Tales of the Battlefield: The Fall of Heroes (The Bowman)

He drew the bowstring to his cheek. He felt the slight breeze on his face. He lined up his shot. The arrow flew. It landed squarely in the chest of a warrior with his blade above his head, ready to deliver a killing blow to one of the Bowman’s comrades. The blade slipped from the warriors hands as he slouched to his knees. The Bowman’s comrade scooped up the blade from the ground, staggered to his feet and moved off to continue the fight.

Another arrow flew, another enemy fell. Arrow after arrow found the warm, slick embrace of human organs. The Bowman’s quiver became very light, very quickly. The rocky outcropping upon which the Bowman stood gave him an ideal vantage point from which to deliver death from a distance, it also gave him bird’s eye view of how badly they were losing this skirmish. They were easily outnumbered two to one and were losing ground by the second.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. The Bowman hit his belly, narrowly avoiding being cleaved in two. He came to his feet, a dagger in each hand, and stood toe-to-toe with a behemoth of a man wielding a blood-stained battleaxe. The behemoth roared as he heaved his weapon into motion. Though deadly, the axe was slow and the Bowman was agile. He easily ducked under the wide arch of the axe and delivered two quick slashes to the behemoth’s thigh as he stepped to the behemoth’s side. Bellowing in rage, the behemoth delivered a bone-jarring back hand to the Bowman’s head sending him to his back on the stone. The Bowman recovered his footing quickly and sidestepped an overhead chop which buried the axe’s blade in the stone where the Bowman had been only second before. The Bowman delivered a multitude of slashes to the behemoth’s right arm from his wrist to his shoulder, several of which bit bone. The arm fell limp at the behemoth’s side as he tried to leverage the axe’s blade free from the stone. Seizing the opportunity, the Bowman sank one of his blades deep in the behemoth’s neck. The behemoth turned quickly causing the dagger to rip a gash from his right jaw to his left clavicle. His remaining arm shot up catching the Bowman’s neck in an iron grip. As quickly as he caught the Bowman’s neck, the behemoth’s grip began to weaken. Blood Poured from the behemoth’s neck in thick, red waves, leaving the air smelling of copper. The giant mans body sank slowly to the ground, releasing the Bowman’s neck him to gasp for breath as he staggered backward.

After regaining his composure, the Bowman stooped to retrieve his bow from the edge of the outcropping. As he stood an arrow slammed into his shoulder, sending him tumbling over the ledge. The ten foot fall landed the Bowman on his back, forcing the arrow through his shoulder. The adrenaline coursing through his veins numbed the excruciating pain in his shoulder. The Bowman rolled on to his hands and knees, his head swimming. As he began staggering to his feet, a heavy boot landed squarely between the Bowman’s shoulder blades, forcing him face first back into the dirt which forced the arrow back through his shoulder, opposite the way it had just gone.

The pain blanked his mind. His body began operating on instinct, feebly attempting to crawl away from the threat behind him. A heavy blade tore through his back and chest and sank into the dirt below. “That’s for Borror,” the words slithered through the darkness and somehow found what was left of his fading consciousness. He began to fall, through the ground and into darkness. Out of the darkness, what could bee loosely described as a hand engulfed him and pulled him deeper into the darkness.