Author's Note

Wow, five years. A lot has changed. I’ve changed, but I still want to finish this story.

Debating on whether to change this from a second person to a first person story. Let me know what you think.

A Dó

The bead of sweat starts from the top of your scalp, slowly beginning it’s decent, trailing down your forehead, to the tip of your nose, and falls to the ground. Your ears are greeted with the sound of a sharp hiss, as the drop evaporates within moments from its journey. You, can only give it a quick glance, before tearing your eyes back in front of you.

Being able to withstand heat was always an integral part of training at the Hive’s military academy. Living in the wastland, and it’s unforgiving climate made life hard, which meant that all who called it home were forced to adapt and survive.

The Great Souhthern Wasteland, Palingar, put it’s inhabitants to the test everyday, and you excelled when tested.

But even you have begun to reach your limits.

You feel a grimace tug on your jaw, as one of your hands clutches the broken shaft of the arrow that protrudes from your side. In hindsight, breaking the arrow so roughly may not have been the smartest idea, as the head may have caused more tearing beneath the tissue.

The Bossk usually barb their arrow tips, to cause as much internal damage to their enemies as possible, and the agony you currently felt was self evident of that fact. Honestly, though, you don’t have much to compare it to, since you never been shot before.

You’ve sustained many injuries during your time in the Army of the Hive, and even more since becoming the Breag Naofa, from cuts and slashes, to broken bones and a busted scalp, but nothing compares to the feeling of a Bossk barbed arrow ripping through your body.

The feeling is hellish.

Hell...

The dead look in the private’s eye flashes in your mind for a second; thoughts of the battle and it’s aftermath linger.

The screams, the smells, the blood, the shit and piss and cries of mercy are resounding through your mind.

For a second, you couldn’t tell which pain, the mental or physical, was more unbearable, before the arrow’s shaft draws your gaze again.

You look down, and notice the faint outlines of blood seeping through your appendages, hardening your gaze even more.

“Damn,” you mutter to yourself, as a the dull throb from you side morphs into a sharp pain.

You don’t have the medical supplies to tend to this wound as throughly as you would like, and the closest fort, Fort Heshen, was still leagues away.

Fort Heshen.

You would have stearn words with the Commander there, considering how much of a disaster this battle turned into.

This wasn’t the Hive’s first resource war; you’ve fought in two of them, as well as the countless battles and skirmishes amongst the Wasteland, but it was the first conflict in years with a foreign power that wasn’t a rival Hive.

You knew fighting the Bossk of the Gem Vale wasn’t a wise descision, and as the Breag Naofa of Palingar, you made your opinion known amongst the Lord’s of the war council. You pleaded with Chrissy, yourself.

Chrissy.......

What must she be thinking right now?

News from stragglers or other survivors must’ve reached Fort Heshen by now, which would mean that word must’ve made it to the Capital.

Would she think you’re dead?

Are they sending others to come collect our fallen?

The battle took place in sovereign Bossk territory, so word must’ve reached their land’s capital, as well. Maybe they’d come to collect their dead with an army at their backs?

You sigh in frustration, as the reality of the situation dawns upon you.

This wasn’t just a disaster, this was a monumental fuck up.

Bracing yourself, you take a deep, ragged breath before continuing onward, using a dead Bossk’s spear as a walking staff.

Having discarded your armor in favor of the torn and dust caked tunic and robes your wore beneath, you tighten the sword belt that’s strapped onto your torso, and walk towards the direction of Fort Heshen, the sun ever bright and hot, burning you as your journey begins.

You can only pray that you can survive the journey.

Maybe it would’ve been better if you died on that field with your soldiers.

With your friends.

So many good Changelings dead...

You cast one last forlorn look over your shoulder, wondering whether it was cruel of you to have not buried at least one.

========================================

It’s by the seventh lick that it dawns on you that you’re only making the blisters on your lips worse. No matter how temporary the relief is, you force yourself to keep your tongue back in your mouth.

Can you blame yourself, though?

It’s been hours of walking under the scorching sun, with no food or water.

Food, you could live without for the time being. The carnage of the battle would probably stay your appetite for days, but the lack of water was becoming worrying.

Your father always told you during training that you could last weeks without food, but no less then a day without water in the heat of Palingar.

You reach down, and grab your meager water flask, trying to pour the last few drops from the bottom to slate at least the tip of your tongue, but after giving it a stiff shake, you place the cork back in place, your thirst burning within you.

Your back lays resting against the side of a large rock, while you lean your head back to enjoy the meager shade.

As far as you know, there was still at least 20 leagues of wasteland separating you from Fort Heshen, and the territory you were currently in was technically considered frontier lands from the border.

Heat aside, Hiveless Changeling marauders was a danger in these parts, as well all Bossk slavers.

Your wounds, especially the arrow, would stop you from putting up a strong fight, but if you must, you’d gladly die in battle before a slaver puts chains on you.

You would die in battle, just like your father, and his father before him.

Maybe deep down that’s all you ever want.

Bah, that’s just the heat of wasteland twisting your thoughts. A good death could wait. You have Changelings depending on you back home, a queen waiting for your return.

You can’t die just yet.

A noise from the distance catches your attention.

At first, you think it’s just the wind passing through amongstthe rocks around you, that you barely give it any mind. The sound, though becomes sharper, the glittering of the wind morphing into a low, but distinct buzz.

Now your attention is fully grasped.

That’s not the wind, but the fluttering of wings.

Changeling wings.

Forcing yourself to a crouching position, trying your best to ignore the screaming relunctance of your body, you move behind the cover of the rock to get a good look at the horizon.

