Hyssop

They say War is Hell, and never have truer words have been spoken if you were to ask Hyssop, who had served the Icewarden through many of battles in the honor of the Southern Icefield.

Wars are often fought over differing ideologies, where one group of Dragons declares that their way of thinking is the right while the other's way is wrong and vice versa. Yet it wasn't the ones in power that did the fighting once the declaration for war is made, no, it was the common Dragon who took up the banners and weapons and gave the weight of command to Dragon's that held control over the lives of many others and had to make the decision that could change lives with just a casual flick of their tail. Sometimes making the decisions were easy for some, that soldiers lives were meant to be sacrificed for the greater good, their lives having no more meaning than to be part of the pile of bodies that were strewn along the path towards the end goal of their commanding officers. Though sometimes these decisions haunted a Dragon forever. Every face, every name, every decision, lost and win would weigh on a Commander's mind and keep them up throughout the night. The value of life different for each Dragon, the value and weight of the goal leaving massive scars upon ones soul.

Hyssop took the honor of being one of the Icewarden's generals, it was such an honor and he was so proud as not many were given the rank and title of general of a branch of the army loyal to their God. At the time Hyssop was bright eyed and prepared to face down anyone and bring glory and honor to the realm he called home and the God he served.

In his youthful naivety perhaps he thought that he would never have to go to war, that he would simply take the title, run some drills and patrols on occasion and never think about the deeper meaning that this title and responsibility truly weighed upon his shoulders when he draped on the vestments that showed his rank. The Rose Thorn branch of the army was not the largest army that came to the Icewarden's call, but Hyssop would argue that these were Dragons with more heart and determination than anywhere else in Sorneith that served their God.

Peace, although one dreams that it would last forever, does not. Eventually ideas clash and arguments can no longer be solved by words alone and so the word is sent throughout the armies to prepare for battle, to prepare to fight the wrong side, the side that threatens the truth of the world, but whose truth is really being fought for?

Hyssop thought he stood on the right side, that was obvious wasn't it? He wouldn't be fighting for the bad guy, he fought for the right idea that would benefit the good of Dragonkind. Those who waved the enemy banner were the ones who were threatening the peace, they were the ones who were wrong...that's the truth of it, wasn't it?

In the beginning Hyssop did not waiver in this belief for why would he? He had been trained and raised no differently than anyone else who dedicated their lives to military service. He listened to the persuasive speeches of his Commanders, because there was always someone who out ranked you in the military, the only one who could not be commanded was the Icewarden and they were always right, why would a God lead their follows wrong? So there was no wavering loyalty he felt and now he had a rank that he needed to carry with pride.

Hyssop took up the banner and lead his troops to their first battle, as they were the first round of defense to prevent invaders from heading into the center of the Southern Icefields. He stood proudly in front of his troops, spurring them on with the same speeches that he would receive during training, gaining the same response of the Dragons before him becoming riled up and prepared to fight.

The enemy troops were advancing, Hyssop urged his troops to surge forward. The two armies would clash and Hyssop would go forward knowing that they had the advantage, because only the good guys would win. Oh how that blind naivety was crushed when the first Dragon fell dead before the Nocturne, white snow turning red with the seeping of life escaping their eyes.

War is Hell, and within the true throngs of war realization bashes one over the head with the fact that there is no good or evil, just Dragon's fighting over others hatchling-like squabble.

When the fighting was said and done, Hyssop's banner was tattered and torn, a sign of the Nocturne's soul being torn asunder during the fight. Hyssop was forced to look around the battlefield and take in the sight of all the dead that had fallen in battle. All these lives, on both sides, lost to what? Because two Gods could not agree on one, little thing? Hyssop slowly sunk to the snow, tears falling down his face as he had lead his troops to death, their deaths weighed heavily on his mind as he had went in blind and excited only to have his eyes opened in the most violent way.

How can anyone go into this if they knew the aftermath and how it left one thinking and feeling? How can anyone remain blind and follow without question when faced with so much death and destruction laying before them.

With this new knowledge, Hyssop could not continue blindly serving in the army. The names, faces and times he had spent with his troops forever haunt the Nocturne. How could he ever forget those that had trusted him to see them through to the end and he had failed? He had watched good Dragons die in pain and fear, and even on the other side...so many had been young, Hyssop could have sworn they were no older than hatchlings if not just entering their juvenile stage of life, and yet had gone to fight for a cause they had blindly believed in.

Why had he been allowed to live when so many had died? Why was he spared when others did not get that chance? Was it so that he could forever be haunted with the memory of those he had commanded? This collar he wore to show his rank now choked him to the point that he could not breathe, but did he deserve to take it off when everyone could see he was the cause of so many deaths in a battle that was futile?

With this knowledge Hyssop put himself into a self imposed exile, eventually succumbing to the bitter cold of the snowy desert.

Though instead of being greeted with death he was greeted with warmth and a softness he had not been expecting.

He awoke to a fellow Nocturne, though her wings were feathered and not leather, but what drew his attention was the sash around her waist. Another soldier, another Dragon who had lived through the horrors of war based on her scars.

And here Hyssop remained. How could he leave a fledgling clan alone out here where another clan could easily pick them off. Although Minerva had skills as a soldier she was no leader, they had no one to help begin forming and leading their clans defense. One scout, but he was not a fighter. Hyssop once more took up his banner, but this time he did not go into this blindly believing they were fighting a fight of good vs evil. No, this was a clan of Dragons simply surviving against the harsh elements and those that wished to do harm, but that did not mean they were bad. Hyssop understood that everyone was the hero of their own story, he just wanted to protect the other dragons and simply be left alone and to be forgotten and in his death seek forgiveness for those he had failed.