FicWad

A mess. A bloody mess. That was the only way to describe it. The shrill screeches of orcs and the cries of the wounded filled the air. The metallic clashing of swords mingled with the screams to create an unbearable clamor. So this was war.

They had talked of glory. They had spoken of honor. They had preached vengeance.

War was none of these. How could it be? All around there was pain and death. Pain and death. No glory. No honor. Not even vengeance.

He believed them. But for the glory! For the honor! And the vengeance took hold too. And the raging emotions placed a bright blade in a hand that had only ever had the inclination to hold a harp.

Now, in the midst of battle, and all its truths, he felt fear. The burning rage and excitement, the eagerness and the passion, all had dwindled into nonexistence. Fear and fatigue replaced all those emotions now. Amidst the stench, and the screams, and weight of weaponry, fear, and the overwhelming desire to be ill, ruled relentlessly.

Sound was fading. The agonized cries lessened. Stillness and death remained.

After all that, how could anyone say they had won?