"Reasoning from the common course of nature, and without supposing any new interposition of the supreme cause, which ought always be excluded from philosophy; what is incorruptible must also be ingenerable.
The soul, therefore, if immortal, existed before our birth:
And if the former state of existence no wise concerned us, neither will the latter."

[David Hume]

She's waiting for you......

It's only the faintest sliver of light that your eyes enclosed in blackness see. A small line that grows before disappearing again. You're not yet fully conscious, that much is apparent, but slowly your senses are returning.

The ground feels hard, rocky, sandy.

The land around seems deathly still and quiet, besides the caw of carrion birds, it would appear

It's the smell that really gets to you, though. It's a repulsive smell, that stings your nostrils as it invades your nasal cavities, washing over your unconscious thought, bringing with it a stench foul and spoiled, decay and rotten.

And familiarity.

You've smelt this smell many times throughout the last few years of your life.

That odor was the stench of death, and it was all around you.

As your hearing begins to clear up further, you notice the sound of flies buzzing all around you, in every direction, mixing with the stench of rotting, sun baked flesh.

The sun....

Why did it take you so long to feel the burning heat of the sun as it sears you and the ground below you? It has to be at least one hundred and ten degrees if not hotter, and boy is your body beginning to feel it.

You have to get up.

Yo have to open your goddamn eyes!

But you can't. You just can't.

Even through your semi-conscious state, you can feel your head throbbing and pounding against your skull, as well as a sharp, soul deadening pain erupting from your side.

Oh god, you just want to keep your eyes closed forever. To just die.

"S-sir...ar-are y-you al-alright...?"

The voice is faint, weak, and strained, but it was loud enough to pierce your clouded mind, and, at least briefly, take your subconscious thoughts away from the pain that absorbed you.

Someone was alive.

Get the fuck up!

Slowly, reluctantly, agonizingly, your eyes slowly begin to open. A sliver, at first, then a little more. And more.

And more.

A ll at once, your eyes burst open with a surge of brightness as the sun's light shines upon your face. Everything is blurry at first, you only being able to see strained images.

But the smell.....

As you eyes focus, a brown and red shape before slowly becomes clearer and clearer.

Finally, you're able to make out what the hell is laying in front of you.

The mangled corpse of a Bossk (Diamond Dog in the common tongue).

What's left of its mangled face stares straight at you, it's one, lifeless eye boring holes into yours. It's once brown fur is matted with it's red blood, as it leaks from various wounds across it's body. Flies hovered in droves over the corpse's pink flesh, making a buzzing sound that pierced your ears.

And the smell....the fucking smell....

You've seen enough.

You try to lift yourself up from the scorching ground, but at once you drop as pain erupts from your side.

A soft, agonizing groan slips through your clenched teeth as you tightly shut your eyes, Almost afraid to look down at the source of your misery.

Cracking a teary eye, slightly, you move your gaze slowly to your left hand side.

At the midway point, an arrow is jutting from you.

"Sir....ah-are you oh-ok, s-sir?" The voice calls out to you again.

That pain filled voice.

"Y-yeah, I....I'll live," you reply weakly.

You touch he shaft of the arrow before deciding against pulling from your body. You may bleed out if you yank out. What you need to do now is figure out what's going on, find the voice that is calling to you, and find help of some kind.

Any kind.

Now you have to stop being bitch.

You have to stand up.

Stand up!

Placing one hand on the ground and one hand on your side, slowly you begin to rise to your feet, the plate armor your wearing creaking as you rise.

God, it's like a fuckin' oven in there.

Standing on your two feet, you finally get a real glimpse of your surroundings.

It takes your breath away.

There are dead.

Dead everywhere.

Diamond Dogs and Changelings.

Your Changelings.....

It seems for acres and acres the dead littered the land, why flocks upon flocks of crows and other eaters of deceased flesh circled the remains of a battle.

A battle you fought in....

Clutching your side again, you slowly scan the corpses of the rocky plateau, searching for the source of the voice that called out to you early.

"H-hello? Call out so I can find you," you cry out hoarsely, your throat dry and parched.

