When a Good Man Goes to War

Dream Journal 20-07-16

Although it did not completely encompass all the events written below, my dream did take place as a small portion of what you see below.

A Really Late Response to the daily Post’s Daily Prompts: Forbidden Feast

At last! He has updated the story. I know it’s been a while since I added anything to the Metanoia plotline but I have been unfortunately preoccupied with more pressing matters. And then there was the camping trip that I went on with my family and then it was varsity prep. I apologise for the extreme delay but I should be able to update more frequently now.

Reaver Commander

“Demons run when a good man goes to war
Night will fall and drown the sun
When a good man goes to war

Friendship dies and true love lies
Night will fall and the dark will rise
When a good man goes to war

Demons run, but count the cost
The battle’s won, but the child is lost”
Steven Moffat

Our race only numbered in the hundreds and all of us had banded together in these three neighbouring valleys in the Frostfire Ridge. Our race was under threat and all we had to eat were the stout folk and the tough hide of orcs. Each party wishing for us to consume the other. It’s a horrible existence, this life that we have been forced into living. Many of us just stay alive because it would be unhonourable to end our own lives. So we trudge on. We fight on. We have very little to look forward to in life but our friendships are dear to us and we shall fight for them. Brothers and sisters in arms, we persevere with our nomadic lifestyle for their sake. The code of the Reaver was born out of the minds of the ancients. We have existed for longer than all but the humans. For like all others, we were first moulded from their like. Now, thanks to the descendants of those very apes, my tribe is the only one left. Far too often have we had rebels like General Grabbox feeding false prophecy to the populous and charging into battle.

It’s been three years since our narrow defeat at Velentinovich. We know that nobody liked to be eaten but that is the way of our ancestors and our culture does not permit it. We tried feeding on more ‘humane’ sources of food but our biology does permit it. The gods have willed for us to feast on the flesh of the enlightened and so that is the wretched existence we are cursed into. We have tried speaking to them in the past but all attempts at diplomacy have failed due to their inability to use reason when thinking of our kind. We would never expect them to let us feast upon their dead lightly. But the  alternative is so much worse that we had assumed them to be creatures more rational than their leaders proved to be.

Three years ago we still had 37 of our tribes roaming the Martayan landscape. General Grabbox was the leader of our tribe but when I realised that he was using false prophecy to spur a suicidal attack on the nearby city of Valentinovich I challenge him as Leader and for the first time since the descent of the gods, a Shaman held the throne. I was quick to send out scouts and warn any other tribe of the false prophecy, some sided with the truth and others, with Grabbox. Tribal feuds never lasted long in Reaver society. Two days after civil war was declared amongst us, General Grabbox lay his assault on Valentinovih using the titanous warriors from the Axis Powers. The humans banded together and defeated our most revered warriors through sheer numbers. The rest of the plane revolted and the suddenly Axis and Ally were thrust together to defend themselves. The battles were swift and the culling ensued.

Here I stand, three years later, on the same fields outside of Valentinovich were the fuel to slaughter our kind came after our defeat. Here I stand on the rock where I challenged, defeated, and took leadership from Grabbox. Here I stand. Alone. Confused. Desperate. Waiting for a sign from the gods that I should try and save my people. But a quick death would be best for us all. The winds were against us. The streams around us had dried. The earth shook in time with the march of our opposition. They were not our enemy, but we were theirs. Fire burned in their hearts to eradicate our kind and I would not allow my tribe to fight back. They all knew of the fate that awaited them come sundown. My argument for submitting was that when the next race came about that would be pressured into a corner like we were. Some of the opposition may look to our sacrifice and say no. Not again.

I hiked back up the mountain passage and gathered all of our tribe into the dried up lake. Now that the sun was kissing the horizon the sweltering heat had died down. Gathering into one large circle we bent down on our knees and prayed. We prayed that our sacrifice would be in vain. For if it were not, it would mean that the world has come to a halt and all progression has stopped. If the world would still oppose a minority with such force as it did us come one hundred – no, one thousand years, then people could use our sacrifice as a reason to oppose the slaughter.

Galloping horses followed the cries of men. The time was nigh. Our time was done. I uttered the final prayer of our people. Summarising in it, all the reasons why we chose not to fight. Reciting, repeating, we stood up. Faced our opposer. And accepted our departure from the plane. Nothing good happens when a good man goes to war. I heard my name called out from close behind me. I felt a tug on my arm and, all of a sudden, everything had changed.

Before me, stood a human man, the one that who slew Grabbox. With him, was a female Dwarf, dual wielding daggers, an Elf of uncertain origin, and another human draped in black and grey. Their leader, Erik, tried to haul me away from the fate that awaited us. But I refused to leave my people. It was enough to know that there were others who cared for us enough to try and save us. Smiling at him, I slipped a piece of parchment into his hand. I pushed him away and turned back to my people. “All is not lost!”I directed it more to my people than to the one who would save us all. We were united. We had been given hope. And we knew that we were doing the right thing. The hordes of enemies mounted the hills and charged down at us. The battle was completely one sided. Not a single one of us resisted and we could already feel the effect of our sacrifice in the hearts of our opposition. I felt the touch of cold steel puncture my skin followed by the warm rush of blood out of the fresh wound. I walked on, deeper into the enemy. Another sword, some arrows, a spear. I fell. Not just to the vibrating earth but from the plane itself. I felt my soul slip through the barrier between worlds and was greeted by an all too familiar face. “Greetings, father.” She said as her red hair swayed in the breeze. I had little energy left in even my spirit and I managed to get just her name. Hanariel.

 

 

 

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