EBFH Prologue

EBFH Prologue

“Commander’s Journal; August 14th, 2054.

It’s seems like forever, that we’ve been camped here, waiting for the enemy to attack. After the past battles we’ve had against the enemy, it is finally coming down to the outcome of this battle, to decide who the final victor is. I’d hate to say it, but I’m unsure of just how well manned we are. The enemy, at this moment, outnumbers us, three to one, and I don’t like even those numbers. My main concern is if Draco’s troops will appear in time. I’m afraid to say we won’t stand a chance against Darksole’s troops without our reinforcements, and our spies even intercepted a message of more troops coming to help the enemy out.

My men don’t know of this, and I think it’s for the better. Their morale has slowly been going down, due to all the battles we’ve fought, sharing wins and losses, and yet the enemy still keeps coming. If we can win this battle, I promised my troops that it would be the end, but what if we don’t win? I will have let them down, and all their families; and the last thing I want to do, is to tell all these warrior’s families that they died. Oh god, please let Draco’s army get here in time.

I personally just have had my share of pain though all these battles. I have seen the best of friends die in each other’s arms, including the worst of enemies. I still continue to lead my troop; not as group of warriors, but as a family. But it just pains me to send my family out, knowing that some, if not a lot, won’t leave the battlefield alive. I have even lost the best generals, leaders, and personal friends to the enemy’s blade, and I continue to ask myself: ‘Why? Why do I continue to go through all of this? I have seen the worst ways to die, and yet, I don’t give up.’ A lot of other commanders would have put their tail between their legs, and run off scared, yet I have stuck with my troops through the best of times, and the worst. I’m just wishing that after the inevitable battle coming up, I can finally put my sword in my sheath, and go back to a normal life. And I wish this on every one of my troops too.

Commander Sajati.”

The man, sitting at his desk, slowly closes his small brown jacketed journal and puts it away in a pocket sown under his shirt, just as a guy, dressed in robes, enters through the tent door.

“Sajati, we need your assistance at the main tent,” the man said, as he makes a waving gesture for Sajati to come.

“Fine, I’m coming.”

Both Sajati, and the robed man, exit the tent, into the vast battleground. For as far as the eye can see, thousands of tents littering the ground, as well as campfires in random areas, so the men can keep warm. It is a cool day, apparently afternoon, and the sun is hidden by the grayish clouds. The city of tents filled with warriors of all shapes and sizes. Some are shorter then normal, some are as tall as seven feet; some are well built, some are a little overweight, while others are thinner then tree limbs. It would be impossible to get to where you are going exactly, because tens of thousands of troops walked the ground. The horses are kept at the owners’ tents, tied up, so they don’t trample the ground anywhere.

After filtering themselves through the humongous crowds, both men finally make it to a gigantic tent, in the middle of the city of tents.

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"M'lord, the troops are gathered."
Grenivic turns to the sound of his wife's voice, looking deep into her dark brown eyes. He lets out a sigh, for there standing in the dimly lit tent, stood his most precious treasure in the world, her black dress embodied with twin red dragons intertwining up her arm was offset by her moon white skin and a silver necklace with his family ring hanging from her neck.
Thank you, my dear. I guess we better get this over with."
He lets out a sudden cry and flings her arms around his body; "Why must you do this? Why must you leave me already?"
I have to, my love. It’s both my duty, and my brother’s wish."
To hell with duty, and your brother. What about your duty to me?"
I know dear, I know. But I'm sorry. I made a promise, and if I don't do this, then there will never be any time for us."
Yes I know." She lets a few tears escape from her eyes “But please do be careful; I would die if I lost you now.
Yes dear I know, and I can promise you that I will be careful."
He thinks about it for a minute “I know I will be safe, my love, because you are the only one who can hurt me. Will you please assist me in putting on my armor, as it is nearly time for my departure?"
"Yes my dearest love I will." She carefully straps Grenivic into his family’s royal armor: deep red encrusted with gold dragons, his helmet shaped as a dragon head. His shield was just as red as his armor and it shined like rubies in the soft candle light also had a gold dragon encrusted into its surface, his swords made of the finest steel known to man with ancient writing engraved into the blade.
After he got finished strapped in he slowly walked around his tent shifting his plates into place. He quickly checks his equipment and looks at his tear eyed wife, "Don’t worry. I’ll live, and you’ll see”
"Certainly, M'lord. Now you need to go, the children are waiting for you."
As Grenivic steps out of his tent he looks around, he quickly mounts his horse and turns to face his men, a massive ten of thousands have surrounded his tent.
Grenivic took a deep breath.
"Men of Draco! Hold all that is dear in your heart, for this day we charge against the force of Darksole. Follow me into battle. Let swords be broken; let your shields be shattered; but we will not give one inch of ground this day. Our banners may become stained red with blood, but before this battle ends, all those who have given their lives will not have died in vain. They died to protect all of us. Now we go out there to give honor to those who have died, to go and protect what we hold dear go and fight for your loved ones, for your kids for your family, and most of all fight for yourselves. Give the enemy all you got. Show them that the men of Draco are not cowards, but we will fight and spill blood to protect our king; to protect who we are, and above all” He takes a quick breath, then shouts out to all the warriors: “To protect the ones we love!!!"
The crowd roars as Grenivic slowly turns his horse and starts marching to the battle. Slowly but surely, the sounds of marching feet could be heard for miles, as the army slowly marched from the camp, and towards the direction their leader was going. The women and the children all lined up to watch their families and there lovers march off to war. Somewhere in the middle of the ranks a drummer started a beat and it quickly ran through the ranks and as they marched; they marched to the beat of a thousand drums as the skies above them turn black as a storm slowly moved its way across the skies, as if it was following in anticipation.
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“So, Sajati. Where do we stand in this upcoming battle?” This was asked by a man sitting at the head of a long table, which had people sitting around it, while Sajati, the man in the white armor, stood at the end.

