There was once a young warrior called Anrier standing still and firmly in the front rank of the army. The rain was dropping hard that clinking was everything he can hark from distance… waiting… and waiting patiently. He was surrounded on his left and right by men of old age wearing ragged cloths under their light armor. He saw the dreadful look in their shrunken faces and the agony glimmering from their eyes.
After hours of waiting for the battle to come in the midst of an army of farmers and villagers watching the horizon in vigilance, he spied out a spark of fire over distance of hazy and rainy climate. He yawned and starred back at the spark then at an instance tens of torches are starting to glimmer. As he stirred to shout, the captain lifted the blade and gave a great cry.
Men of Ijulia, warriors of the free world of Esio…
Arise, arise.
Today we embark upon a mighty battle.
Ominous fate awaits us.
Swords shall be crossed. Blood shall be spilled.
Honor yourselves.
Knights and warriors of Ijulia.
As these words were being cried out, the enemy army loomed in the horizon. At that moment, a lightning erected from the sky and the enemy’s army was beyond imagination. Enormous number of orcs were sighted, strong and violent in heavy armor. In a second, he thought of what peril he brought to himself fighting in a losing battle. He thought of his home, a small cottage in the outskirts of Numenion village. How beautiful days of summer were, the enjoyment of polishing his farming tools, the delicious porridge for dinner, the sight of the wood at dawn, the sound of twittering in early morning of spring, the slosh of water as he throw pebbles into the river, the sound of his father calling him, the smell of his mother’s cook, and the sight of his sister dancing in her ball gown. Suddenly he snaps back into reality.
Warriors, we march now!
For God, King and Ijulia.
A blast of horn has sounded. The men have started to move forward, leaded by the captain and his banner-bearer. Anrier took a grip of his sword which was still in the sheath, lifted it high by his left hand, covered with a scarlet gauntlet. The pace has quickened and men were crying from all over and the sound of swords drawn was dense. Arrows were falling asunder and many men were falling dead or wounded around him and one arrow blew close to his head. At a close distance to the enemy he held his sword with both hands, raised it up high as his hands leveled with his forehead, shimmering by moonlight reflection.
Anrier stroke the first orc into the neck and continue running deeper to catch sight of a huge orc. He stroke but the orc was ready and the sword clanged with the orc’s shield. The ugly orc winced then scarcely the orc stroke with the axe on his other hand but failed to hit Anrier due to his fast reaction, suddenly he felt a sudden punch into his face by the orc’s shield and it was strong enough to drop him back few foots away. Dazed and dazzled searching for his sword by the palm of his hands without any delay he stood up as soon as he grabbed his sword and swerved to break the next attack and quickly pierced the orc into his belly and fell dead instantaneously.
Momentarily, he felt heavy weighted mass piercing through his chest and the sound of the bone shatter. He looked down and saw a spear off his chest and blood begins to rush. He stood still, shivering and suffering from immense pain, then drifting into his own imagination of his family’s current condition, and went into a complete blankness.
