It is after battle when the sorrow sets in. When the blood of my foes stain my hands and my weapons have cloven through their bodies. Even if they are foul as orcs or as feral as wargs, I still feel the grief. Grief for the duty that I must perform, for the violence that I must commit. Every time after the chaos of battle has died down, I feel as if I could never touch another weapon, but I must continue on. Which lives will be lost, if I cannot protect them? The temptation to give in and sail into the west is alluring, but I must ground myself. I still have a task to complete; a journey that may very well end me.
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Post-Mortem
Submitted by Theylwe on July 8th, 2013
