The Order

Waging Blades

Fear? That's not in question, and if it is we're already dying.

The sound of the iron horseshoes became rhythmic. With the cannon fire in the distance, it sounds like war.

We can no longer see the city, or the countries bloodshed.

It's just us, along with Travis's elite. "Staring Pitcairn's ship along with forty plus foot mobiles dead in the eyes." Travis says as we stop and dismount.

"We have about ten minutes. Men, prepare the powder kegs, and James. Get your head on straight." Travis added.

God I'm glad I met him.

We flip a cart on to the road, "James, stick that shirt in the keg" I ordered.

"I spot red!" Yelled Samuel, my favorite of Travis's men. I call him "smoke".

James and I stand behind the kegs on their side, igniting the cloths.

We shove them downhill about time the brits realize blood is in the air.

"Ready a line!" Travis ordered.

As soon as they broke cover the British opened fire.

Lead has been thrown.

I looked at a man too my right as I was behind the cart.

A ball entered his upper thigh and blood began flowing outward. he fell forward as a British bayonet came came impaling his windpipe.

"James, we fight." I stated as we unsheath our blades.

I strike upwards against the brits rifle creating an opening to make quick work of his chest cavity.

As he falls I catch the butt of a rifle to my stomach, knocking my wind out.

Travis took a shot catching the soldier just above the ear.

James just disavowed a man's collarbone, throwing him over his back.

The kegs explode.

As I, James, Travis, and Samuel walk side by side over dying British soldiers, many missing limbs.

We approach the end of the path. Stop, and stare at Pitcairn along with his three elite bodyguards.

I reach to grab James arm as he rushed to meet their charge.

I missed.

Samuel lines up the last shot he has.

He nails a charging elite in the top left of his torso, just missing James.

"Go" says Travis. "He needs you, and I'm out of mini balls."

I begin sprinting alongside James.

Pitcairn draws a blade.

His last bodyguard just fell. James and I run. With one goal.

I clash with Pitcairn first. Waging blades and sparks follow our volley of parrying.

He kicks my legs out from under me.

On cue James blocks the death blow with my name on it.

He over anticipated, his sword prepared for an overhead strike that never comes.

I watch as a God forsaken blade enters and exits my dear friends bowels. "John....." he murmurs.

I can't speak. I wont.

He summbles to the ground. Glaring at me, quickly becoming lifeless.

"I'm sorry" I stutter. With my lungs dramatically deflating as Pitcairn stomps my ribcage without breaking them.

James... is dead.

As I lay.

Loosing light.

Travis.

He grabbed a British rifle. He put a ball in Pitcairn's shin.

Taking out a flintlock pistol, blows Pitcairn's brains on the dirt.

He's dead. The damned bastards dead.

Travis begins dragging me. Home. Or, as I see home now.

This is only the beginning.