Dragonworld: The Will For Power

Part 3: The Pits Of Hell

The pits of hell

"Where am I?" Taulan yelled.

"In the pits of hell," came the reply. Taulan swung his head around, but couldn't see who said it. All around him, the confusion of battle was unfolding.

"What is happening?" Taulan could only see a limited section of the field. He had no idea what was taking place in areas further afield.

Around him, scores of bodies lay dead. Other men were rolling around on the ground, injured, in various states of agony. In between the bodies, fights were taking place, sword on sword, axe on shield.

His mind was getting clouded. He had been fighting for hours, the pure exhaustion had drained his body of liquids. Everything was aching. Blood was dripping out of cuts he had received through the course of the day.

"Fuck this shit," Taulan Runik cursed. He could find no better words for the situation he was in.

Taking a step backwards, he almost tumbled over a man on the ground.

Taulan caught himself at the last minute, planting his foot firmly into the mud. Looking at the man, he could see he was wounded.

His injuries seemed grave. Blood was spilled everywhere. The man was barely moving, only a soft whimper coming out of his mouth. Taulan felt a sense of empathy, but there was nothing he could do for him.

He had to keep on moving, he kept telling himself, the fight was still in full swing.

--

Petrified

At that very moment, the battle was being decided in the middle of the battlefield. The warriors of Dasmoydan felt it was their time to strike. Led by their king, they charged towards the high lords and the knights surrounding them.

They seemed to have a clear path. Only the Golden Riders of Astal were giving them a fight. The mercenaries had been decimated, and with the king of Alpen removed from the battlefield, the knights of that kingdom began to fall back.

Dakus Daklen, son of the lord of Damaul in upper Akelon, was staring at the oncoming onslaught. It seemed like a pack of hungry wolves was bearing upon him.

His eyes were wide open, his heart was pounding fast. Trying to grip his sword, he felt his muscles tense up. As the impending mass was coming closer, his breathing got heavier. It went faster and faster. Then, at one point, it almost stopped.

It was his first battle. He had never experienced combat before. Initially, he had been staying back, hiding behind all the other horseman. Now, he could do that no more. His body began trembling, as he realized what this meant.

Weakly holding out his sword in front of him, he became petrified. Fear, the most terrifying of emotions, had him in its grips. His only wish, the only thought in his head, was to survive this ordeal.

As he was focused on the threat ahead, a spear flew through the air. It hit him straight in the chest. It didn't pierce his armor, but the force of the throw knocked him off his horse.

As he fell down, he hit his head on the ground. It took a while for him to stand up. As he did, he felt dizzy and disoriented. This state only heightened his fear. Starting to walk in circles, he didn't know where to go.

His heart was pounding as he looked around, trying to locate the enemy. He had no clue where anyone was. A state of panic enveloped him. He couldn't think. Nor do.

As he tried to steady himself, he felt a pair of heavy footsteps coming up from behind him. He turned around, only to be hit in the face by a heavy mace.