text: Like a tidal wave he crashed through the first rank of shields and spears. Sweeping through them, his axe connected with flesh, muscle and bone. The smell of iron hung heavy around him, blood spilling like water from mortal fountains. This was his home, this was his domain. The frenzied screams of agony sounded far away, even though he could see writhing faces before him. He danced the dance of gods, to the music of death and decay. His every movement calculated, no one was left alone - or alive. Soon, the enemy soldiers began retreating. No amount of wages would ever be enough for them to face the warrior god. His friends and allies came rushing past him as he stood unmoving in silence, a single tear escaping his left eye. The ululating screams of victory roamed about in the forest. The trees danced in the wind as if they were celebrating. With limbs and armour in hand, his friends came back to find Aramon kneeling. They stood in silence with eyes closed, joining their friend and champion in prayer. The moment he rose up, he saw their grins widening. They quickly swarmed him and howled like wolves to the invisible moon. He too howled, but not for the same reason as them. *I live to see another day, Elmira. Our victory was almost absolute, but we did sustain losses. Losses that the earth can bear, but my heart cannot. Ra’ik fell today. I will forever remember his eyes looking up at me. In them I saw only scorn and disappointment. Even though he died a warrior’s death, the only death of honour that he knew of - I need to believe that he would have preferred to have died in silence, in his own home. I know I would. Being away from you is torture enough, but to constantly fear for my life takes its own toll. Being awake has become a nightmare and I wish for sleep to take me early each night. You see, I dream of our garden. Of our lives and our children that will one day roam about. I see their faces clear as day. Their smiles brighten my existence almost as much as yours. It is enough to keep me going. No matter what I see and experience in the hell that is war, I go on until I can feel your embrace yet again.* About two hundred warriors clad in leather and mail marched with eerie silence through the thick forest. According to their scouts, they were outnumbered three to one. However, they had the advantage of knowing this. Each soldier was expected to scout and learn the lay of the land. This way they were able to move through it swiftly and without much noise. It didn’t matter if they were on their own territory or far away. And they were definitely not close to home. So far they had been able to ambush their enemies and steadily dwindle their numbers without taking too many casualties. They pushed on until night arrived with its fierce darkness. The moon’s rays of light weren’t able to penetrate the thick canopy. Aramon missed its silver light and the shadows it formed within the forest, but found the warmth from the campfire to be sufficient. While enjoying ale and roasted boar, they talked amongst themselves loudly. They were sure enough that their enemies had no idea where they were, and so they were free to shout and laugh. Some reminisced about former battles, others tried to figure out what the enemy soldiers were fighting for. Even though they would fight to the death to protect their land, they couldn’t fathom why their enemies would. Knowing what came for them should be reason enough to surrender. Everyone but Aramon laughed as someone pointed this out, flagons of ale clashing together. The warm embrace of intoxication soon lulled them off to sleep. Lying on the forest floor, eyes closed but not being able to sleep, Aramon felt the cool summer breeze suddenly envelop him. It reminded him of the soft touch of his beloved and soon after fell into a deep slumber. Their force was perhaps outnumbered in size, but not in spirit. They had all communed with their god of war before preparing for what was hopefully the last battle of this campaign. After today they would enjoy the spoils of war and new land for their king to call his own. A mighty warrior king, Lothric stood taller than most men and his body was covered in scars from deadly battles. He alone refrained from using heavy armour, complaining about how it hampered his movements. His great axe was made by the clans’ best blacksmith and gilded with silver and gold. He stood before them now, a giant amongst men, his voice thundering as his eyes glittered with bloodlust and greed. On the other side stood terrified men. Men who had heart the terrifying tales from their comrades who’d survived previous skirmishes. They fought for their freedom and their land. They fought for their wives and their children. They fought for their honour. Nonetheless, they were frightened to their very core. They knew what the king was capable of. Gruesome and passionate, he slashed people in two while laughing maniacally. However, the tales of the one who danced through the battle, killing indiscriminately with cold eyes and an expressionless face made their bones quiver. Rushing towards the others, Aramon pushed away all thoughts of Elmira and any hopes and dreams that persisted within him. He had to become what he hated, a machine void of emotions. He had honed his skills over many years and a seemingly endless cycle of violence. He saw the fear in the faces of his enemies as he came closer. The frigid blood within their veins would soon soak the earth. These men had done nothing to Aramon, but any doubts or thoughts regarding their right to live was quickly squashed by his now glacial mind. Crashing into the first soldier, his force was overwhelming. His axe crushed bone, severed sinew and muscle like it was soft clay. He ducked, dodged and blocked attacks from all directions. It was like he had seen this happen a thousand times before and had rehearsed his role perfectly. Lothric saw this splendid choreography of death which was unveiling before his eyes. A roar of passion escaped him and he laughed loudly, his eyes widening as he stared down the soldier in front of him. “The god of death is upon us men! Run! Run for your lives! He will take your soul to the underworld and keep it caged for all eternity. Run if you value your souls!” The terror of their screams and their panicked eyes were but a distant hum for Aramon. His lithe and deadly movements ground to a halt as the people before him ran. He stood still, his breathing slow and steady. As so many times before, his fellow tribesmen ran past him, weapons ready and their minds bent on bloodshed. Aramon hoped that this truly was enough for the others to finally surrender. He looked around, the twisted faces of the fallen gazing upon him with fear and hatred. Not wanting to disrespect their bodies by forcing their eyes shut, he closed his own. *It is finally over. Lothric told us that we are staying for a few weeks more, but at least we can both rest easy knowing that the fighting is done. Regarding what you said in your last letter - I agree. I more than anyone wish that I could do something else than being a cog in Lothric’s war-machine. Alas, I have nothing else to give this world. I have no other talents. This terrible gift which was thrusted upon me by my poor excuse of a father. With every beating grew a rage which could only be harnessed through violence. If he knew that he was creating a monster or did so in ignorance, I do not know. The only man who could answer that question was killed by his creation on that fateful night that still haunts my dreams. I hate that my gift takes me far away from the one who gave me a life worth living. A life I fight to survive for. But my fate was sealed that night. Unknowingly I spun myself deeper into a web of violence until I was completely caught in it. Within that web is where I hide my deepest self, the one that only you have seen and no one but our children will ever see. Within that web I am caught, but somehow I also remain free. Trying to do anything else but what I hate scares me more than I have perhaps been willing to admit. I was bred not only to survive, but actually thrive in this hellscape. The cowardice propels me forward toward the ones they call our enemies. People with hopes and dreams and fears and love. I hope with all my soul that I will one day become a courageous man.