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In my dreams, I am a warrior without rival. Wars were waged between countries, and I would rage at the center of every battle. Sides were irrelevant. It wasn't for either side that I'd trained myself. Who of their kings could command me? Which would cross blades with me, knowing who I was?

In my day, men fought as men. We saw the light leave our opponents' eyes. We were there, breathing their last breaths. The closest thing we had to guns were the rare crossbows. If you wanted to get somewhere faster, you ran. Maybe took a horse.

These were the days of sword, axe, and spear. These were good days.

In my day, war was waged between kings close enough to the fray to hear the screams of the dying, even if they were themselves uninvolved in the actual battle. The general was as likely to be the first man on the field as the common soldier who, in my day, fought at his side.

In my day, strength of arm was more valuable than accuracy at distances in the thousands of meters. Trenches were where you stored bodies after the battle. Lives were lost, but every one counted toward something.

In my day, princes were on the fields with their men, fighting beside their subjects. Their men knew them and, when they became king, they were loved by their country.

In my day, if men had fears they would admit to them, confront them, defy them. The man feared the wolf, but did he let the wolf take his crops without a fight the wolf would regret? No.

In my day, death was in every corner, every shadow. Rogues wandered the woods, beasts prowled the land, and war ravaged every king's borderlands. Soldiers knew who they fought, and why. There was honor in every part of the conflict. Warriors did not simply fight for their country for the coin dropped in their purse. They trusted their king, laid their lives in his hands, became his great sword to cut down those he determined were foes.

In my day, brilliance was rewarded with titles, excellence with rank. A man who lead his men did so more often because of his merit than because of his connections and his blood relation to the king. There were those leaders, of course, but those who relied solely on who they knew did not last long.

I remember this golden age as I look on at the world I now see and wonder where the fall occurred. How did that shining glory of war fade? Where did the honor escape to? I see this Game we now fight in, battling hard one with another over the handful of fields that we all retreat from at the end.

I stand once more on the precipice overlooking the battle watching these children kill one another without reason. I stand and I fume, for there are no more tears left in me.

Description
In my dreams, I am a warrior without rival. Wars were waged between countries, and I would rage at the center of every battle. Sides were irrelevant. It wasn't for either side that I'd trained myself. Who of their kings could command me? Which would cross blades with me, knowing who I was?

In my day, men fought as men. We saw the light leave our opponents' eyes. We were there, breathing their last breaths. The closest thing we had to guns were the rare crossbows. If you wanted to get somewhere faster, you ran. Maybe took a horse.

These were the days of sword, axe, and spear. These were good days.

In my day, war was waged between kings close enough to the fray to hear the screams of the dying, even if they were themselves uninvolved in the actual battle. The general was as likely to be the first man on the field as the common soldier who, in my day, fought at his side.

In my day, strength of arm was more valuable than accuracy at distances in the thousands of meters. Trenches were where you stored bodies after the battle. Lives were lost, but every one counted toward something.

In my day, princes were on the fields with their men, fighting beside their subjects. Their men knew them and, when they became king, they were loved by their country.

In my day, if men had fears they would admit to them, confront them, defy them. The man feared the wolf, but did he let the wolf take his crops without a fight the wolf would regret? No.

In my day, death was in every corner, every shadow. Rogues wandered the woods, beasts prowled the land, and war ravaged every king's borderlands. Soldiers knew who they fought, and why. There was honor in every part of the conflict. Warriors did not simply fight for their country for the coin dropped in their purse. They trusted their king, laid their lives in his hands, became his great sword to cut down those he determined were foes.

In my day, brilliance was rewarded with titles, excellence with rank. A man who lead his men did so more often because of his merit than because of his connections and his blood relation to the king. There were those leaders, of course, but those who relied solely on who they knew did not last long.

I remember this golden age as I look on at the world I now see and wonder where the fall occurred. How did that shining glory of war fade? Where did the honor escape to? I see this Game we now fight in, battling hard one with another over the handful of fields that we all retreat from at the end.

I stand once more on the precipice overlooking the battle watching these children kill one another without reason. I stand and I fume, for there are no more tears left in me.