Here's a treat. I was digging through my email and I found this,
all the way from 2009! sweet, huh? it was originally it's own novel, but I was
able to incorporate it into Allumeures,
or as I call it "Juvenalles". I dunno. Maybe I'll just call it
"Courage" like i originally intended to. the name isn't so important,
considering I haven't even finished it yet... here's one of my many
possible intros:
Gaudior was fighting in the worst battle yet. Wind
and rain lashed against his face as he fought, thrusting and blocking
continuously. Lightning’s fiery fingers reached down to scorch Earth,
and Thunder’s booms mixed with the sound of battle cries.
The waves tumbled in, crashing against the sharp rocks on the shore. A dark shape was hurtling toward them, but it was too far away to tell if it was a war ship or great wave. Gaudior’s sword clashed on and on until it seemed he had been fighting forever.
He had started out on right flank, fighting west, against the thin trees across the beach from the shore. Now he was on the left, fighting at the rising waterline. The waves exploding into his feet were almost knocking him down. The pungent odor of sweat, blood, seasalt, death, and fear filled his nostrils. Some men were retching, adding to the abominable smell. Sweat and blood poured into his eyes, burning and blinding him, and blood gushed out of his many wounds. In another where, in another now, he would be dying, but the rush of adrenaline fed him strength and still he fought on.
The taste of blood and salt filled his mouth, causing him to gag. The deafening noise; sounding of men crying out as they died, yelling as they killed, screaming in rage and pain and fear, the stomping and snorting of horses, the jingle of armor, the clashing of swords, blood gurgling from wounds, generals shouting commands, horses neighing, labored breathing, sand pelting faithful warriors, the waves crashing onto the rocks; filled his ears, but the only sound he could hear was his racing heart.
The waves tumbled in, crashing against the sharp rocks on the shore. A dark shape was hurtling toward them, but it was too far away to tell if it was a war ship or great wave. Gaudior’s sword clashed on and on until it seemed he had been fighting forever.
He had started out on right flank, fighting west, against the thin trees across the beach from the shore. Now he was on the left, fighting at the rising waterline. The waves exploding into his feet were almost knocking him down. The pungent odor of sweat, blood, seasalt, death, and fear filled his nostrils. Some men were retching, adding to the abominable smell. Sweat and blood poured into his eyes, burning and blinding him, and blood gushed out of his many wounds. In another where, in another now, he would be dying, but the rush of adrenaline fed him strength and still he fought on.
The taste of blood and salt filled his mouth, causing him to gag. The deafening noise; sounding of men crying out as they died, yelling as they killed, screaming in rage and pain and fear, the stomping and snorting of horses, the jingle of armor, the clashing of swords, blood gurgling from wounds, generals shouting commands, horses neighing, labored breathing, sand pelting faithful warriors, the waves crashing onto the rocks; filled his ears, but the only sound he could hear was his racing heart.
Gaudior gazed up at the heavens
for a brief moment. It was the blackest of blacks, even more so with the dark
storm clouds blanketing the sky. There was a lonely light patch in the east. No
one could know for sure whether it was sunrise or moonrise. No one knew if it
was day or night, Monday or Thursday, October or February. All they knew
was cold. The chill seeped into their very core, leaving no warmth behind. The
only way to survive was to keep moving, keep fighting. As the number of bodies
increased, so did the fear. Each one was frozen within minutes. Eyes that would
never see again stared up at invisible stars.
So this was the glory of battle. Both
sides were fighting hard, neither one tiring beyond the other. But why should
he pick a side? In war, who is good? Who is evil? Who is sane? Who is insane?
We are all evil in war. War is insane. The realization and understanding hit
him with unmeasurable force. Time moved slower than it ever had before.
Gaudior could feel nothing. He was in
a dimension beyond senses. His thoughts were simple like those of a
wild animal. A primal urge for survival was the only reason he had the will to
lift his sword.
All the men were beyond exhausted. They
had been fighting constantly for days. Boys who were too young and weak to
fight were falling into the trenches; few climbed out. By now, the soldiers
were barely able to hold their swords, staggering on their weary legs.
The purpose of this year-long battle had faded along with their morals
and decency. Now it was a matter of who died from exhaustion first. They slaved
on. Hours seemed to drag, then lapse, leaving all beings in this torturous war
to forgetful, timeless, Hell.
