Memories of The Last Great War

[Viktor Delacro]

Thousands of black armored knights stood in perfect ranks in front of Fortress Delacro. Lord Commander Viktor Delacro oversaw the organization of his forces before they rode to battle.

This would be the single greatest war of his life, and Tiamat would reward him with much power, as She had granted him this Citadel. He could see the bloodshed already, he could feel the death that he would bring as if he was already cutting his way through the Kingdom of Avaren.

This weakling kingdom would soon learn the rule of Tiamat and they would serve loyally, or die.

He mounted his own warhorse and rode to the center of the grave-laden courtyard. His knights watched loyally, waiting to hear their Lord Commander's words.

"The day has come, my warriors! The Kingdom of Avaren will soon know its doom, and we are it! Tiamat grants us the power to rule over the weak, to bring law to the chaotic, and purge the unworthy from Her rightful land!"

A unified shout of "Hail Tiamat!" was heard.

Viktor unsheathed his mighty blade.
"Ours is the sharpened glory of Her Mightiness. Ours is the Mailed Fist that crushed the blasphemous air from the throats of the lesser. Ours is the Will of the Law!"

More shouts went up, "The Law!"

Viktor held his clenched, gauntleted hand in front of him.
"The Law of Nature! The strong shall endure, the weak shall die!"

"They shall die!"

"And so we bring them death!"

More cheers went up, and Viktor galloped through the ranks to reach the front of his army, "We ride!"

[Viktor Delacro]

Viktor marched his army swiftly over the rocky landscape, they would be within attack distance of Avaren in merely a day. His hand twitched with eagerness to begin the slaughter.

His army was strong and efficient, and he had mages trained in the arts of death to accompany him. He would catch Avaren unprepared and unguarded.

They marched through the day, and made camp during the night.

While he overlooked his maps of the region and spoke with his Captains on strategy there was an alarm sounded in the camp. An intruder.

He grabbed his sword and dashed out of his tent. He watched as a young, red-haired man dashed by him. He managed to reach out and lay grasp on the man. The force knocked them both over, struggling. The young man was on his feet first, and armed with a stolen sowrd. Viktor rose his own blade to deflect a blow. The man fought cunningly, but one-on-one swordplay was Viktor's speciality, and he parried each attack easily. He had a vague feeling that he had fought this sword style before.

The long hair of the young man blew away from his face for a moment, and Viktor saw a face that stunned him.

"Sieg...what!?"

The man breathed hard from the fight, "You killed her, Viktor..."

Viktor's eyes tightened, "Why have you come back, Sieg?"

"To kill you, Viktor."

"Here in my own camp?"

Sieg threw his sword away, and stood to full height.
"No, In Avaren, I am the Mercenary Commander there, we will meet armies at it's castle."

Viktor sheathed his sword, "So, in battle you wish to punish me for your perceived wrongs against you?"

"Just to kill you, your stint in Hell will be your punishment."
Sieg walked off and not a single soldier moved to intercept the stragnely serene warrior.

Even as Sieg walked out of sight, Viktor said, "I didn't kill her, Sieg. I didn't..."

[Malina Dawson]

Mounted once again upon the black mare that wasn't exactly her's, Malina rode freely for her own pleasure. Her thoughts were not on advancing armies or battles, but upon what new skills she would learn today that would lend themselves to her greater knowledge of the life of a warrior. Up until now, her training had gone well. If her father was still alive, she knew that he would be greatly pleased with her. That fact made her happy, for while he was alive, it was her greatest desire to make him happy with her. Being an only child, she had no brothers to bring glory to the family. There was only her.

Suddenly, she got the sense that she had strayed too far from the stable. Her mare seemed nervous, frequently snorting and tossing back her head in an agitated way. But she couldn't figure out what was wrong until she was nearly upon them- a whole army, obviously not with good intentions. Gasping, she tried to back up and turn around, but now the mare was beyond help. She was thrown from the horse and landed in the dust with a loud thud, a noise that would not likely go beyond the ears of the camp's scouts.

What to do, what to do...

Grabbing her dagger, she pressed herself tightly into the ground and prayed that an opportunity for escape would come her way. Something had to some along. There had to be someone out there who would help her, save her. She had to be saved, or she had to fight.