That was how i found myself in the blood and mud and gore of combat, Cudgel in one hand as i battered in skulls, shield or blade in the other smashing back blows that would dismember me, stabbing with the point of a dagger or edge of a shield, spears flying forwards to unleash a shower of blood and through it all the reek of fear and horror...
None the less, i met my allies a grizzled old dog who had been mauled and seemed content to spit in the eye of his pain to maul it right back.
The second came some years later, when a spear slipped past my face and guard, ending the lieutenant's reign of command. I will be honest, i have no idea how i survived, and i think i would have failed if not for my other friend, a quiet man who simply refused to be informal when he wasn't pissed, a task easier said than done. It's a wonder he wasn't from the north with a constitution like that. But with him and the Vet to keep me afloat, not to mention my correspondences with my oh so wonderful bride and the quiet downtimes with the forge to keep my skills sharp and equipment in shape, we advanced further than any other, took more hits while dealing 5 fold back.
And then we took the city, We saw abominable hell and we did not blink, We waded through a sea of bodies and did not drown, and when we took victory we collapsed and wept, I don't know why, i can't remember but it was something like relief....>Three years acolyte, taking monk
I kept in touch with my Battle forged Brothers , but 13 had their own lives to lead and so aside from a few letters that the birds seemed to follow through with delivering without exception or idea of distance, Me, My wife, Vet and Sarge took to the roads, and after a few months, we came upon a monastery in the mountains led on by this instinctual pulling towards it.