I am a poisoner in my lord's army. It is a pitiful existence, as my life expectancy is virtually 30 seconds, that’s how long it takes for my turn on the battlefield to come up and for my Lord to send me to my death.
I've survived two battles now and that suddenly makes me a veteran amongst my brethren. They look to me for leadership and advice even now as our camp prepares for battle against a horde of spawns.
Even as I write this, I have a bad feeling about this fight and I wonder if these will be my last words on this earth. So while I still draw breath, I would like to leave a record of my existence.
Actually, I've always known my lot since I was young. Unlike some of my military school classmates of high birth who went straight to being lizard cavalry, I was born of humble circumstances. I never knew my father and my mother was a rouge, who was cashiered from her lord's army due to the lingering effects of a weakness spell cast on her by some genie. Having lost the strength to fight, she turned to supporting herself as a camp follower.
I thank the Addreal, the Goddess of luck that I have thus far avoided being taken away in the middle of the night and made to undergo the horrific magical transformation from elf to minotaur, as so many of my ilk have had to endure. In truth, all I've ever wanted was to improve my lot in life. To get enough battle loot to afford my very own spear and armour, then I would go on my Kathnal journey to capture my own lizard steed. Ah to join the ranks of the lizard cavalry and seek fame and fortune through a glorious lizard charge. Then maybe, just maybe I would be good enough to become one of the elite lizard assailants.
But even now as I hastily scribble these last words, we are all in battle array; I think these are but wishful thinking on my part. For my turn to move is about to come up and as I perceive, I am to be sent out to distract a horde of 134 spawns so that my lord's rouges may hit them unhindered from their flank, perhaps it would have been better if I had joined Xeres and the others living feral and lord less.
But the order never came; my lord seemed to be frozen in a moment of indecision, pensively pondering how to proceed, 30 seconds……
60 seconds….
170 seconds….
The poisoner could not help but think that perhaps his lord had been caught up in some trance brought about by revelations from some unseen god. While this happened the situation on the battlefield changed. The poisoner was no longer the closest unit to the approaching spawns. He looked back, and just as suddenly as his lord had gone into the trance he was out of it again, ordering another poisoner ahead to distract the spawns. Then came the fleet footed rouges dashing and slashing they reduced the spawns by half, the minos held the line on the other end and then the lizards charged in, blessed by Addreal's rainbow light they hit the spawns with such force that there were but a couple left their formation broken and in disarray.
As the battle ended and the dark elves turned purely to plundering the bodies of the fallen spawns, the poisoner couldn’t help but wonder what tomorrow would bring. |
