[hr][hr][h1][center]S I R   B R A N D O N[/center][/h1][hr][hr]
Without another glance at the group that had gathered around him, Brandon began to walk out to meet the approaching riders. He did so slowly, methodically. This was no charge into battle, a sprint towards the enemy line. Just a battered and tired man dragging himself in front of a host of enemy cavalry. He could hear some of the others gearing themselves up for battle, shouts and cries, the sound of incantations. From behind a swarm of insects flew past, no doubt summoned from one of the monsters he found himself in the company of.

Didn't they realise it was all pointless?

For some godforsaken reason they wanted to fight, wanted to serve the Warden and King Tyronde in their foul schemes. Perhaps they mistook this illusion of freedom for the real thing. Perhaps they thought if they acted like obedient little servants and performed their task well they might be set free, or spared the torments of the maw. 

But Brandon knew differently. There was no being spared. There was no freedom. There was no escape. He would fight and kill and do... unspeakable things again, and again, and again. There was no end.

Not in this world at least.

The first of the riders was almost upon him, hooves furiously crashing against the ground, a trail of dust kicked up in its wake. As the soldier atop the destrier lowered a cruel steel lance to point at him, Brandon knew what he had to do. 

The knight took a deep breath, closed his eyes, let his shield fall to side, and opened his arms wide. 

If he was going to die, best make himself an easy enough target. 

It was better this way. He would finally escape, be free of the sinister machinations of the King Tyronde and the monstrous that pulled the strings behind the scenes. He would aid them no more, shed blood of them no longer. He would be free of his conscience, and the memories of all he had done. 

All he had to do was stand there still and let the lance skewer him, and the nightmare would finally be over.

A moment passed. The thunderous roar of the approaching hooves getting ever louder, the ground beneath his feet shaking as the rider came upon him. He was just glad that he could die here, under the open sky, on the blade of an enemy. It would be a much cleaner death than by his own hand, trapped in the dank and fetid blackness of the Maw. 

Brandon drew one last breath of that wondrously fresh air, and waited for his fate to befall him.

Without thinking his hand shot up and parried the tip of the lance. 

The steel shrieked as his interposed blade pushed the point offline and away from him. His eyes immediately snapped open. A miniscule half step to his left and he was inside the reach of the rider, just out of path of the horse's charge. His still extended sword tip  dug into the flank of the beast, scoring a deep and bloody gash down its side, rending its muscle and fat open in a grotesque flap. 

The rider attempted to whirl about in their saddle, but the damage was already done and the horse lost its footing. It crashed to the ground in a chaotic tumble of gore and kicked up dust, trapping the armoured horseman beneath its dying bulk. 

Shit. Looks like he still couldn't do it. 

He really had meant to that time. Meant to die. It was just the years of combat training, the muscle memory, the purpose that had been forged into very inch of his being. His body just wouldn't let him do it. 

Shit.

Wearily, Brandon walked over to the thrashing beast and the trapped rider and methodically slit their throats. He felt bad about the horse, he always felt bad about the horses. It was never their fault.

As he did so another rider thundered down upon him, spiked mace in hand, leaning out from the saddle in order to bludgeon him about his exposed head. With a bored expression Brandon spun on his heal and severed the warrior's forearm at the elbow in a single upwards cut. The rider screamed but somehow managed to keep control of his horse, veering off away from the now gore-soaked knight who had just maimed him. 

Even rusty as he was, neither of them had been any match for him. If he wanted to die, he would have to find someone who was.