This is merely aimless writting, it is not (currently) intended for Journal or other fan fiction, but I would love to see the comments of those who read it.
I don't know if its any good, I don't know if its very creative. I do know that its difference.
Seraph
Covenant. Capital of the Province since the Age of Reason, and after the Fall of Muirthemne, the greatest city in the known world.
Soulblighter's forces had been attacking the city for a month now, and they had finally burst through the ancient gates, slaughtering the defenders like sheep. While the warriors fought desperately to buy a few precious minutes, selling their lives dearly, Dairmuid and a mere half score of the Colour Guard of the First Legion, and the mysterious Eastern Heron Guards, protected Alric, little more than a boy, but wise and solemn beyond his years. Mauriac, the Prince Regent not long before stood waiting, looking like an ordinary captain among the warriors, and no more.
"Sire, we must flee the city now!" Dairmuid said, temper snapping as the death cries of the valiant warriors tore through the air like a sharp blade. Alric looked at him calmly, his keen eyes focused on the Archmage.
"Dairmuid, I have a request of you."
"Of course your Majesty, it is done."
"Gather all the men you can and make a stand outside the city. You must buy time for the other legions to assemble and prepare for the next attack." Alric's voice was calm and soft, a contrast next to the hard anger which burned in his eyes as he spoke.
Mauriac turned to Alric. "Alr...Your Majesty, do you wish me to stand with him in this battle?"
"No, Mauriac. I need you to help rally the kingdom. The people know you, trust you."
Mauriac saluted, then turned to Dairmuid.
"Wyrd bless you."
Dairmuid did not respond, saluting Alric.
"Be careful, my King."
"When Covenant has fallen, I am King no more...for I have no kingdom." Alric said.
As Alric, Mauriac and the Colour Guard moved to flee the city, Dairmuid issued orders for the Legionaries to fall back and resemble outside the city. Little more than four cohorts remained of the First Legion and similar numbers among the rest, both veteran warriors and recently armed and ill trained farmers exhausted and blood soaked, some with eyes haunted by fear, all marked with the grim determination to hold until the ground was soaked red with their blood.
Even this determination was not enough, and when Soulblighter himself attacked their lines, only Dairmuid and the Colour Guard had the courage to hold as men were mowed down like wheat before the scythe, the brave men of the Legions running in mad, unthinking terror of the faceless fiend who slew men who had fought in battle since they were sixteen as easily as if they had just learned which end of their swords were sharp.
