“Stand up for what’s right and never hesitate to fight for what’s right. There is a lot of evil in the world. Someday, you will have to make a choice: to stand up to evil or succumb to it.”

  Those words from his father echoed in the young man’s head as he sat quietly looking at a stream that gently cut through the flower filled meadow.

  “Come back home alive,” he said quietly. “That’s what you promised them.”

  The smooth sound of the stream crackled against the pebbles and silt as a blue butterfly effortlessly glided across the water towards a small patch of aster flowers. Desmond Rollo observed the butterfly with a curious focus studying the butterfly’s movement as it gracefully moved through the asters. The blue butterfly landed delicately on one of the flowers next to the stream as it fluttered its wings slowly. Desmond wiped away his long, brown, wavy hair from his eyes to get a clearer look.

  "Hold still," Desmond murmured as he quickly sketched the butterfly.

  Desmond was wearing scuffed up, light armor. Though rough looking, the armor was functional. His one-spiked helmet was next to him on his left. The light, inside padding was worn and sweat stained. A pair of worn out, brown leather gauntlets were lying next to the helmet. His helmet had a protective visor with a harsh, diagonal cut running down the right side of the long eye slit. A faint, but noticeable scar ran diagonally across the his right eye from the top of his forehead to his right cheek splitting part of his eyebrow. Despite the scar, he had kind, caramel eyes and a slim face with a slight stubble of peach fuzz. He had a lean and tough body; more of a slim brawler physique overall.

  "Almost got it," he whispered as he meticulous sketched the butterfly's wings. "Just hold still for one more..."

  “Moving out! Everyone, into formation! Grab your gear! Let’s Go! We’re moving into the plains! Move it,” bellowed a harsh voice.

  "Fucking hell," Desmond grunted putting away his sketchbook. He thought back to what his father told about standing up to evil in the world. He remembered that he became a soldier for a reason.

  Desmond sighed in frustration as he put his helmet and leather gauntlets on in an annoyed fashion. He opened his eyes to see the butterfly soar away into the sky seemingly disappearing into the sun. He briefly thought about what life would be like if he weren't a soldier. He grabbed his gear and went back into the army camp 100 yards behind him.

  Desmond was a footman; a common soldier, just below the rank of knight. Not a squire, but an experienced warrior who wasn’t of noble descent. An enlisted man. He was part of the main body of the army. He was a relatively quiet man with an endearing honesty to him. He enjoyed being alone and observing nature. Although a little shy according to his superiors, he was still the type of person that would not hesitate to fight or take charge if the moment called for it. Despite his quiet demeanor, he was overall well-liked by his fellow footmen. He walked further into the camp noticing other footmen getting ready as well. A handful of footmen nodded and waved to him as he walked by and he nodded back in return.

  The Prince Regent, Albert II - the next in line for the throne - was the commander of the Southern Army Desmond was a part of. Thirty thousand men made up the Southern Army. However, only eight thousand were present with the Prince. The rest of the army were split up amongst a few generals who were marching south to reinforce the Prince’s army. The Northern army was concentrated in the northern and western regions bordering the wastelands and Elvan kingdoms. However, the Northern army was focused on watching an orc contingent force that was creeping ever so closer to the borders of the human and Elvan lands. Though, they did not attack. Not yet.

  The Prince was a younger man in comparison to most of the generals and officers. Thirty three years old; brash personality with all the confidence in the world. However, he was a pragmatic and realistic man nonetheless. He cared deeply for his men. Always willing to charge into battle with them no matter what. A respected leader and mature beyond his years. At the age of twenty four he was made the leader of the Southern Army. He wasn’t comfortable being all prim and proper due to his royal title. He was more of a rugged fighter than a noble prince. He wished quietly that his other siblings would succeed him once they came of age to rule.

  However, he was the first born son; the oldest and most accomplished son. The son that was to be the example to others. He had to be like his father and he hated it. Despite his love and respect for the king, the prince relented the responsibility of being the next ruler. However, he also knew that there was no way for him to turn away. He had to be the noble prince.

