Never give up

Not again, you swear to yourself. You will not let Melena die and suffer a second time. Never. You close your eyes for a instant, recalling all the suffering your village went through, the sacrifices Tri'lanna and others have made for your sake, and your sworn promise to thwart the Pretender and Nautilex at every turn. With those thoughts held close to your heart, you charge forward and let out a challenging shout to all of those before you.

Your undulating cry echoes among the ruined walls of the village and sends everyone rocking back on their heels; even the horses and wargs freeze for a moment as you surge from your cover like a creature of vengeance. Without hesitation, you charge towards the closest warg rider and leap at him, arms outstretched. The goblin's eyes buldge out in shock as your shadow descends on him and he can barely cry out when your bodies collide. You outweigh the goblin immensely and your tackle sends the two of you sailing off the warg and crashing to the ground. Balling your fists, you pound him mercilessly into unconsciousness and seize his weapon, a spear with a pointed, metal head.

You instinctively spin around and lash out with your polearm, cracking the shaft on the head of another warg. The wolf-creature snarls and bucks its rider, throwing him in front of you. The goblin tumbles to the ground and rolls onto his back, winded from the impact. Reversing your grip, you plunge the spearhead down into the goblins chest. Before the creature could even finish his **** throes, you pick up his weapon and charge at the next closest rider.

The battle then descends into a chaotic melee. The soldiers, seeing the sudden arrival of reinforcements and the effective diversion you made, seize the moment and madly counterattack the goblins.

Driven by some unknowable lust for battle, you move from rider to rider defeating each in turn as they approach. The red haze in your eyes narrows your vision until the only thing you can see are your enemies, the goblins and their wargs. You can hear screams dimly, some of them human, but only the animalistic desire to kill your enemies fills your heart and you ravage any opponent in your way. Then, like the shock of first morning chill, the mist in your head finally clears and you look around, realizing that the warg riders are running away.

With their yips and cries fading into the horizon, you let your heart settle and your brething relax. When the bloodlust fades, you set about to talk to the remaining humans. You walk to the closest survivor, the swordswoman, kneeling over the body of one of her comrades and ask, "Are you alright?"

The woman flicks her head towards you, sending blond stands of hair fluttering in a slight breeze that winds its way into the village. "I'm fine, but I'm afraid I cannot say the same of my companions." She says as she stands up, shaking her head sadly. She brushes away a clod of dirt on her knees and she looks to you gratefully. "Nonetheless, I thank you for your aid. If you had not come when you did, none of us would have survived, and all that we struggled for would have been for naught."

Turning to face you, the swordswoman looks at you in a way that once again reminds you of Melena, with full lips like pillows, eyebrows neatly trimmed, and rounded cheekbones to give her face a soft look. Her crystal blue eyes pierce right into yours and she says,

"I am Aurora, The Princess of Morgent, First in Line to the Lucian Throne, and Third of Her Name." Her golden locks cling to the sweat on the sides of her face, "To whom, brave sir, am I addressing?"

You blink, dumbfounded. Princess Aurora? In your village, you heard only wild rumors about the Princess from traders and travellers that would pass through. How she was so beautiful that she could send nations to war just to win her favor, or how her gracefulness could put entire courts to shame. There were more raunchy tales too, stories of the Princess' insatiable lust. Like how apparently fifteen minutes after meeting the emissary of the Valentine Order, the Princess took the man to her bedchambers and the sounds of their lovemaking could be heard throughout the castle. Or how she would host massive orgies in the middle of the night. Servants, nobles, soldiers, everyone was invited to these sex parties. There was no mention though of this woman though who, by all appearances, looked normal except for an amazing talent in swordplay and an uncanny likeness to someone you once knew.

"My name is Hans....just Hans." You manage to blurt out.

Aurora acknowledges you with a nod, "Well Hans, your help is greatly appreciated, but if I could impose on you for a little while longer..." Her eyes wander off to the side, where you notice several of her comrades lying prone on the ground. Understanding immediately, you nod your head and attend the others.

Things look grim. The bodies of the first two soldiers you inspect are both cold, with their life staining the ground around them, the rough smell of **** and offal quickly wafting up, and the third one you come to is bleeding heavily and is unresponsive.

"Donatas! I'm glad that somebody is still alive!" You hear Aurora call out, and you look to see a man proped up against a fence, his legs stretched out in front of him. With the helmet off, he looks to be an older man, roughly fifty or so, with his hair white or greying in many places. As you walk over, you notice that his face is pale and he is sweating.

The soldier referred by the Princess as Donatas, winces as she approaches and says, "I'm afraid that definition may be a bit...stretched." He pulls aside the travelling cloak that covers his lower half, revealing his ravaged leg. The limb looks like someone took a flank of raw beef and hammered it until it was as thin as a fingersbreadth. The flesh mostly still held together, but blood was oozing freely out through breaks in the skin and it was a gastly purplish color.

"I...I can find help." Princess Aurora says, "There's an outpost, not two days' ride south of here. We can find someone to treat your leg and then we can continue to the captial."

"Look around you, Princess." He gently chides, his eyes sweeping across the battlefield. Of the six humans in the squad, three were dead, one of them is wounded in his flank and you assume will bleed out within the hour and the one speaking to the princess has a shattered leg. "None of us are in any condition to continue travelling except you and the young man. Your father has to know of the events over the past few days. He must know that the humans stand alone."

Princess Aurora lowers her head and reaches down to clasp the cavalier's hands in her own. Quietly, she says, "Thank you, Donatas. Tefor. Sherman. Valde. Michal. You have been my father's most loyal men, and you will not be forgotten."

Donatas smiles weakly and responds, "It's has been both a pleasure and an honor to serve you and your father, Princess, and we will continue to serve in ****'s Halls." His face turns to you now, and looks at you critically. "I know not where you come from, stranger, but I ask you to protect and guard the highness' life. I beg of you from the blood bond we share as Men and as a last request: Princess Aurora must reach Morgent alive and well."

Nodding your head solemnly, you place your hand atop his and Princess Aurora's. You look down and notice that your one hand almost completely envelops theirs. Were your hands always this big? Whatever the case, your actions put the soldier at ease and he settles into a comfortable position.

With Aurora's help you saddle up the two remaining horses, salvaging the supplies from the others that died in the battle. During this time, you pick up one of the weapons dropped in the battle, a crescent-shaped battleaxe. You don't feel comfortable stripping off the armor from the dead men though, and Aurora gives you an appreciative look. Within the hour, the two of you are ready to travel west again, toward the Capital.

As you ride away from the dilapidated village, you take a glance back at Donatas. You see the man reach for his sword and clutch it close to his breast, his hand visibly shaking even from a distance. They knew that there would be no rescue for them and to be captured and interrogated is simply not an option. A warrior may still die by the sword, but at least it can be by his own hand.