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Battle's End

A flower and memories amid the carnage

By Brian NixonPublished 3 years ago 5 min read
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The armored hand reached down and lightly caressed the flower that had, amazingly, been left untouched. The battle was over, and victory had come at a tremendous price. However, amid the chaos and carnage, this small flower had somehow not been stepped on, bled on, or touched in any other way, as far as the warrior could tell. “I wonder if you even realize what went on here?” he thought. “Or how miraculous your situation is?” The small petals of blue, white, and yellow stuck out in stark contrast to all the red that permeated the battlefield. The warrior slumped and sat down next to the flower feeling far older than his 52 years. Years of battle and adventure had taken their toll on his body. Next to him was the body of the one of the orks that had allied with the Erik Beldawn in his misguided attempt to seize the thrown of the late King Asher III. Joatham had taken its arm off and still the thing refused to fall. If it hadn’t finally fainted from loss of blood, it well may have been Joatham lying there dead as well. He had bashed the creatures head after it fell, just to be sure it would never rise again.

Also lying there was the bloodied and broken body of Justin Willstrong, Joatham’s oldest friend. Justin had been the one that convinced Joatham to come aid the new king. “Getting in the king’s good graces is never a bad thing.” He had said. So, they had ridden for Greyles. One more adventure in a long line of them. They had escaped death so many times, neither one of them had considered that this time might be different. Gods, he and Justin had faced a dragon and come out alive. Sure, it was a very young dragon, but it was a dragon none the less. The battle with that dragon was where the twins, Gehrig and Tonar had been killed. Sometimes he still woke up in a cold sweat when he still saw Tonar’s body in his dreams. How long ago was that now? Fifteen? Twenty years? There are some things, he knew, that would haunt him for the rest of his life. The twins’ deaths had been the first real loss his group of friends had suffered. Looking back now, he realized, that had been the beginning of the end for their group, but it was Bailey’s death that had truly changed him.

Adventuring had been, well, adventurous for the most part. Strange lands and peoples. Danger enough to let you know you were truly alive. And then there were the women. Joatham never had to look far for companionship if he desired it in his younger years. His Nephilim features usually made him the most handsome man in the room. His chiseled features were striking enough, but add in his nearly snow-white hair, with a single wisp of pitch-black running almost featherlike at the top of his head made him stand out in any crowd. However, it was his eyes that made the ladies melt. They were the blue of a summer day. Unnaturally blue almost, and maybe that was explained by the celestial blood that ran through his veins as well. The first time he had seen Bailey however, it was his turn to be dumbfounded. She hadn’t been “princess beautiful” as he and his companions called someone who was all frills and no real spirit. No, Bailey was a warrior through and through. No long hair to “get in the way while fighting.” She had kept it short enough that it barely reached her shoulders. She had a scar on the left side of her face from a scuffle with a pickpocket who had had unseen backup, but that only added to her allure, in his opinion. Add to all that the fact that she couldn’t have cared less about him when they first met, and he was hooked. The only thing even remotely “girly” about her was her love of flowers. She had originally joined the group for what was to be a single mission, but at the end, an invitation from Gehrig had convinced her to stay. It had taken nearly a year before the friendship and mutual respect she felt for Joatham to finally deepen. Joatham and Bailey had been a couple for almost three years when she had been captured in a battle with an orc raiding party. They had found her head on a pike a few days later. Her body was never found. The carefree adventurer in Joatham had died that day he laid her to rest, and he had become the serious protector of those who couldn’t protect themselves. No one would suffer a loss like he had if he had anything to say about it. As he and his friends buried her remains, he had adorned his shield with the same flower Bailey had had on her shield and begged the gods to take her soul and bless his new mission.

From that time forward it was no longer about adventure. Now he had a sacred calling, and he went at it with his whole soul. Justin had seen and embraced the change as well, as did the others in their group. Even Dewey tried to be serious as possible, but the little halfling could only be serious for so long. It was Dewey that had first called Joatham “Highbloom” as a joke one evening and the moniker had stuck. Joatham Highbloom became a hero of some reputation. Armed with his morning star, “Prickley Pear”, another one of Dewey’s jokes that stuck, he could be counted on to help whenever and wherever he could.

Now though, he was finished. As he continued to look at the solitary flower, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this was a sign. “You’re alone, and now so am I.” He thought. “Perhaps someone is trying to give me a message.”

He reached down, plucked the flower, and slowly rose. “Unfortunately for me and you, nothing comes out of a battle unscathed. He walked over to the body of his fallen friend, reached down to close his friend’s eyes for the final time and began slowly pulling off each petal while reciting name of their fallen friends. “Gehrig. Tonar. Dewey. Glynren. Zephanie. Kengrum. Bailey.” There were more. Each a friend, and each now gone. He pulled the last petal and pleaded with the gods once again to guide his friend’s soul to whatever reward beyond that awaited him and see he finally gets to rest.

As he saw the battle clerics and their acolytes making their ways through the dead and wounded, helping who they could and praying for those beyond help, Joatham Highbloom slowly got to his feet, picked up Prickly Pear, and dragged it along the blood-soaked ground as he slowly walked off of what he hoped would be his last battlefield.

Fantasy
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About the Creator

Brian Nixon

Can I actually write? I guess we'll all find out together. This is me moving outside my comfort zone and into a place where I can challenging myself and expand myself. I welcome your thoughts.

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