The Last Stand of the Vipers

From my dark fantasy world. A dramatised portrayal of an event which triggered a brutal wat between two elven nations.

Commander Vaenbar leaned up against a stone wall. The tattered remains of the old fortification continued to degrade as the Commander’s shoulder dug into the flaking stone. Dust fell from above as the ground shook from the impact of siege weapons. The last scattered remnants of the Viper Brigade huddled for even a shred of cover. They were wounded, bandaged, bloody. Their armour was bent and their clothing torn as they stood among their lifeless brethren who fell at their side. The Commander looked around and scanned the battlefield " the scene of their slaughter. The ground was cratered with trees uprooted, and surrounding them on all sides was the enemy, with their mighty machines of war. The sound of canon fire would not stop ringing in his ears. Bullets flew over his head so fast that he could hear them whistle, so close that he could feel their heat. Soon the ringing became unbearable. The Commander zoned out, as if he wandered far, far away to another place, where the world was calm and peaceful, and there would be no bloodshed. The Commander closed his eyes and reached out. That world was beckoning and he had to go. It was then that an aura of tranquillity overcame him like a cool breeze. He smiled for he knew he would soon be there, at that place that so many seek. Then, with a flash, the darkness came. And then, the light.