I cans rite shitty fantusy!

The sun was setting over the hills of Gronn as Aelor wiped his blood-stained kabar on his newly tattered cloak; the blood and soot enmeshing within the cloth as it had on the soiled ground upon which he stood.

The battle had gone far better than he expected. His men fine, the enemy vanquished, at least for now. As his legion rested behind him, winded yet still eager to battle on, he ventured to the exposed outcrop overlooking the land of Lai.

A desolate wasteland stretched out below him in all directions. Where once there existed a lush realm of life and possibility there now remained only this barren ground devoid of life, hope, possibility. This was why they had fought, why they had stood their ground. The realm of Lai served as a reminder to he and his men of what would happen should they fail. In a mere month Lai had been drained and reduces to this pitiful state. Lai’s fate would befall all realms if the quest were to fail.

Aelor knew not from where the enemy came or why. He did not know who they were or their purpose. He knew only two things. He knew what would happen if they were to survive. He knew also how to make them die.

He turned to face his men, his surrogate family. Within him they found the strength to battle on, within them he found his purpose. For them and their families he had to win and see the quest through to its end. In this first battle they fared well, they survived. He knew that this would not hold true to the end.

Then, one of his men looked past him to the horizon, the warrior’s face reverting to its battle-toned scorn. Aelor turned and saw them in the distance, the black shapes against the setting sun. He did not desire to battle at night aloft on a craggy expanse but the decision, he smirked to himself, was not his to make. He turned back to his men.

“Here comes the second wave,” he said.