Writing Prompt: He made a name for himself among their number.

Good morning one and all. We once again start a new week. It is a new bright and shiny Monday morning and the sun has actually decided to put in an appearance. After a week’s absence, it is nice to see. It will be less nice when it causes all of the moisture to rise from the ground and hang in the air, but for now, it is lovely and the world smells and feels scrubbed clean. So shall we get started on our freshly scrubbed Monday with a morning writing prompt? Of course. So set the timers for fifteen and let’s see what words the pen or keyboard take from our brains.

Odd. That wasn’t where I thought this would go. I didn’t really have any expectation but when I read the line I immediately thought, cat burglar. Somehow the words were no where near cat burglar. Not in any sense of the term. very strange.

Monday, August 23rd: He made a name for himself among their number.

He made a name for themselves among his number.  In battle he was always the first to charge.  He fought like five men and their enemies fell before him like rain.  Not knowing his given name was not an obstacle.  He was just referred to as Him.  Often it was said in whispered tones.

I’m only alive because of Him.

We would have been overwhelmed if it hadn’t been for Him.

No name needed to be added.  He was not a chatty fellow.  His face was set into grim lines and his eyes always seemed to look far away.  Some said he stared into the future looking for the next battle.  Other said his eyes were fixed on the past and the trauma that shaped him.  Some claimed his eyes were fixed within himself and all else was irrelevant. 

Whatever their belief, all knew, they weren’t the ones he was looking at.

For many it provided a sense of relief.  No one wanted to be the focus of his attention.

He showed no jo in battle, no horrors of pains inflicted.  He showed no emotion whatsoever regardless of the circumstances.  His face remained a passive mask. 

No one knew where he came from.  No one was brave enough to ask.  He was polite enough when he sat down to eat with them but he offered nothing of himself.  He ate no more than was necessary to keep up his strength and never complained about the poor rations or the cook’s poor efforts.

He was making himself a name with the enemy as well.  They searched him out on the battlefield and they redirected their troops so as to send the fiercest warriors to him.  They could see the shuffling of troops as they were surveyed.  No one said a word. But it was acknowledgement of the death and destruction he caused among their number.  The first time the enemy rearranged their troops, those who stood near Him, swore that he cracked the tiniest of smiles before allowing his face to fall back into predictable lines.  Most claimed it was a trick of the light.

There was one who knew his name.  He would have been able to tell the men, although the name would have meant nothing to them.  The man who commanded the enemy forces knew full well who this fearsome warrior was and knew to fear him. 

General Ocaran held a position of power and privilege. He sent men onto the field of battle and remained behind, shifting them about as though the world were one giant chess set.  Indeed that was how he thought of it.  Each sector of the world was its own chess match.  There was a board set for battle, another for politics, a third for social interactions. Each was played with an aim to specific outcomes. 

This warrior, he knew could throw off his game here.  Indeed he could disrupt all three of the boards where his markers moved.  He could not be allowed to leave the field of battle alive. As he managed to survive battle after battle, this alone became the General’s goal.  Stop him at all costs.  It was the focus of his moves. With the singular focus, his overall game play began to deteriorate. The rebels took advantage of his oversight.

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