The bodies lined the archways of the castles highest battlement; it littered the stairways down to the cobble cord yard red. Red with vengeance, red with anger, red with the blood of men. Men who had fought so hard, so bravely, only to be slaughtered like cattle. Limbs attached in unkindly ways, bodies reaching for hope so beyond the rigeration of their now set bodies, mouth screaming in pain and woe. The sky was black as charcoal and only seem to hold the never-ending darkness that the torches on the wall of the castle could not ebb away. The fire too flickered out and died as if someone blew upon it with a single cold breath.
But the lines, no matter how small they were becoming still held.
Men, women, and able bodies were able to starve off the enemy from reaching the bared gates of Camelot. Their feet pushed in to the blood and guts that was the ground as they took many wounds to them. Sliver embedded in torsos making the insides scream out and drop to the ground, arms bleed like rain, tears held like the gate behind them. The leader of the assembled pack growled an honored yell and as one, the people pushed passed the other fighters and managed to knock some down and turn their own weapons against them.
Alas, it was only some.
The man, a knight of the castle, who had lost his own sword long ago, unclenched his enemy's sword from their throat and with a skilled backwards slash cut the soldier behind him down. He was knocked into then and felt a tremendous white pain arch up his back and down his throat. He was meet face to face with a troll. It was an ulgy creutre that stood a good three men high and four wide. It was dressed in a crude form of human cloths and sung a scythe much like the fable Grimm reaper. It roared again and the knight was pushed back as it ripped the curved medal blade out of his back and it the air. Bones broke and snapped, he fell to his knees.
Vision failing he gasped in the air that seemed so sweat to him know then in the hours he had been awake. So sweet and fresh did it taste it seemed too real to be true. With a hand, he pushed himself up as the troll sneered and marched to the castle to bang open the closed gates. Pushing the other dark knights out of his way, he delivered a muster of Virgo, and pushed a blade into the back of the big troll's knee.
It abused him, dragged him, clawed at him, but he held. All around him, his people he was leading fought more harder. They knew they would fall this night, but not before all the ugly bastards of hell fell before them. The knight caught the troll's own blade and killed him with it. Its hot blood bathed his already sinned skin.
He fell as light claimed him and the last dark knight fell to the earth. He could see the still escalating fight inside the castle as it rages on. Nevertheless, they would only have to deal with the few thousand that had managed to break the wall and that was it. The knight smiled once again as an ear-splitting scream tore through the air and a beast flew above him. So magnificent was it that he felt blessed just to see it, and with it the beast brought him to the most important parts of his life to view again.
The briefest of lights trailed the sky as the knight fell in his own insides and coughed into the road as he died.
"For Camelot, for the king and queen, for the people, for my friends, for FREEDOM!" Lancelot shouted his last words on earth.
Still the battle rages on.
Wait to find out about the Camelot and the rest of the groups fate in chapter 2
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