The first attempt at this (after some inevitable and much needed corrections, thanks for all the advice everyone) went over pretty well but I wasn't satisfied with it and felt it was too dry to be much fun.
Warning: This will be full of gory, brutal, graphic and appalling war violence along with a realistic portrayal of how people would be treated and treat others during those times as well as plenty some pretty harsh language.
531 AD
An ovenlike breeze drifted over the sandy ground and blew thick dust into the faces of the waiting roman troops. Quintus Pallus cursed with weary venom and adjusted his grip on his Contus.
Here and there frustated soldiers gave went to their feelings in graphic detail until silenced. Quintus smiled sympathetically behind his grimy face-mask but kept his feelings to himself, he felt a steady rage flickering in him at the miserable heat, the incessant breeze, the dust and those never to be sufficiently damned persians but he didn't have the energy to vent properly.
He adjusted his seat and winced as the itch didn't abate, no matter what you did the sand still got lodged in the cracks and crevasses of your clothing and skin and with armour on there wasn't a damn thing you could do about it.
Off to his right he could hear the sound of steel-on-steel and far off screams of horse and man as the General's men at the front clashed with the mail-clad Savarans of Khosrau I.
His horse's ears pricked as the sounds of the battle drew near and Quintus leaned down and patted Typhon's neck, the horse couldn't feel it through layer of bronze scales over his neck but he was sure the stupid beast appreciated the gesture.
He straightened as the Arab cavalry to their front suddenly tightened up, readied their weapons and passed the word that the persian cavalry was approaching. Quintus took a calming breath and checked his gear one last time.
And then he went back to waiting.
It wasn't long, while the arabs fought well they were lightly armed and weren't intended to go up against Khosrau's finest, which was why Belisarius had placed them to guard his left flank.
The persians had taken the bait and crashed through the arab lines, scattering them and charging on in wave of glittering mail as the sun shone down on their gore-smeared weapons and their magnificent stallions.
And before they could pull up and regain their cohesion the trap was sprung and the fifteen hundred Buecallari Belisarius had stationed behind the arabs tightened their reins, readied their weapons, raked back their spurs and charged.
Quintus heard Typhon bugle and saw the brute's ears perk at the chance of battle and then massive animal was running flat out, his ears flat against his armoured head, his nostrils flared and showing crimson and then two walls of steel slammed into each other with a crash like the ending of the world.
Steed and rider alike screamed as they crashed together, horses were thrown back on their haunches or crashed head-over-heels through the enemy lines from the shock of the impact, warm blood sprayed on armour and flesh, mangled entrails slithered from their screaming owner's bellies to fall over the stiffening corpses on the dusty ground and be trampled under the horses hooves. Weapons flashed through the swirling dust as steel-clad soldiers fought like something out myth in a merciless struggle to bring the other down.
The heat and the discomfort were forgotten as Quintus' heart hammered against his chest, he heard the blood roaring in his ears and it blotted out all sound except the piercing notes of the bugle.
He could feel his jaw stretch against his face-mask as he laughed and he could feel Typhon's powerful body shifting under his saddle as the battle-crazed stallion slammed his chest into the body of a persian's horse.
Quintus' Contus punched through a Savaran's armour and buried itself in the man's guts in a spray of bright red blood, the persian threw up his arms and vomited a shower of gore through the lips of his gleaming face-mask before he slumped over and Quintus' Contus snapped.
The splintered shaft still served a purpose and slammed another persian back against the cantle of his ornate saddle. Quintus threw it down, drew his Mace and bought it crashing down on the on persians helmet before he could recover and then he lost all track and the struggle became confused and blurred as he fought feverishly to hold his place in the line and for his life.