The calm settled over the fields of grass while birds flew over head whose endless call nearly echoed across the plane. Dominating the view of the grass and stone covered plane was a hilltop. It was not a monolith. Was not a giant feature of land. But a simple hill rising approximately thirty or perhaps thirty-five feet above that of the general level of the plane. No true nature features were upon this hilltop other than a trio of large and long rocks - set there by some people long lost to this world and likely even gone from the next. Their own echo not even a memory on the wind. They were arrayed simply in a large triangle placed evenly in a circular manner around the hilltop. Themselves, the stones were nothing but old. No visible carvings that weren’t worn away by time’s touch. No pictures. No further script. What purpose they had once served? Those answers were forever gone.
High overhead the thunder clouds were rolling in. A soft rumble reverberated across the grass and stone from the belly of those clouds. A promise of what was to eventually come. A breeze took hold of the plane’s grass and created a wave, gentle and cool over the hundreds of acres of land well beyond eyesight’s embrace. A bit of sunlight still stole through the clouds that slowly swallowed its setting orb. It was of a daylight expired and prepared to go yonder and illuminate another surface of this lonely world. The warmth of the day was gone thanks to the looming weather approaching and replaced by a growing chill and dampness.
No animals stood on this plane - although some were peeking from the furthest treelines and slinking their way towards the center-piece of this plane. Their paths encouraged carefully so not to attract predators. With any luck their would arrive at their destinations unmolested.
These creatures would have to cross a promising stream that flowed across the plane in a winding gentle manner. Stones in the stream were smoothed down by ages gone passed of watery friction. It spoke to the calling of the birds and the combined sounds of the distant storm, wind, water and avian things created a curious song across the way.
One may have even called this scene: beautiful or perhaps even a soothing paradise.
Oh but what a lie that truthfully was.
Adding to this natural glade of magnificence - a site of such a ruthless battle.
Among the plane’s grasses that wasn’t being caressed by the gentle wave of the wind were bodies by the hundreds that were crushing acres upon many hectacres of that same grass. Hewn across every corner of this wondrous place were the dead. With bodies dressed by more of the physical melee weaponry of blade and blunt instrument rather than the more modern blaster bolt - it created the most gruesome surroundings to behold. Faintly on that wind that crossed the plane was also carried the crying moan of the few still alive out here. Their cries were so sad as they called out for help that would never come or their actual cries of pain were the retelling of their brief lives. Many of these people out here were nothing more than young men and women. In some cases literally children being underneath the age considered for adulthood.
Some still even clutching their swords, spears, billhooks, hammers and clubs having died where they stood while others were weaponless and may have been otherwise mauled and had dragged themselves some distance before either bleeding out, being finished off or even trampled in the melee. To friend and foe there was no difference and alike they were all scattered across this field together.
Blood soaked the ground and the soil was enriched with a bold and soggy - even sponge like nature which actually was sloshed with the internal fluids of these fighters. It was of course mostly blood and viscera but it was also the loosed bowels and urine created by utterly terrified beings that knew they were about to die.
The creatures from the woods were actually the things that devoured easy game. Large and small, predatory and prey of the carnivore or omnivore variety had come and they all began to nibble, tear and feast. Some unlucky souls yet alive though gravely wounded who had thought their worst day over had to face the fact that they were now only fodder for the hungry and opportunistic. They did not die well. Some were still wide awake when the animals had begun to eat their organs. Their cries did nothing to deter these beasts.
For those that were deeper within the plane and would not be touched so soon by the earth bound bestiary - were targeted by the avian. Those crows and cawing vultures circling overheat were swooping down on the movement of the wounded - preferring the living or fresh meat of the helpless over that of the dead and cold. So obsessed by the easy pickings of the beings surrounding this hilltop the birds of prey completely disregarded the fattest of rat and rodent that also snacked among the fallen.
The stream was dry this time of year. But in this moment it flowed as the saturated ground produced blood to flow down its path. It glistened in a thick soupy froth as it drained down the twists and turns. It stank of the filth that was within. More than several bodies clotted the path of the stream and more than on one occasion one of the living wounded were drowned in the blood of their fellows.
Such the scene was set and the saddest staggered bolt of lightning stabbed out over the clouds. Its thunder roared in the deep of the distance. Splintered of that promised rain began to fall. Though for all this carnage - the worst of it all was surrounding that hilltop. Bodies covered the rises and the mound at the top was no exception. Only one of those ancient pillars still stood erect. The first pillar had been detonated by something roughly halfway up. The top half of the stone was cast down the hilltop - it had clearly crushed many on its way down. The second pillar had fallen over and it lay aside having violently been knocked over somehow.
The final pillar stood still among the harvest of the dead. But it was not alone.
Midrift of the pillar beheld a vicious chunk clove from its surface. Within and stabbing deep was a large sword. Its surface was marred by chips and gouges all covered in the thickest of blood all coagulated and caked on like a second skin. Its leather bound hilt was cut in places though primarily it was twisted and stretched from such use that delivered signs that the wielder was holding its length in such a mighty grip whilst swinging it with unbridled rage. The grace of a duel was nowhere near this sword’s most recent story as it had obviously fought through this battle in entirety. It had not been swung in graceful parry and riposte but rather in a hammering counter to savage sweeps, thrusts and death dealing hacks. It was such bloody work. But work done well.
Upon this worn hilt was a length of cloth - a ribbon. Owning the color now was blood soaked where its origin was long lost. Its length whipped and snapped in the wind telling its tale. More lightning. The rain had come after the sun fell away and its heavy yield began to wash the blade.
This process took a lengthy amount of time of which not one single creature out there even so much as flinched away from the prospect of getting soaked in the rain. Their desire to eat far overcame their sense of preservation. As the rain pattered away at the flat of the sword it removed enough of the blood to deliver an engraving upon its surface.
It was a name. Granted partially buried in the stone.
Its name was powerful. It was with purpose and intent. It was a name not long forgotten as so many features in this vast field of battle.
Its name was - Akaan Burkida.
