OOC NoteGod bless Tennyson and the Light Brigade.
2nd of Winter, 512 AV
"Winter's beginning," Crypt began, standing on the raised dais where bards, musicians and storytellers all were accorded a place to practice their art, "And we're all getting ready for it, if we haven't already done so. We gather more wood, we stock up on provisions, we gather 'round the fires and warm our fingers.
But what better way to warm our blood, to send it rushing through those veins of yours than to tell a tale of valor?
There were the few hundred, all brave men and women. Involved in a war, an endless war, betwixt two powers that ruled the entire world between them. They were but one small group of warriors in the immense armies that battled each other, but they were one of the best.
Devoted and loyal to their empire and comrades they were, as the Syliran Knights are to Sylir, their organisation, and their brothers-in-arms," Crypt bowed to a few men he recognised as Knights with whom he had made small talk with before, "but they all fell in one night."
Crypt's voice changed through his story's introduction, becoming deeper and graver. His once-smooth voice roughened, and a hint of harshness pervaded it.
"Half a league! Half a league seperated them from their foe that evening. The enemy was of enormous strength - they had strange devices, mechanisms that could throw rocks and boulders towards any approaching force. They had bows that would fire more swiftly and with more power than a longbow could ever give. And what would their swords do? Bathed in poison, enchanted by rogue magicians that would do anything within their power for a few measly gold mizas," Crypt sneered at the audience, displaying scorn, which many in the now attentive audience empathised with, "All dressed in their full armor and ready for battle in an instant. The few that remained, those magnificent and courageous few, those men and women worth their weight in gold and silver, were the only thing keeping the enemy at bay. They were waiting for reinforcements, and it was due at midnight. And what did their incompetent flunkey of a commander do? He ordered them to charge the enemy, so confident was he. It was not theirs to question his intent; it was not their duty to argue against his orders. They were soldiers, and soldiers follow orders first, asking questions later. Such was their discipline. They followed, and into the Valley of Death rode the six hundred."
Crypt's voice sank deeper and deeper; the anguish and despair the warriors in his tale felt was now present in the very room the audience and the Drykas was in.
Pausing to take a sip of the mug of water he had requested from a barmaid earlier, Crypt resumed his tale.
"And how valiant they were.
The arrows flew from the bows of the Enemy, their hated foe, and they found their mark in many a man. The boulders flew into the sky and crushed all that they landed on. Oh! The battle-cries that they uttered; the many blows they landed on their enemy. That was true combat indeed - no need for flashes of light that would decimate large swathes of an army, no need for fire or ice to turn the battlefield into a wasteland. All machines and humans, fighting with their very soul!"
The sole voice of the storyteller rose over the whispered discussions, over the heads of merchants grey-haired, over the hats that covered the blonde hair of the younglings, brimming with the fires of mortal combat, of a last stand against all odds.
"They stood their ground, though bloody and battered they were. Never were their heads bowed; defiance of their fate evident on each and every one of their faces. They stood firm, even as their comrades fell, never to return to those greenlands and plains of their childhoods to while away their old age. No," Crypt shook his head, "they would never return to their families. Most fell, and the few of the few that survived would continue to strive for their country. Their horses, stallions of bloodlines unbroken since the beginning of the world, where the steeds of the Gods wander'd the seas of grass, fell too with their noble riders."
"For but an hour they held the line. Until the reinforcements arrived. By blood and bone! They held the enemy back. The rain of arrows would block out the light of Leth, but the six hundred still fought in the shade. Many a warrior, male and female, gave no quarter, slaying two for every wound they suffered. It wasn't enough."
"One man's mistake led to the massacre of nearly six hundred warriors. He was remorseful after the battle, and would do naught but speak of the warriors that he had led to their deaths. The rest of his life was spent wandering the lonely roads and paths, telling all that passed by him, all that would listen, of the six hundred that held the Keep."
Crypt turned his head slowly, observing the upturned faces and emotions that their visages and body language conveyed to him. They, along with him this night, had experienced the heights of emotion that his tale should have evoked within them, and he was closer to them, if only a little bit more.
"Battles are a painful thing, ladies and gentlemen. If it were up to me, I'd prefer having a boring life than a short one filled with combat. Imagine, then. A world, similar to our own in all its mountains, its lakes, its fields. But there's something different. Nothing to kill or die for. Imagine all the people living life in peace. Think about it. We may not be able to see something like that in our lifetime, but we can work towards it. Be more understanding towards people around you. Smile more often, and try to think of the better things in your lives whenever you're angry, sad or just depressed. And on that note, I believe it's time to call it a night."
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by Crypt on February 23rd, 2013, 2:25 pm 
