The Fall of Deschain

The Final Battle of Deschain Occam

as recalled by Dragor, son of Drago

Ordering his men into battle, Deschain looked for an opening in the Taran lines. He had orders to defend the region, and that is what he would do. He had arrived late to the battle, so, dismounting, he led his men past the first line to his assigned position on a hill, overlooking the right flank of Abington’s forces.

From the way they held themselves, you could tell the men of Veshin’s Pride were fresh from the fields and farms of the region. As the sounds of battle approached, they looked about nervously. Deschain was used to this suspenseful waiting, and let his mind wander.

Elizabeth. He thought of Elizabeth. She was a common woman back in Veshin, the daughter of a lawyer. He thought of her long, brown hair blowing in the wind, her eyes sparkling with held-back tears as she had bid him farewell only a week previous. He had not yet told anyone (on purpose, at least) of her, but he would have to, soon. As soon as he got back to Veshin, he promised himself, he would finally propose marriage. He chuckled; he had faced many a foe on the field of battle, but had not yet summoned the courage to ask for the hand of a commoner.

The sounds of battle were closer now, so Deschain drew his family sword; Occam’s Razor. “Hold the line, lads! Not one step back!” he ordered. “These Tarans shall not have this hill; we shall defend it. They shall not break our lines, we shall hold them! They shall not pass, for we shall stand in their way! Draw swords!”

By now, enemy units were clearly visible a mere bowshot away. Much to Deschain’s displeasure, the enemy noticed this too, and proceeded to shoot with their bows. A hail of arrows cut down men all around him. But Deschain stood motionless, awaiting the enemy’s charge.

They came.

Deschain cut down the first three men himself, in a single mighty (lucky, he told himself) slash. Seeing his confidence, Veshin’s Pride charged forwards, replacing the men that had been shot around him. “Push them back!” Deschain shouted, and, in a blur of steel, they did. Repulsing two enemy units, a great cheer went up in his host; a cheer of “VESHIN!”.

But the cheer was shortlived. With no chance of hitting live allies, the enemy archers fired another volley. This time, as Deschain stood defiant, he took an arrow to the chest.

Puncturing his chainmail the arrow forced Deschain to the ground. “Ouch” he thought. But he’d had worse, he told himself. He still had men to lead, and after a minute, he struggled to his feet.

A new cry had gone up in his men. “Defend the Count! To the Count!” Veshin’s pride formed a box around him, guarding him while he hefted his sword once again. But while they had done this, they had become surrounded. Enemies were now all around them, and closing in. “To the last man!” he croaked as loud as he could. “No surrender, no retreat!”

Veshin’s Pride honored themselves that day. They never ran. Just who finally cut them down is not important. Sooner or later, one by one, the men of Veshin’s Pride were stabbed, slashed, or shot by someone who was simply stronger, faster, or luckier. As the battle still raged a bowshot away, Deshain lay, broken and bleeding, on the hill of Tandsu.

If he could just get back to Veshin, he could relax at his estate, and everything would be better. He had been distant lately, spending all his free time with Elizabeth. Well, when he got back that would change. He’d invite Ulric, Gauihu, Elantus, Grand Poopah over; maybe throw an engagement party. He’d invite Duke Magnus; with a Duke’s blessing, her social status wouldn’t be an issue. He could invite Drago and Feldric; he hadn’t seen them lately. Really, the entire duchy of Wor’ight would have to come, if Magnus was there. Of course, Armitage and her dutchy would have to come too. So many of them were his friends, he’d have to invite practically the entire realm!

But he knew he wasn’t going to make it back to Veshin. He knew he would never see her again. Elizabeth. How he missed her. He couldn’t die! He had to get to her, to tell her! To hold her. To make her understand. A single tear ran down his face, lamenting the many years of love he knew he would never have.

On the top of that hill, as he clutched a wedding ring, Deschain died.