Squinting, you strain your eyes to the east, the direction that which you think the noise is coming from.

And then you them.

A small, black cloud in the distance. Too far to determine their banners, but judging by the size
And formation in the air, they were definitely military affiliated.

A descion has to be made, now. Marauders or not, they probably had water or food, which without you would die anyway.

Fuck it, when they get close enough, you would flag them down.You just need to see their banners. Which house, Hive or Lordship do they hail from?

Turning back to them, you notice something that makes your heart sink.

“They’re turning around!” You exclaim to yourself, watching as the back cloud of Changelings rotates and heads back they way it came!

Damn the consequences, you need to get their attention.

Drawing your sword and extending it outward, you try to catch the sunlight on your blade, and flash it towards the group!

Yo wave the sword frantically while the cloud still moves away from you. It could be too late.

You’re too far.

They just don’t notice you.

“Damnit all! Come back! Please!” You hoarsely shout to the horizon, “ by the Old Gods, come back!” Your hands tighten around the hilt of the sword, the scabs on your knuckles tearing by the amount of pressure you grasp it with, before with a long, guttural shout, you toss your sword has far as you can.

It sails through the ground, slunking into the sand with a soft thud.

You fall back to your knees, slamming a fist against the ground. The arrow wound in your side bleeding even more, now.

You hear it again, the buzzing sound getting louder!

Tearing your head back up, you notice the sword gleaming with a brilliant light, shining across your face, and towards the distance. The back cloud of Changelings have changed directions again! They’re coming straight to you at an slanting pace!

For the first time in days, a great, joyful smiles spreads across your lips as a cry of laughter and fatigue escapes your mouth!

You see the banners they approach more clearly.

A lions head, atop a wyrms body, surrounded by seven stars.

It was the seal of St. Gnosis!

The seal of the Hive!

As they get closer, you can identify the number and ranks of the Changelings.

Three Knights, seven Privates, surprisingly a Lord Commander bearing the insignia of St. Gnosis, flanked by two Thrones were barreling towards you at an alarming pace.

Your elation is so strong, you feel a faint dizziness in your head, as stumble to catch your footing.

You sit back down, to conserve your strength, awaiting the arrival of the group.

Within minutes the Changeling group lands mere yards away from you, proceeding towards you on hoof!

“My Lord, are you alright, sir?!” The Lord Commander shouts at you, galloping as fast as he could over to you.

“I-I’ll live for now, but I have wounds that need attention,” you reply, placing your hand back against your side,” do you have any water?”

“Here, my Lord, take some of mine,” one of the Privates says, pulling his water flask from his side and offering to you. You take it and drink as deeply as you can, forcing you into a coughing fit.

You don’t care, the water is worth the temporary discomfort.

“Let me see that wound, Sir,” one of the knights says, coming closer to inspect the portruding shaft.

You nod your head in thanks to the private, moving your hand out of the way, allowing the knight to inspect the damage.

“Take a seat, my Lord, relax a bit,” the knight says, a concerned look on his face,” this may take a bit, and hurt a lot.”

You nod head again.

“Do what you have to do.”

As the knight tends to your wound, the rest of the soldiers begin to form a perimeter around you, while the Lord Commander settles down across from you.

“You looke beat to Tartarus, Anon,” the Lord Commander says, giving you a look over.

You can only weakely chuckle, flinching in pain when the knight touches the arrow shaft.

“I lived through Tartarus, Vhelen,” you mutter weakly,” did any others make it back to the Fort?”

“A few, mostly message bringers,” Vhelen stated, taking a quick drink for his own water flask,” not many actual fighters, though. A defeat wasn’t the war council had in mind.”

Hurt and anger well up within your heart hearing that.

“Damn the war council and all it’s shit, I told everyone that this assault was a mistake!”

“Please keep still, my Lord,” the knight chastises,” you’re going tear the wound even further.”

“I’m sorry, Anon,” Vhelen raises his hooves in submission, is armor creaking from the sudden movement ,” you know that I sided with you during the arguments of concerning this. We were all just following the council’s orders!”

“We’ll bring the council down here, and have them look at the fucking mess they made of this!” You exclaim in fury.

“Sir, please settle down!”

You couldn’t help but let your emotions get the better of you. Everything was coming back to you, all the previous thoughts of the battle.

It infuriated you.

You take a few deep breaths to gather your composure.

“A lot of good soldiers died for this fools errand, I want them all buried with honors for this, Vhelen,” you say to him, averting your gaze to the horizon where the battlefield lie.

“Of course, Breag Naofa,” the Lord Commander stated, “these soldiers will be placed in the catacombs with full honors.”

“Good,” you say, grunting, as the knight tending to your wound retracts his hoof.

“The arrow is barbed, my Lord, I’m afraid we are going to have to cut it out,” the knight says, cleaning blood from his hoof on the side of his cloak, “ infection would most likely be setting in, so I would advise that we remove the arrow as soon as possible.”

“We won’t make it back to the fort before nightfall,” the Lord Commander states, casting his gaze to the sun,”it’ll be dark soon, and this rocky outcrop seems to be the best cover for miles.”

“We’ll make camp here, then?” One of the other knights asks,” aren’t we too exposed out here?”

The Lord Commander shakes his head.

“We have no other choice.”

The previous knight places a hoof shoulder while the Lord Commander removes his cloak and lays it on the ground.

“Lie down my Lord, I’m sorry to say but this will not be a pleasant experience.”

A grimace once again encompasses your face, as you struggle to lay against the hard ground.

You lean your head back, closing your eyes, readying your body for your on coming suffering.

“Let’s get this over with.”