When The Battle Was Played

The two old men faced each other over the expanse of the battlefield. They had been here before. Over the distant field of battle their eyes locked on each other, their armies arranged in front of them. The two kings had been mortal enemies for time untold. Even over the vast space between them on the battlefield, their sneers of contempt were evident as their eyes locked with each other.

They both brought their secret weapons to the field. Their queens. Both queens were known throughout the lands for their mystical powers. The Queen of the Light was a powerful sorceress who could wield intense magics. Rumors had spread far and wide that she was able to heal those who had been mortally wounded and raise them up to continue fighting. The Dark Queen was a powerful necromancer who literally raised the dead on the field of battle to continue to fight as the unholy dead. She could swirl her magics as powerful offense attacks and topple entire squads of soldiers. It was said that she could move so fast in the mists that it was believed she had rediscovered the ancient art of teleportation.

The kings stared down each other, waiting for the moment when the other would be the aggressor. The Dark King, his queens dark magic swirling around him, refused to be the aggressor. He would gladly finish this travesty of justice, but he would not commit his forces first. He knew the King of the Light would break the peace, so he waited. Patiently.

He didn’t have to wait long, for the King of the Light did shout out commands for a squad of his footman to proceed forward. It was always the vulnerable soldiers that suffered the most when the kings went to war, the footman especially. The Dark King for all his refusal to be the aggressor, didn’t hesitate to counter with his infantry forces.

Orders were shouted up and down the lines and footman and infantry advanced upon the enemy lines. The combat that ensued was gruesome and blood flowed across the theater of war. As the foot soldiers began to spread out over the field, the kings engaged their elite troops. The King of the Light had brought a secret new mobile force that could rapidly move fortifications into the field. He dispatched one of these elite teams to guard and reinforce his infantry on the left flank. As the rapidly deploying large squad of forces brought up the fortifications, they stationed themselves behind three units of infantry men, providing a strong deterrent from engagement. The King of the Light had secured his left flank in a powerful play of his forces, however his attention focusing on this section of the war had left him severely vulnerable on the right flank.

The King of the Night did not waste any time, for he clearly noticed the vulnerability. Even in his old age he was an excellent trainer of armed men, and he had personally trained his heavy calvary. His calvary would make short work of men on foot, and he sent orders for them to charge with abandon into the frontlines. It was a slaughter, as the Light’s men fell under a continuous onslaught of the calvary.

Both sides were engaged in a complex and intricate fray. The mobile fornications, a relatively new strategy in the combat at been rapidly deployed on both sides. When the Dark forces had moved their calvary, the forces of the Light had quickly ushered their calvary into the melee to counterbalance.

In the heat of the contest, once again the two king’s eyes met. Across the field they stared daggers at each other. The anger and bitterness between the kings was tangible as orders were rapidly shouted across the field of combat. The King of the Day finally sent his most deadly weapon out into the conflict. The queen moved with precision and grace, never slowing a moment as she laid waste to all that stood in her path.

The forces of the Day had been consistently losing more and more ground and had been put into worse and precarious situations as those of the Dark continued to outmaneuver them. But the Light’s queen was single handedly turning the tide as she swept mythically into the battle. The infantry of the Dark was slowly and calculated being irradicated from the field.

The Night King simply smiled though. What was a temporary advantage in but a moment of time? He had reserved his most powerful forces until now. In fact, much of the earlier combat was simply to push his rival king into deploying his betrothed, his beloved. If he could finally remove his rival’s darling, perhaps these continuous wars would finally come to an end. Aptly named he was, for the Night King now walked among shadows and death was his goal. He may yet be forced to deploy is own bride to the engagement, but his adoration for his lover was paramount. He would not commit his dearest without the direst need. Thankfully he did not yet need to consider this option, as his most powerful forces were still held in reserve. But no more. He thrust his hands forward and the unworldly powers thrust forward.

