❛WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU MAKE THE TEN MOST POWERFUL GODS ALIVE PLAY A GAME OF MUSICAL CHAIRS WITH ONE SEAT?❜
They fight - to the death.
They fight over three crowns and a throne with steel spiked maces. They despair a little more everyday keeping thei...
I felt them carry me off to where everyone else was apparently shackled, before giving me a hard knock on the head as I passed out.
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ARCTON FORTRESS, RIMEBAY, VERTGATE.
TRISTAN
THE SOUND OF THE MARCHING hooves and clashing swords thumped loudly in the midnight air. I raised my hand in a signal. In an instant, the one thousand men marching behind me stopped at once.
In front of us, the Arcton Fortress loomed tall in the night, formidable and strong and seemingly threatening in the tarnished moonlight. Our forces had halted, pausing for a while so that we could draw up our strategies.
"How are we going to rescue them all?" Philip whispered from atop his horse.
"And if Edwina was caught in their trap too... they'll have her, Eric, Amphitrite, Verona and Vanessa..." Llewellyn added. "Emerick has five gods in his prisons, Tristan. How will we save them all?"
"Simple," I muttered. "We take the Fortress," I added with a smirk, and a smile tilted up my lips.
"Take... take the Fortress? Are you mad?!" Llewellyn cried. "How in hell are you going to take an entire Fortress with one thousand men? Have you lost your wits, brother?"
"I would challenge you to a battle of wits but I see that you're unarmed," I grinned suggestively. He still looked at me like I was out of my mind. "What?" I asked. "Afraid of a little bit of blood, baby brother?" I chuckled.
"It sounds like wistful thinking, your Grace," Philip protested.
"It's called hope, Lord Commander," I said smugly. "You should try looking into it sometime."
"But-"
A sudden shrill cry tore through the night, drowning out Llewellyn's reply and piercing our eardrums, threatening to burst them.
A Rotavelle war horn.
"Damn it," Philip swore under his breath. The horn blasted again in a minute, yet this time it was accompanied by the clear sound of marching men and thumping hooves.
"Oh lord," someone whispered, as shapes began to appear over the horizon, towering against the battlements.
Green clad soldiers with the black and white unicorn of House Rotavelle shining dimly on their armor.
"Fuck," Llewellyn cursed, trying to count the men as my eyes did the same. One, two, three... there must be nearly five thousand men.
Well, if they really wanted to get their hands dirty... they were in for a surprise. I was always up for a good fight.
"Ready to take the Fortress?" I grinned eagerly over my shoulder, drawing out my sword.
"Are you mad?!" Llewellyn cried. "You'll get us all killed! They are five times our number! Are you so eager to go on a suicide miss-"