“Well sir, according to my current knowledge, we are outnumbered three to one. But I am greatly confident that we can win nonetheless.”

Suddenly, a warrior pops though the tent’s entrance; out of breath, but was able to speak once he got his breath.

“Sajati, we have a single person from the enemy, wishing to speak to you personally. Shall we kill him, or allow him to see you?”

Sajati was curious as to why a single lowly warrior from the enemy would be sent to speak, but figured that there wouldn’t be much harm in granting admittance.

“Sure, let him in. I’m curious as to why they would send a pathetic fighter to speak.”

The warrior bows, and commands someone to bring the messenger in.

After a few seconds roll by, a hand reaches into the tent, opening the door. A fighter, dressed head to foot in thin black armor, clanks into the room. It was hard to see his face in the helmet, but you could feel the evil aura just come off of him. His green eyes seemed to pierce into some people’s minds in the room, and it was noticeable, looking at some people in the room try leaving with their hands on their foreheads.

Sajati just looks at the dark warrior with a stern look across his face, unaffected by any aura this fighter had, then began to speak. “So, what does Darksole have to say, if he sends a lowly fighter of his to deliver the message, since he can’t do it himself.”

“Shut your mouth, lowly human. He’s not going to waste his time talking to you guys personally. He sent me here, to make an offer with you, so no blood should be shed.”

Sajati continued to look without care at the warrior, who knew he was vastly outnumbered, since no one was going to let him escape if he tried anything. Sajati finally began to speak again to the trembling person who stood before him; “So, what is this offer that he’s got; that he was willing to risk a lowly warrior, in hopes I’ll answer? I mean, what could he offer us, after all this fighting?”

“He’s willing to offer a truce. You simply give up this battle, let us through, and no one dies. That means you and your pathetic race can go back to all your families, which is what I know you want, and we get to have what we want; it’s a win-win situation.”

“A truce?! After all the blood that has been shed on your swords; after all the lives that have been lost trying to stop you guys, and now you expect us to just give up, and let all those people die in vain? Are you nuts? I will never accept a truce from your leader, and you can go tell him that yourself.”

The messenger just stood there, with an evil smirk across his face. “The only thing you can hope for is mercy, denying this truce. Enjoy your choice, as you die this day.”

The demon just laughed, as he looked up to the roof of the tent, with a sudden bright light shining through the cracks in his armor. Suddenly, Sajati saw the light brighten, blinding him, and before he knew it, the sound of planets colliding rang in his ears, as he felt himself thrown backwards towards the ground. Dust rose from the ground, flowing throughout the area, and rising into the sky. After a few moments, Sajati stood up, and noticed immediately that the tent, and everything within, was blown away. All that remained was a dark spot of dirt, with people lying all over the ground, and the feet of the messenger, still in the dirt, smoldering in smoke, where the ankles were.

“Holy shit,” was the first words out of Sajati’s mouth. “Is everyone ok?”

