Battle on the Plains

[Dunny Brigadiers]

Swirling chaos. Maelstrom's winds blow hither and thither. The noise spins, twirls, and swarms over me. Many came today and upon this grassy plain, we met. The scream... the yelling, the horns, the smell... the very core of it all is beyond mere mayhem yet so organized that it must be appreciated on a lower level. For here on this very ground I lay I can see the carrion birds flying above drifting, waiting...

We came here five thousand strong yet it comes down to individuals and with this, the laws of the war order the chaos. Here we marched with brothers but it comes down to the individuals moving, darting, parrying, thrusting, striking, blocking, and dying. There is a method there though outside forces cater to the whim of things. Maybe a friend comes along and guts a man behind who is distracted. Maybe a flight of arrows descends like a black cloud of bussing, whistling rain. Perhaps a charge of horses breaks into the dance trampling those underfoot who were lucky enough to avoid the lance. Yes... the dancing... quite a ballet.

To the chaotic swirling dance I danced with all I had yet I tired and was given the option to lie down though, I did not much have a choice in the matter. I had misplaced a foot and lost part of my leg in the process. Yet, even then I was not out of it, merely on a different level of the battle. From here, many do not look down and those who put their feet close to me fell for their clumsiness. So here, I fought and here I stayed for the hours of the daylight that crawled by. The sun lay over the head and the birds that waited above finally drifted down to the fringes of the field where the dance had been resolved and those who were not lying down to rest moved towards the middle.

Oh, how beautiful these birds are! Especially with their shining black, blue feathers that caught the glint of sunlight just right. Their slim heads and sleek bodies, perfect for flying and reaching into slim openings with their sharp little beaks. Pulling, tearing, and swallowing, they knew their purpose to this world. They are much braver than those that fought around them were as they came down unarmed and merely with an appetite for the dead dancers.

Still I lie as the sun dies with the rest of us behind the horizon. Oh, nothing more glorious than the dusk sun reflected off steel shields and helms of a fresh charge. Swords flashed and pikes struck like adders. Men came and men fell. For the day, men met and parted like a wave or sometimes they would entangle so much that, there would be no parting and just the dance. The valiant bellows of horns commanded the men apart and to charge. I will never again feel the slow feeling of the virtue of valor yet I will always remember how those horns energized my legs and arms with fear. The nauseating rightness of holding the steel in my hand and the weight of my body colliding with someone in front of me.

It was an honor to serve yet it was dismal in the same right. If I could have stood, I would have joined the waves that met in the middle even well into the night with the silver moons rising. Such a slaughter that went on around me that I had no time to be sick of it for I was busy avoiding the feet and the blades. How I survived is mysterious, as a lame man does not live long. Yet I did! Oh to march again in the ranks into the swirling maelstrom of chaotic battle... The grass will always be red to me no matter how I look at it.


(Wrote this from a slightly demented Veteran's point of view as it were. ~Dunny Brigadier)