Amongst a pile of cadavers, a small, black hole filled hoof rose.

"I'm......here," the feminine voice replied, weaker than before.

Looking around, you pick up a Diamond Dog spear that lay on the ground, leaning on it for support, before limping slowly over to the Changeling that called out to you.

"Hold on," you call out, "I'm coming."

Picking your way through the dead is almost impossible without stumbling, with bodies piled on top of bodies, weapons, limbs, blood and waste scattered all around the battlefield.

But you see her, at last.

Shuffling as fast as you can, you kneel before the only other apparent survivor of the conflict.

And it doesn't look good.

She's a small Changeling, her black chitin dulled by the dust of the battle. The black armor around her was dented and scuffed almost everywhere.

And a large gash lay bloodied and open across her stomach.

Her breathing was labored and shaky, while her vibrant blue eyes lay half closed, trying their best to look at you clearly, tears forming around their brim.

"It....it's g-good to see a f-friendly face, s-sir," she stutters weakly, her forehoof weakly extending towards her forehead in a salute, before falling weakly to her side.

Slowly, you take off the gauntlet on your left hand, revealing it to the scorching sun, tanned, scabbed and bruised, and lifted a shakey finger to her eyes and wiped the stray tears from her face.

"You're going to be alright, private," you try to reassure her, "I just need to bind your wound."

She nuzzles your hand gently, clenching her eyes shut.

"Am....am I going to die, s-sir.?"

You can feel your heart breaking, your stomach churning.

"No," you hastily say, rubbing her neck gently, "you're not going to die, private. Y-you're going to be ok."

You slowly rise to your feet again, a new determination in your mind.

Fuck the heat.

Fuck the pain.

You need to save this Changeling's life.

Just this one life, out of all the hundreds of dead around you.

Please, just this one.

"There has to be a medic bag around here," you tell the wounded Changeling, who meekly stares at the arrow protruding from your side," I'm going to find one and I'm going to patch you up. I promise that you and I are going to make it back to the Hive alive. Just, please, hold on."

"Only you need to make it back, sir. You are the Breag Naofa. I-I'm just a drone. You must live, my lord."

You can only stare at the broken Changeling mare.

"Just wait here."

Once again you shuffle through the corpses that lay strewn all about you, as you pick through the dead in vain hope of finding a medical bag, a bandage, something.

Anything!

You search until sweat pools from your forehead, your wound screaming out in sheer agony.

This search will kill you. But you don't care.

You pick through bodies under the scorching sun until you're forced to crawl upon your hands and knees.

Your amour is weighing you down, but you're too tired to take it off.

"Please," you cry to the sky, to what ever deity could hear you, "please help....anything, anything at all. Just please help me help her....."

You stumble forward, collapsing upon the ground, a cloud of dust forming around you.

Just give up.

Accept your fate.

Die.

You clench your fist in anger.

No! You won't die here!

Get up!!

Get up and save her life!

Struggling, shaking, slowly but surely, you rise up again, and search, through blood and bodies, all things foul.

You see it.

A clean white cloth, resting by the corpse of a Changeling commander.

Snatching it up, ignoring the hurt, you bound back to your wounded companion as fast as you can.

"I'm coming!" You hoarsely cry," hold on private, just a little bit longer!"

You leap over the body of a dead Diamond Dog as you race to the spot where the Changeling is.

"I'm here! Just hold still private, I.....I....."

You stare, taking a long moment to take in what's before you.

Her eyes are dim and hollow.

Her chest is quiet and still.

She's dead.

You failed again.

The cloth falls from your hand, and is taken up in the breeze, fluttering away to god knows where.

Failure.

She was right though.

You are the Breag Naofa of the Changeling Hive Trust, ruled by it's queen, Chrysalis, in the heart of the Great Wastelad.

Your hive needs you.

Your queen needs you.

You must live.

You look from the dead Changeling, to the arrow in your side.

Lifting a hand, you reach for the shaft, and break the arrow.

You are the Breag Naofa.

And you must live.

Author's Note

New story. Hope you guys enjoy. Breag Naofa is Irish, by the way.

Until next time.

Ps the god of sleep is not dead