Twisted Fate — Roleplayer Guild

The return to camp had been uneventful, and Jahan had been ready to turn in early before Haesteinn broke the news to them.
“That means you've been selected for the vanguard. We'll be the first one into the fray. Congratulations.”
Jahan knew what a vanguard was; at least, he knew that it meant they'd be the first on the field. He felt oddly conflicted about the news however. Some primal part of him was excited, eager to get his blade wet at the earliest opportunity, whilst another more rational part of him felt only fear. It was obviously dangerous - when you're the first person to join a battle chances are you're also going to be the first person to die - but he knew that it was his duty. He had signed up for this, and he would follow orders until the last.

He turned in early that night, wanting to get as much rest as possible before the battle. He managed a few fitful hours of sleep, but any real rest was kept from him by a growing sense of anxiety and anticipation. It wasn't even that was worried about his ability to cope with such a fight. During his days as a mercenary he had become extremely proficient with his blade, and was nigh unstoppable when faced with one, or even two opponents. It was during those fights that he had earned the nickname 'Snakebite', as he would gracefully dodge and weave around the attacks of his enemies, before capitalizing on their smallest mistake with a lighting-quick attack. It was certainly an unconventional style, but it had always served him well and it meshed well with his particular acrobatic skillset. 

Eventually the dawn of the battle came. He felt peaceful at the moment, as the marched towards the field - although he suspected that it was the calm before the storm, and that the coming fight would draw some emotional response from him. It always did. No matter how much combat you saw, nor how much death you caused, Jahan felt as though you could never get used to it. He had killed men, of course he had. But it was hardly something you could get used to. Not as long as you were a sane, non-psychotic human being at least.

“Why join the Black Shields?”

A gruff voice dragged him out of his musings. He looked to his left to see Haesteinn riding next to him, a look of feigned interest plastered across his face. He looked up, locking eyes with his sergeant and replied in a soft voice.
"In all honesty? A sense of purpose."
He dropped his gaze to the ground, a small chuckle erupting from his lips.
"I've lived my whole life without any sense of accountability. As odd as it may sound, it gets old after a while. You find yourself wanting something more stable, yet you know that you couldn't function as just a regular person, living in a village and doing the same boring job every day. I guess being a soldier just seemed like the right fit for me. It's essentially what I was doing anyway, except now I can believe that there is some greater reason for doing it."

With those words, he fell silent again, mentally preparing himself for what lay ahead.

It all came quicker than he expected. One minute they were crouched, hidden by the treeline - and the next minute all was chaos. A mighty cry of “CHARGE! FOR KING GREGAR! FOR THE ROYAL FAMILY! FOR THE MONARCH! ATTACK!” sounded the charge, and Jahan joined the mass of bodies running towards the enemy army. It was strange, going to battle with a host of men rather than on his own. It seemed oddly inspirational, and as he ran forward he caught himself shouting "FOR THE KING!

Then there was no more time for thinking. They were in the camp, and the defenders were beginning to fight back. His first kill was one born of instinct; an unarmed defender no older than Jahan threw himself at him, in some bizarre attempt to tackle him to the ground. His blade came up almost subconsciously, and he felt the resistance of the man's flesh as he drove his sword into his chest. Hot blood ran down his sword and onto his hands as the man went limp, and Jahan felt himself being pulled downwards by the weight of the man on his sword. He managed to dislodge his blade from his enemy, but in doing so lost his balance and went tumbling to the ground. Not that this was a problem to someone with his training of course. He tucked himself into a ball, rolling with the fall as he hit the ground and utilizing the momentum to propel himself back to his feet. He took a moment to wipe his hands clean of blood on his tunic before casting his gaze around.

It was like nothing he had ever seen before. he couldn't see anything except bodies and blood, his ears ringing with the screams of pain and battle-cries from those people around him. As he looked around, he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder, followed by a warm sensation running down his left arm. He screamed in agony his he felt something slice through the flesh of his unguarded shoulder, screaming once more as he felt his bone shatter. Through some miracle, he found the strength to spin, using his uninjured arm to flourish his blade at his assailant. Unfortunately, he had no experience fighting in conditions like this and was once again surprised when his arm collided with an armored shoulder, his elbow connecting painfully with the metal pauldron.  

This was all new to him, and he felt himself getting more and more panicked. His left arm was completely numb and hanging limply by his side, and his hand was slick with his own blood. He managed to catch a glimpse of the man who had stabbed him - a brute of a man wielding what looked like a simple woodcutting axe. A simple woodcutting axe that had just been brought down on his shoulder with the strength of this behemoth behind it. Although he was starting to become dizzy and unfocused due to the blood loss from his wound, he was still quick, and still in control of most of his body. He darted past the giant, heading towards the treeline that they had attacked from.

What took him a matter of seconds felt like hours. His left arm felt like it was about to simply disconnect from his body, and his vision was going black as he collapsed in front of a group of people who he hoped were his own army's medical team. Not that he cared at this point, he was just hoping that the pain would end. An end of some sort came quickly enough, as he slipped out of consciousness.

"The bone's shattered and the muscles been torn straight through, we're going to have to remove the arm!"

"Heat up that axe head man, if we don't cauterize the wound he's going to bleed out!

Agonizing pain. His side was on fire, he was sure he was going to die. Then blackness once more.

"The wound's been burnt, sir. Hopefully he should survive but it'll be a miracle if he can still function with only one arm. If I were him, I'd pray to the Monarch that I'd die of infection."
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