Forbidden Sea: the Fae Princess and her Cursed Love

Chapter 4: Barrett

I yell a fierce battle cry as I rush towards yet another Tirnan warrior with my sword angled and aimed right for his neck. The squelch of blood and wet thump on the ground tell me that I have successfully decapitated the fae male. For a moment, my feet remain rooted to the cold, blood soaked ground, my gaze fixed on the lifeless form of the fallen fae. The freezing rain continues its relentless assault, each drop a stinging reminder of the senseless c*****e surrounding me.

For more than three years now, I have been trapped in this nightmare, a pawn in my uncle’s twisted game of war. The once vibrant beaches of Bernthal, now stained crimson, ring out with the cries of the dying and the anguished roars of the wounded. Night is falling quickly and some of the Tirnan forces begin their retreat to their camp. I stay rooted to the place where I stand over the fallen Tirnan warrior. Movements evade me as dread of the night washes over my body. Night is the only peace from this mutiny for some, but for me, the night brings something much worse. The faces of my fallen comrades haunting my dreams, their vacant eyes accusing me of their demise. As the battle dies slowly around me, I fall to my knees and pray the prayer I say every night to keep their faces from my dreams; I know it will be in vain.

I make my way back to our camp and as I open the ties to my tent, a surge of rage and despair threatens to consume me. I have lost count of the lives I have taken, each one a burden on my soul. The initial thrill of battle has long since faded, replaced by a gnawing emptiness that no amount of bloodshed can fill. I sit on my cot and seethe with anger thinking of how my uncle, King Seamus of the Oieha Clan, forced us into this absurd war to try and steal some sort of hidden power from the Tirnans. In recent years, he has become obsessed with collecting some secret power that he will explain to no one else. He hides away in his study and pours over legends and tales of children of the Gods. Children who possess gifts, bestowed upon them in times of need and difficulty, through a drop of the God’s blood. His power hungry spirit has caused our clan immense loss and destruction and I am unsure how much longer I can play into his silly tales of make believe and sacrifice my comrades to his game of war.

In the distance I hear what little of the warriors that are still left on the battlefield clanging swords and striking shields with their opponents. The battle will never truly cease for rest, but those who have fought for the past few days will retreat and rest to return to the battle once the sun begins to peek from the horizon. I lie back and try to distract myself from the nightmares I know will linger in my mind once I fall asleep and before I can count to twenty, I have fallen into a deep, dark sleep.

I wake suddenly, hearing a scream from one of my neighboring tents. No, not a scream, an agonizing cry for help. I wipe the sleep out of my eyes and hurriedly strap my axe to my back and grab my sword and shield. I exit my tent and see the faces of some of my fellow warriors etched with weariness and disillusionment, mirroring my own inner turmoil. We silently search for the Tirnan warriors who we know have invaded our camp, making sure to watch out for our fellow men. Suddenly, a fleet of Tirnans comes flooding into the the rows of the camp. Quickly, each man draws their sword and begins to fight with the same ferocity that they have held since the day we were sent here. We fight through one wave of warriors and catch our barings as we listen for the next fleet that is following close behind.

As we charge towards the next wave of warriors, I notice that there are battles breaking out within their own ranks.

“Barrett, what should we do?” I hear a confused warrior shout towards me.

I watch momentarily as the Tirnan force’s unified front fractures into a chaotic melee. I strategize as quickly as my brain will allow and turn to answer my comrades’ questioning pleas.

“Push your attack to the gaps they have created within their ranks. Take as many as you can alive for questioning.” I shout, and begin racing towards the nearest break in the fleet.

“Yes, Commander.” I hear my soldiers say in almost eerie unison as they split apart to attack the broken forces of the Tirnan Clan.

The clash of steel began to echo through the night, the air thick with the scent of blood and sweat. My comrades and I fight with renewed vigor, exploiting the chaos within the Tirnan ranks. Like wolves amidst a flock of sheep, tearing through the Tirnan defenses with ruthless efficiency. After successfully defeating the fae near me I search the battle and spot a Tirnan warrior locked in a desperate struggle with one of my men. With a swift movement, I quickly disarm him, the clanging of his sword and shield on the ground a satisfying counterpart to the surrounding cacophony of the battle.

“Yield.” I command, my voice a deep and rattling growl.

The warrior hesitates, searching his surroundings for a way to escape, but realizing he has no options he drops to his knees and holds his arms up in defeat.

“Take him prisoner for questioning,” I order a nearby soldier, who quickly secures his wrists with bindings.

As the battle rages on, I continue to lead my fleet in a strategy to exploit the Tirnans’ weaknesses. We capture more and more prisoners, their resistance crumbling under the weight of our relentless assault. Finally, with a deafening roar, the Tirnan forces brake ranks and flee into the night. We pursue them for a short distance, but our priority is now to secure the camp and tend to the wounded.

The battlefield is a gruesome sight, littered with bodies and the debris of war. But amidst the c*****e, there is a glimmer of hope. We have won a decisive victory, and the tide of the war has begun to turn.

As the moon lowers, making way for the morning sun and casting eerie shadows on the newly bloodstained ground, I gather my men. Their faces are weary, but their eyes hold a newfound determination. We have faced a formidable battle and emerged victorious. We are now closer to an end to this futile war than ever before.

"We fought bravely today," I say, my voice hoarse but filled with pride. "But the war is not over. We must remain vigilant, for the Tirnans will surely return. But for now, let us tend to our wounds and honor our fallen comrades. We will fight on, for the hope of meeting the end of this war and seeing those we left behind once again.”

My words are met with a chorus of cheers and roars of agreement. This battle has taken its toll but we now have a reason to believe that we may see the end of this war just yet.

I stalk through the camp, the flickering torchlight casting long, dancing shadows. The air is heavy with the stench of blood and dirt, a grim reminder of the night's brutal conflict. Around me, the Oieha warriors are tending to the wounded, their hushed voices a stark contrast to the recent cacophony of battle.

A wave of exhaustion washes over me, the adrenaline fading, leaving a dull ache in its wake. But there's no time to rest. We have prisoners to interrogate and intelligence to gather. This victory is a turning point, and we need to use every moment to our advantage.

I find a group of captured Tirnan warriors huddled together, their faces etched with weariness and cold defiance. Their armor is dented and scarred, testaments to their years of service. Their eyes, though filled with the horrors they witnessed in tonight’s battle, hold a flicker of defiance that I haven't seen in the eyes of the prisoners we have managed to capture in the past.

"Bring me the one who seems to be in charge," I instruct one of my lieutenants.