A voice rang from his left. “No deaths here; just a few cuts and bruises.”

Sajati stood there, wondering what to do, before the thought struck him. He immediately rushed out of the smoke, blowing a horn that hung from his neck as hard as he could. “Prepare for battle! The time is now!”

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The table was covered in the finest cooked food in the area. The leader of the army sat there, gorging himself on the cooked chicken, while the rest of the high ranked officers sat around him, filling their stomachs with the riches that were laid before them.

The leader, sitting at the head of the table, stood up, offering a toast to his men. “This will be the day of reckoning. We shall feast to our heart’s desire, before filling our cups’ with our enemy’s blood. All who oppose us will taste the dirt on their teeth, after we skew them on our swords. This is the day, that we, the Army of Dragon, shall conquer our foes once and for all.”

The men around the table clanged their metal cups together, agreeing to their leader’s short speech. Halfway through their feast, a small boy walks up to the dark man at the head of the table, offering him a piece of paper.

“Hmm, what’s this you’re bringing me?”

The boy trembled, handing him the letter. “It word of our messenger, master Darksole.”

This got his attention quickly, snapping the paper out of the boy’s hand, and began to read.

“To Darksole. Our messenger has relayed the message to us, if you just look outside your tent door. We request orders immediately to attack.”

“Hmm, so Sajati thinks he can beat us, even after I offered him a truce.” Darksole turns around to the generals, commanders, and all other important figures at his table. “Looks like it’s time to finish this. Quickly finish your meal; hell, take the food with you, and assemble your troops at once. We shall show them what true pain is.”

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“C’mon, you pathetic bags of crap. We haven’t got all day to watch you tie bows. Get off your ass, and get into formation.”

A giant man, maybe 7 feet tall, walked though the camps, barking orders at everyone he saw. He had bluish hair, which resembled nothing else he wore. He had the darkest green eyes that anyone has ever seen, and just to look into them, would allow him to see your soul. He was wearing armor like everyone else, yet he didn’t wear as much, to allow him more movement in battle. He had a strange marking on his forehead, marking him as a very high rank in the army. This was no man to joke around with, or make mistakes around.

“I’m getting my armor on as fast as I can,” whined a soldier to his left. This got Salcru’s attention real quick, as Salcru quickly paced over to where the voice originated.

“Who said that? Who dares talk back to me like that? Come on, speak up, or remain anonymous, and make me find you myself.”

A lonely soldier stood up with only half his equipment put on. “I did; I’m simply saying that I can’t be rushed into things.”

Salcru laughed at the pitiful excuse that stood in front of him. “How the hell did you get in? Did you feel like trying to be a man, or did you just run away from your life? I would have personally told you to go work at the pig farms at registration, you pathetic human.” Salcru could see the man looking down at the ground, trying not to cry. “Aw, is the baby going to cry? Should we call the whaaambulance to pick you up? Shape up, or give up. This is no army to show emotion in.” Salcru saw after the little ordeal that this man was letting tears come down from his eyes. Salcru swiftly thrusted his arm through the man's chest, tearing the flesh and causing blood to spray out. The soldier looked in shock as he saw Salcru’s arm thrusted through his chest through his heart. Salcru laughed as he held the slowly beating heart in the palm of his hand, which he had shoved through the soldiers’ back. “Never talk back to a higher-ranked officer,” whispered Salcru as he smashed the heart between his fingers and pulled his arm out, letting the body fall cold to the ground.

“Anyone else want to whine?” asked Salcru, as he licked the blood from his fingers. With little response from the men circling him, Salcru giving a pleased look, walking on through the camp. “Good; now get suited up. We got ourselves a war to win.”

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Darksole continues to look over the horizon, eyeing over his troops and noticing people scramble around on the other side of the battlefield with an evil smirk across his face. He holds his right hand out slightly keeping his palm up in the air as small drops of water begin to pelt his skin, surrounding him slowly as the water begins to fall from the sky. The droplets that land on his body immediately change to steam while his hand begins to glow dark, the dust gently beginning to float up around his feet. He reaches out with his left hand, grabbing the darkening wrist to hold it still, feeling his hand begin to pulse soundly, the veins stretching his skin while his hair and eyes lose all coloring, leaving a dark space in his iris.

