Tales of Terra

Throughout the centuries, there are stories of great heroes and knights standing together to help defend their lands from a great darkness. These stories change into legends as time goes by, but no matter what the majority is told, the ones who have been there tell a far different story. For those who witnessed the horrors of war never said it was glorious and their scars run deeper than anyone could ever know. As their lives fade away, so do the true versions of these stories and now will only be told in the way others want to hear them. For this is the cycle of time and what is shown to survive it for centuries to come. It was a cold and windy day, the black clouds high above were thick enough to blot out the sun as ash drifted down like snow. A battle had been raging for many long years on what will forever be known as the Trenchen Fields. These fields are where the race of Qitarans had made their stand against the invasion force of the humans from the western lands across the inland sea. It had been ten long years since the conflict began and the warriors who had been fighting had felt the weight of war grow upon their shoulders. There was no longer fresh water in the Trenchen Fields, leaving it bare of plants; only the blood of the fallen remained, staining the land red. Whatever songs people would sing of the battle, they might tell of how glorious it was, but anyone who knew better would know there was nothing glorious about it. All the warriors who fought there knew the conflict was started by the hate the Qitaran king felt for the humans. After all those years, those who remained hoped the conflict would end soon, so they could return to their homes and families. A young half-qitaran's eyes fluttered open as he laid in the mud and blood of the battlefield. He sat up to see the cutdown bodies of both humans and Qitarans alike as far as the eye could see. Small rivers of blood flowed down the crevices in between the lifeless corpses. When the warrior got to his feet, he could still hear some far distant screams from those who were either injured or getting killed. His eyes would dart around, looking at all of the dead bodies, many he recognized from the platoon he had been with throughout his time on that battlefield. He began to remember the events that happened before he lost consciousness. The Qitarans made one last push against the humans, sending everything they had left to finish this never ending battle once and for all. They were gonna use a strategy of having several smaller forces to make the humans look one way when their main force was gonna hit them from another direction. But even with their strategy, they were met with heavy resistance, making many of their warriors fall within the first charge. The young warrior watched the flames and explosions created from both weapons and magic spells alike cover various parts of his surroundings. Eventually, one blast landed close enough to shoot him backwards into an old tree. The hit to his head was enough to knock him out before finally waking up to the sight of death. "I should've been able to do more," the warrior said to himself as he continued to shamble down a muddy pathway amongst the bodies. He felt like he had failed everyone whose lives were lost in the assault, believing that he was at fault for all of them dying when they did. His mind shot back to before he went to the fields, when he saw the family and friends of the fallen reacting to the bad news. It was a bit hard for him to have survived when so many of his allies did not. But he attempted to shake off the feeling as he slowly made his way in the direction the fighting was currently taking place. Seeing more and more dead bodies litter the ground as he seemed to get closer to the fighting. 'Alredon. Alredon,' a whispered voice called out to him from somewhere nearby. He looked around to figure out who it was that called to him. Alredon stopped as his eyes went wide at the sight of someone on the back of a great black steed with a skull head and blue flamed hooves, tail, and mane. Alredon looked on, noticing the rider had long white hair, pale white skin, and wielded a long scythe in their right hand. The two of them locked eye contact for a second before fear struck Alredon like an arrow to the chest. The force he felt forced him to wake up from the dream. His eyes darted around, breathing heavily after the nightmare he had just gone through. Beads of sweat were sliding down his forehead as he moved over to sit on the edge of his bed as he thought of what he had just seen. "Why are you still in my head?"