The last Battlefield

There are no more battles left to fight. Yet there is no peace. The corpses and mangled bodies of so many dreams. They litter the field. Turning the green grass red. The vivid desolation and waste is on every patch of land. Nothing but the gentle breeze blowing the banners to mark the locations where the groups fought and died. Nothing but the breeze and the vultures.

It was said, "Today is a good day to die." And so the author died. But that didn't end the story, did it? Kahless would not be proud. The gates of Sovokor will not open for anyone today. Nothing but waste on the field of dreams this day.

Over by that tree, Ambition died. Bat'leth still in hand. He took many of the opposition with him into death. And over there, by the low hill, the twins, Greed and Desire met their end. Both felled by the spear, there foe beyond their reach. Under that mountain of enemies lies Imagination. Great warrior!, but even a great warrior can be overwhelmed. On the clearest sight lies Trust. So many swords affixed to his back as he lay face down in the mud. No way to tell in the aftermath just which side put them there. The loss of Optimism was a blow to us all. For no one truly, deep down believed it would ever totally lose. In the rain, Despair comforted Hope. And in the end they cried together. As Love struggled in its battle, even Hate came to its aid. But in the end they fell fighting back to back just as they had started in life. As with most things even opposites and rivals come together for the cause. That is the way of it in the Legion. We fight within the mind. But when the battle horns blow we are brothers! And woe be upon the target of the horde!

My brother's, my sisters, my me, I visited them all. Giving them the last rites. Trying to herald their arrival into the divine Stovokor. Great House of Honor! Make place, for the horde is coming to the hall! Un-cask the great barrels of blood wine. For there will be much singing in the hall, the Legion is at rest. Aaarrrhhh, My brothers!!!! My voice is now gone. For I have given all that I have in this last gesture. There is no one left on this field but me, and I am wounded, and my will pores out. My bat'leth now long gone. My sword bent. My knife dulled. I am thirsty, but all standing water polluted. I am wary, but no place to lay my head but amongst the corpses of my fellows. Who will do me the honor? Who will give me the last rites? When all lay before me in ruins, pieces, stains upon the ground to mark where once an emotion fell.

I was the ultimate warrior. And with me came the horde. But neither me nor my brothers in arms imagined our assault and battle against the very people we were pledged to battle for. Such a betrayal. Such a waste! Such folly! Kahless will never see me. The gates will never open. I am the last. I am a warrior who has outlived his battlefield. In the drunken splendor of the Hall of Warriors none shall speak of me. For none remember that I'm not there. There was no honor left for me. There was little honor in this battle at all.

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