin to the sky he felt the bite of the sun across his skin. His open visor licked up the sun as it bit at his face. Azrael flickered his eyes closed for a brief moment and felt the sun warm his gently freckled cheekbones.
Azrael shifted the blade in between his hands and kneeled on the river bank. Intertwining his gloved fingers in the rocks, Azrael inhaled the soft scent of the river oak and bit the inside of his cheeks. Feeling the air returning and leaving his chest he thought of the men whose bodies had failed them. Stopped their quavering hearts and left them to rot. Licking his lips Azrael turned to face Marcus. His armour stained a bright red, The splash of crimson weaving up his legs stopping at his chest for a moment then snaking up the shoulders and dripping down his arms. The silver and green amour carrying the remains of men who felt Marcus' grasp. He tiled his visor up displaying a dissatisfied almost annoyed look, throwing a glove off and reaching into his blonde waves.
"So?" He clicked with his tongue. "What's next your Majesty?"Azrael cocked an eyebrow at Marcus and raised himself from the stones pressing his palms onto his knees and slowly rising, his legs burning with every step.
"We advance," Azrael declared shutting his visor down over his face. His powerful thighs thundered as his booted feet met the ground creating a puff of dust in his path. "Marcus walk with me," His face turned to meet Marcus' flushed face seeing a soft smile appear on the warrior's face.
~
Their hearts all glowed a similar flame and flickered an identical ember. One to clutch and hold; and as they fought, it whimpered and dimmed. Crackling the flame flickered, and stumbled, scratched and whimpered. Swayed and mumbled. And as the burn remained, the flame grew in their hearts. Etching for air it continued to burn, blistering and bubbling. The licking heat and prosperous flame buried in their soul lingering.
~
A full moon rode in the sky dimming the bright stars and lightning the forest in shades of blue and grey. Evelynn's troops stalked between the trees, weaving between the river oak. The silence deafens them as they search for the sound of water. Guiding them down the Brookthurst path. Drifting between the borders of Athrolila and a war-torn country.Evelynn ears pricked at a sudden echo of movement.