The forces of Light didn’t really see what was happening. They just saw a mist rise on the edges of the field as it slowly materialized into two single men. The mist zigged and zagged, never appearing to move in a straight line. It was ethereal, but they could make out the two men as they gracefully flowed into the battle. Years later they would be described as a raging and waving river. A terrible torrent of crashing waves. The forces of the Light cursed and cried as they were killed. They had never expected the Night’s shamans to be on the field of battle. What could resist this force?

What could the forces of Light possibly do to resist this scourge on the land? Men engaged in battle wept openly, knowing that this was truly the end. What could be done? The Dark shamans were rapidly approaching the Light’s queen. The horror in the eyes of the King of the Light was so material, his religious leaders threw themselves into the madness. They had majestically stood by him through the contest, feeding him advice and strategic information. Religious leaders did not quite describe them, perhaps in another time they might have been called Paladins or Templars, but such names did not do them justice either. Justice? Yes, perhaps one might define them as the Holy Heralds of Justice.

There was two of them, both as majestic and tranquil as any men had ever been. They were brothers, raised in the temples, and taught in the religious teachings of the Light. They would gladly die for their queen, and they moved with a grace that was deceptive, and powerfully dangerous. They had silently saluted the king and were weaving their way into the heart of the combat, where the queen was protecting a handful of infantry units. She was staring down the approaching shamans with a deadly grace, but the fear was brutally apparent.

The brothers were steeped in deep religious tradition, they fought both with the power of the sword but also with the mystical arts. They did not have the queen’s powerful sorcery to leverage, but they still had the deep connections into the religious realm. The shaman’s darkness crept out across the entire battlefield, while the brothers shimmering light pushed it back. Flows of darkness and light, cascaded across the battle—mist and light, radiance and darkness, the sun and the shadow.

The scream came unexpectedly. It shattered the entire valley. The King of the Light collapsed to his knees feeling a piece of his soul leave his body. Gasping for deliverance that he knew would never come. He wanted death. He never wanted to live again. He knew his lover had been killed.

The queen lay dead on the field. A lone Dark infantry man stood over her corpse with a sword protruding from her chest. The shamans had merely been a distraction to allow the foot soldiers to move in for the kill. The tactics were so simple, and even childlike, but the forces of the Light had been fully duped. Now the queen lay dead. The king roared, his sanity escaping him. There was no rationality, there was no strategy, there was only revenge. Forsaking everything he charged the enemy forces.

The cold calculation of death was always the Night’s advantage. The Dark King had never moved from his original placement on the field and now he surveyed the destruction that was laid waste before him. He had done this, through cold calculation. The passion of the forces of the Light had led them into disaster, and he could see that their end was finally coming to fruition. He watched as the poor king ran like a fool into sure death. Did he not see the complete futility of his actions? Was he unaware that the battle was lost to him? Grief moved him; the loss of his beloved was all that he could see. What a horrible sorrow.

The Night Queen patted his arm fondly, they shared an intimate look, knowing that today they would be victorious. As they quietly counseled with each other, more forces were issued orders to move into the field. The battle appeared to be cleanup work at this point, but the Dark forces would not make any mistakes now, not when victory was so close at hand. The Light King must either die or surrender. The Dark forces would finally put an end to this war, they would have complete submission or death, there was no other option. There would be no parley, no mercy. Only victory.

The Light King continued his bloodlust screams as he charged the enemy lines. Friend and foe alike on the battlefield could tell he was gone with the madness. The combatant onlookers weren’t even entirely sure if he was conscious as he wildly attacked everything in his path. It was perhaps a mercy when the shamans cut him down, his body falling beside his queen. His body bloodied by the charge, and his life slowly leaving him. His hand slowly reached out and caressed the face of his fallen queen. He would die there, his hand touching what he had loved in life.

Just as quickly as it had raged, it was over. The Light’s forces surrender immediately at the fall of their king and queen. There could be no more hope, no possibility of redemption. It was final. The Dark forces had won.