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Ztrog

A Hard Lost

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The young man marching in the ranks of the army did not stand out, the sound of the clacking and clicking of steel plate was drowned out in the heavy downpour of rain. The sky was dark as the legion of men marched onward towards the battle that awaited them. The young man would look among his fellow soldiers, many older and more experienced than him. 

A hand would land on his shoulder, his gaze now averted behind him. An older soldier would smiled at him as they kept on marching through the mud. “Garret, you have fought bravely for our home you make me proud. Your mother would have be so happy to see what a strong and brave young man you have become.” 

Garret returned the smile to the older soldier. “Thank you father I try my best, but I’m going to do my best to fight even better.” he spoke with a grin. His father patted his shoulder, returning his eyes back in front of him. The formation of the legion held as the soldier has come to a halt, now facing the enemy. 

ATTACK!” 

The orders of their commanding officer pierced through the sound of heavy rain fall like a dagger into flesh. Garret ran forward, falling into formation with his squadron of five fellow soldiers. They proceeded to engage the enemy, the sounds of steel hitting steel, the sound of men yelling and shouting thundered across the entire battlefield. Garret ran forward fast as his plate armor would allow him, bastard sword in hand. 

His squad entered the deadly dance of death many would enter within times of war. In flashes of steel Garret locked blades with the enemy. After clashing blades after mere moments the interaction would be over, only for it to begin once again as the game of war often was played. 

Garret now eager to seek glory, sprinted ahead of the rest of his squad to search for stragglers. “Garret don’t run off, you’ll get yourself killed!” his father’s words were drowned out over the sound of battle, like a wave crashing down in the tide.  The hot headed soldier ran onward, his sabatons pounding into the mud and blood of the battlefield. He halted, before him a group of enemy soldiers had mobilized on him. 

Without hesitation they started their offensive on the young man, he parried and blocked several blows. Some attacks glancing off the plate of his armor, the heavy blade in his hand started to waver in his hand from his exhaustion of the onslaught. A faster soldier then jumped at Garret, in an upwards motion the steel of a short sword caught the vision of his right eye as it got a fast, clean slash on him. 

He yelled in pain, dropping his sword and falling to his knees holding his hand to his eye. He could feel the warm feeling of blood drip past the chinks in his gauntlet as it dribbled down his arm. His attacker raised his sword making a lunge to finish off the injured soldier. “No!” The familiar voice of his father rang out. 

Garret would look up in horror, his father has jumped in front of his attack, their blade sinking past his light armor into his flesh. “F-father!” Garret would cry out watching his father fall to the ground. The rest of his squad quickly rushed in afterward engaging the enemy. Garret crawled over and held up his father the best he could. 

Blood and tears streamed down his cheeks as he looked down at him. “D-dad please stay with me, t-there has to be a medic around here somewhere.” he choked out as he held his father's hand. 

His father coughed up blood and made a weak smile, reaching up and patted Garret’s cheek. “Garret know that I will always love yo..” he trailed off, his injury too great, his hand would go limp in Garret’s grasp. 

“No! Dad speak to me, Dad!” He cried, holding his father close as he began to sob, blood and tears staining his cheeks. “It’s my fault, all my fault!” he would yell, the only answer he received was the sound of heavy downpour and the sound of ceaseless battle. 

 

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