  The Prince sat atop his armored horse watching the column of footmen, archers, gunners, heavy infantry, knights on foot, cavalry, and knights on horse pass by. His sharp, green eyes peered out of his helmet (Achilles’ helmet in style) with concern. He was thinking about the men and what could happen once in battle. He knew his orders and he hated it.

  “Engage and destroy the enemy no matter how many they are. No retreat,” his orders said. “Protect the southern lands at all costs.”

  He hated it because he knew that his army would suffer. But he was the Prince Regent. He had to defend his father’s land and his people at all costs.

  Prince Albert looked down at his sword by his side. The Elvan runes in the handle glowed blue along with a faint, sand pebble-sized glint in his right hand. He thought to himself, "If he is in charge of the Horde... Will I be able to kill him? Light Wielder... Give me the power."

  The sword flashed blue for a split second and a warm sensation crawled down Albert's spine. He smiled and said, "I appreciate that, ma'am... Need to get to war."

  Albert went back into the command tent as all of his officers and advisors were trying to come up with a strategy to defeat the Black Horde on the plains. Albert took off his helmet and adjusted his headband holding back his messy, black hair. The captain of the royal guards was off to the side smoking a pipe. He looked over at Albert and said, "Sir. Missing nothing."

  "Same bullshit and arguments over strategy, Jarrett?"

  "Yup."

  "Lovely," Albert laughed sarcastically.

  One of his advisors asked Albert, "My prince! We only have a small force in comparison to the horde. We're outnumbered three to one if we charge head on. Based off scouting reports, the horde is split in two. The force west of us is smaller and led by a Gorag. He is being dealt with by General Renault and General Augustus. However, it appears both orc forces may converge on this road... Here... In order to march into the capital. There nothing to stop them but us. We need to fall back and defend the capital. Your father's kingdom is..."

  "If we don't meet them, then more of the towns and cities will burn," a grizzled colonel interjected. "We must meet them before the rest of the generals can reinforce us. We have to stop those orc fucks!"

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  "It's suicide," the advisor argued back. "Prince? My liege? You are aware that he is the new War Chieftain of the orcs? Wasn't he the one who saved you long ago..."

  "I'm aware," Albert cut in flatly. "And no... He didn't save me."

  Albert knew the last part he said had too much venom. He also knew this was mostly a lie on his part. He continued, "Colonel Mordecai is right though... We need to fight them head on and decimate them to where they will not move forward again. I'll lead this army to them."

  "Sir," the advisor said quietly. Everyone was quiet and Albert noticed this. All had fear in their eyes and most looked away. Jarrett's eyebrows rose in concern as he was about to say something, but stopped himself.

  A kind, weathered voice rung out from the back corner, "Sire? The thing that troubles everyone here is because of the prophecy."

  An old wizard in navy blue robes walked slowly forward with his white staff. His long, white beard flowed majestically to his waist. He moved the hood from his head as he adjusted his spectacles. He said, "Vul'Goth has Earth Breaker... You have Light Wielder. There was a reason those two weapons were hidden centuries ago. You are aware of what will happen if..."

  "Yes, Eluthar," Albert replied. "I know... We'll discuss this later. Privately. I won't let it happen."

  "Sire..."

  "Tom... I know," Albert replied quietly.

  Eluthar sat back down. Eluthar looked at Albert the way a disappointed teacher would to a student. Albert felt this gaze and focused primarily on the battle.

  Albert gripped Light Wielder's handle tightly as he felt a surge of electricity run through his veins. He closed his eyes and said, "For now... Let's get the formations set up. Jarrett?"

  "Yes?"

  "Get the royal guards in gear. We're moving out soon."

  "Sir," Jarrett said immediately leaving the tent.

  A horde of Black Orcs led by Vul’Goth the Fire Maker - the Newly chosen War Chieftain of the Black Horde - were raiding the human lands as they marched north towards the capital human city of Rodham. The orc horde was three times the size of the Southern Army. All that was left in their wake was destruction.

  A recently destroyed fort and village was burning in the background. The black armored orcs were piling the dead humans and collecting the spoils of war in their wake. Vul'Goth looked unimpressed by the whole raid. He got off his armored worg and stared daggers at about 20 surrendering human knights and footmen. His heavy and red glowing war mace, Earth Breaker, was steaming at the tip as Vul'Goth's arms tensed.

