The sounds of distant battle could be heard in his ears, the smell of blood and piss covered the battlefield. He knew why they come, they always come when they want, killing people left and right. In his mind he always questioned why they did it, many guilds seem'd to abhor the random killing and slaughtering of people that have no chance against them. As he collected his senses he headed over to the direction of the battle, as a guildmate to those being slaughtered it was his duty, weak or not to try and defend those who have no chance. He looked up at the sky, it seem'd to match the color of all the blood the soaked the grass, he turned to the west watching the sun starting to set. Suddenly a man broke cover from the nearby bushes swinging a flail, with practiced skill he dodged under the flail slamming the hilt of his sword into his foe's stomach. The man gagged for breath stumbling back a few steps, the flail stopped its whirl of death giving him the chance to come up and shove his sword into the mans gut, he cut upwards cutting the man nearly in half, the unfortunate man's entrails seeped out onto the ground as he laid there giving off his last dying groans.

Swiftly making his way through the bushes where the man came from he came across two of his guildmates being set upon by 5 of the enemy and failing badly to make a good defense. The attackee's not having seen him yet gave him the chance as he came running in with no warcry, in war dead is dead, honour meant nothing to them and he would show them no quarter. Slamming into one of the attackers sides his sword went through the mans hips and out the other side, he kicked the sword causing the man to fall over and before the closest person to the dying man could turn he took out his dagger and slammed it come into the mans neck causing blood to spurt out onto his chainmail. The remaining three attackers quickly turned on him, he reached down grabbing one of the fallen foe's axe and blocked a quick strike from the mans short sword, his guildmates were taking on the other two while he dealt with this man. The clang of steel rang into the oncomming night, left, right, up, down, they went in what was called the dance of death. Finally, he turned his axe just enough to deflect the mans blow driving it to the ground and swung the axe from above at an angle beheading the man in one fell swoop.

He turned his attention to the two remaining enemies, one of his guildmates was down on the ground a mortal wound comming from his stomach as his guts spilled out and blood soaked the attackers sword, turning to face the man who dispatched three of his guildmates he met only with a flying axe imbedding into his skull, he slumped down to his knees a surprised look on his face as he hit the dirt with a thud. Quickly grabbing his sword out of the still dying man he first slammed into he quickly helps his fellow guildmate dispatch the last attacker. Nodding his thanks they both quickly made their way only to come upon an even more ridiculous scene of fifteen of them, the battle was lost as they were surrounded. Apparently this was the end of them, and such is the life of those who cannot stand against the powerful, the many. But courage is never lacking in the hearts of those who truly want equality. As long as those who stand up to people who excessivly kill and claim everything in their own greed, there is hope.

This story goes out to all the people who agree that courage and honour still exsist in the world and fight to perserve it.