Darksole looks up into the sky, feeling the rain splash against his black eyes, turning into a dark steam before dissipating into the air, filling his lungs with the dense air before letting out a loud “Convert!”, his right hand blasting with a dark aura, climbing up his arms and covering the armor he is already wearing, blackening the material as dark as it could go, hardening the material as the aura continues to slip over his chest and down his legs, each limb getting heavier with heavier equipment, his face absorbing the black mist pulling his hair back against his scalp, a bright flash exerting from his neck up to his forehead, a black material encasing his head within.

His hand continues to glow darkly while he pulls out his sword and holds it in front of him, the power from his hand emitting into the handle, changing the shape from a simple sword to a fully black blade with a large black handle. A diamond shaped base forms, each corner of the diamond-based material streaking a line to the center holding dark orbs within each precinct. The sword itself glows evily with green markings etched into the blade, Darksole looking deeply into the blade. “Now, blade of my father, passed down to me, the beloved ‘Dark Blade,’ we shall finish this war finally, and finally be able to rule this world as I see fit!”

“The world will be ruled as long as you keep your head on, oh great leader,” whispering a voice coming from a dark shadow near a tree.

Darksole, intrigued by the voice, steps his newly armored boot to his left, pointing to the dark tree on the hilltop he stood on, and motioning his legs to pull him closer to the tree, his blood-red eyes glaring through the slits in the helmet. With each step towards the tree, the ground started turning black as ash under him, leaving a trail easily seen with the flash of lightning filling the clouds, brightening the area, leaving an imprint of a hooded person under the tree to Darksole. As the dark warrior nears the tree, the hooded person he imaged from the light slowly walked from the tree’s safe shadow, exposing himself to the light glistening the battleground and showing his black robe hiding most of the creature’s body.

Darksole finally made a few more steps, stopping just a few feet away in front of the dark creature, black steam from the rain drifting off his armor into the air. “So glad of you to join me, Farso, leader of the Grongi’s. I take it the troops are in place, and ready for the battle?” His words flowed through the air at Farso, the hidden person under the robe and the tree. The words alone sinking deep within the bark of the old tree, causing it to combust into flames, burning red hot and lighting up the area, easily seen for every person with enough sense to look at a light in darkness.

“My troops will not go out, until I see fit. They are not mere toys for you to dispose, and you know it.” Farso lifted up his hands, and pulled the black hood off, revealing his scarred face to the mercy of the rain, each strand of hair flowing from a dark brown at the base to a brilliant blond at the tip down to his neck, cleanly combed and straight without curls. His robin’s egg-iris’s glowed deeply in his eyes under his short eyebrows; his slight facial hair cleanly cut close to his chin and lips, leaving no stray strand alone to stick out.

Darksole just laughed, his chest armor clanging together with his lungs expanding and contracting in him; “Just do what you’re here to do, and stick to it. Last thing I need is you guys getting hurt out here. Now go.” Waving his arm out amongst the chaos in his ranks, each person trying to get to where they were going. Farso nodded, pulling his hood back over his head, keeping his blue eyes fixed on the hand, before turning around, his feet lifting slowly off the ground, and with such speed, glided down to the monstrosity in the tented areas.

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“Pick up the pace, everyone. The enemy is on the moving quickly upon us, and we don’t want to be caught with our pants down.” Sajati runs through the swarms of his troops, yelling at the top of his voice, heading to the stable to grab his trusty steed, in hopes it will aid him in battle. The constant thought running through his head and under his breath, wondering if either Grenevic would arrive on time to aid his army, or would he have to face the enemy alone and head on? Each foot splashing mud over his greaves, while he runs through the wet dirt in the damp rain, retaining the brown and black stain over his boots as each step brings him closer and closer to his destination.

The horses neighed in detest to the rain dripping from the holes in the roof onto their dry skin when Sajati stomped into the stable soaked from the rain beating down on the region. His quick pace takes him past each stall filled with a horse to the back of the poorly built building, searching for the one horse that he trusts will be the winning piece that he should mount. While the other horses trot around and try to escape the restraints holding them in place, Sajati find his faithful white steed standing in the back stall, fully armored with the army insignia proudly shown on the sides and forehead, waiting for Sajati to take him to the oncoming war.

“Come, Elijah, for it is time. I trust that your instincts shall continue to hold true.” And with that Sajati nodded at Elijah and petting down the horses’ nose slowly, then walks over to the saddle nestled over Elijah’s back and mounts the horse. With a swift nudge to the horse’s side with his feet, Sajati was racing out of stable into the muddy grounds ahead, unaware of what was in store for him.

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