  An orc captain walked up with a red shoulder pauldron and asked, "War Chief? These are all that is left of the enemy. We decimated them!"

  "Our losses?"

  "Hundred total. Twenty injured. Rest are dead."

  "Sloppy."

  "War Chief? We charged headlong into an enemy fort of two thousand plus the town. For our scouting force of eight hundred, we did well. We..."

  "Enough," Vul'Goth growled startling the orc captain.

  Two Grave Guard orcs (body guards to the War Chief), stepped to the sides of Vul'Goth and pointed their jagged halberds at the orc captain forcing him back. Vul'Goth raised his hand and forced the guards to back down. He took off his black, horned helmet and undid his pony tail. He threw his helmet at the orc captain almost knocking him backwards. Vul'Goth's long, jet black hair flowed down. His thin, piercing blue eyes stared forward at the surrendering humans. His one, short tusk stuck out from his underbite. The other tusk had a gold cap on it.

  Vul'Goth scratched his dark, green skin and walked forward to the humans. Earth Breaker appeared to be breathing with faint glows of red ember. A unnatural voice was calling out in Vul'Goth's mind, "Feed!"

  Vul'Goth yelled out in common, "Who is the highest rank here?"

  A knight in silver armor raised his hand shakily. Two orcs dragged him to Vul'Goth forcing the knight to kneel on his hands and knees. Vul'Goth knelt down towering over the knight. In comparison, Vul'Goth was behemoth to the minuscule knight.

  Vul'Goth asked flatly, "Information... Who is in charge of the human army that is to meet me soon?"

  "Please! Spare us... Or spare them. They fought hard and..."

  "Who is in charge of the human army," Vul'Goth repeated with a growl.

  "The Prince Regent! Albert II! Please... Your army has won. Let them go. Take mine to spare theirs."

  "Your armor is clean," Vul'Goth noted as he stood up. "Theirs is covered in blood, mud, and ash... They are true warriors. You are not, I see?"

  "What?"

  "A leader fights on the front and bleeds with his troop," Vul'Goth sneered coldly. "Two thousand soldiers and about three hundred villagers dead... You fell to a smaller force. A scouting force. Pathetic!"

  Vul'Goth grabbed the knight by the neck and threw him into the ground repeatedly until the knight's head exploded into mush. the orc captain looked away in disgust.

  Vul'Goth's eyes turned bright red as Earth Breaker was searing red. A feeling of pure rage and blood lust surged inside Vul'Goth. A maniacal laughter came out from him almost sounding hyena-like. The unnatural voice in his head cried out, "FEED!"

  He swung Earth Breaker at the lined up prisoners and set all of them on fire. A red beam of fire tore into the screaming men as their anguished cries echoed into the gray sky. Their skin melted instantly as they slowly turned into black ash piles.

  The nearby orc warriors stood silent upon seeing this. The orc captain dared not to look at the aftermath. The two Grave Guards stood silent like statues hiding their anxious faces inside their black helmets. Vul'Goth looked at the sky as he took many deep breaths. He was mad at himself for getting emotional. He wanted the unnatural voice to shut up as it demanded more deaths. He clipped Earth Breaker to his side ans slapped his face a few times.

  "Calm," he ordered himself. "Don't let it consume you."

  He walked over the orc captain grabbing his helmet from him. Vul'Goth closed his eyes and said coldly in Orcish, "My army is slow and split up due to our size. Gorag controls the other half and they are west of us moving just as slow."

  "War Chief, I'm sorry for..."

  "This setback by your scouts has cost us a few days."

  The orc captain looked away shamefully.

  "Fuck up again... I will rip your spine from your corpse. Gather everyone and move out!"

  All the orcs marched away from the burning village and fort. A sense of regret and pain ached at Vul'Goth's heart as he rode off on his worg. He thought, "Earth Breaker... It's taking over more and more... How can I control it? Hmm... Alby? You're the one I have to face now... I won't lose."