Tyr might have been named after the mighty Norse god, and he might have been as brave as any of the warriors of legend, but at heart he was a mortal, and he knew one simple fact: he would not survive today's battle.
The battlefield loomed ahead of him. He'd gotten split up from his allies, and he could hear the sounds of clashing steel from the nearby forest; but he could see a unit ahead of him, and he knew that he didn't have time to find anyone else. Not too far behind him stood an outpost tower on a hill, a critical tactical position in this land, left in his guard. Letting it fall to the enemy would be disastrous. Seeing the soldiers in the distance in front of him, he knew that he'd have to fight them; he'd have to stop them from reaching his town. It was his duty. He readied his sword hand as he marched towards them.
Deep in his heart, Tyr knew that he was a little scared. He was the perpetual underdog of his company, he'd been seriously injured twice over the course of the war; only blind luck had even gotten him this far. His confidence was restored a little when he saw the uniforms of the soldiers approaching him; they were but militia, peons. If nothing else, he was a far fiercer warrior than they, he could stave them off; it was only the officers he knew fear of, men who were just as strong as his own comrades, and more experienced than he was.
The unit closed in on him. Soon they were but a hundred metres away.
Then fifty.
Then ten.
Tyr drew his sword, charging forward. The militia men were slow in responding, too slow. He cut their leader asunder with one slash, then crossed swords with another. They started to circle him, but while one tried to flank him, Tyr quickly turned about, cleaving his head off with a bloody swing of the sword. The remaining three seemed hesitant.
It was as Tyr swung his blade at the next man standing, as steel clashed upon steel, that he saw the bright colours of an officer appearing out of the forest nearby. It wasn't just any, either. Tyr recognized him instantly: he had a huge scar on his face, and he knew that this was the legendary giant, the fiercest enemy that his people had ever fought.
And at that moment he knew that he was doomed.
He had no hope against him. He called out for help, hoping that one of his allies would hear; but he knew that it would be too late to save him. He knocked back one of the militia, and moved away, taking the chance to turn his head back towards the hill. In the distance, he could see a rider rushing to him, a minute away from the tower. It was too far, he knew, if Tyr turned now, the tower would fall.
He lunged at the militia man, killing him, then turned to stare at the giant approaching him. He knew what he must do: he must stand his ground. He had no hope against his enemy, none at all, but he realized in the inner reaches of his heart that his duty was to stand up against him and go down fighting. Courage had gotten him this far, but now it would bury him. He would die, he knew, but he could stall him. It was his duty to make a stand here, to fight and die against this mighty warrior, so that he might buy some time for his allies. The militia backed away as Tyr's enemy, the officer, ran in.
Tyr raised his sword, marking a line in the dirt. He was ready, ready to die valiantly, for a good and worthy cause, to protect his brothers. The giant swung his sword mightily at him, and Tyr's guard wavered, knocked off balance. This was it, he thought, as he swung his sword futily back-- the giant just laughed at him. Tyr tried one more attack, knowing that he had no chance of even harming his enemy; the giant grabbed him by the throat, then disembolewed him with a single thrust of his blade. Tyr collapsed to the ground, his guts bleeding out all over the dirt as he died. He only hoped that his death would mean something, that he had bought enough time for the rider.
He tried to keep his eyes up, but his vision was a blur as in front of the tower, the rider crossed blades with the giant. Soon the giant had been forced to flee, and the rider approached him. Soon he was standing nearby, and Tyr was struggling to keep his eyes open as he stared up as his victorious comrade, a man so great he had managed to survive against the mighty giant.
The rider got off his horse as Tyr laid dying, and just shook his head sadly, a look of pity in his eyes as he watched him. Tyr winced, staring back at his noble brother in arms. A second later, but after what felt like minutes to the mortally wounded warrior, the rider began to speak in eulogy for him.
"lol, noob, lern2play" he said, shaking his head in disappointment. "gtfo ur draging us down."
Tyr heard his words echoing through his head as he breathed his final breath, and waited for the afterlife to call him.