• A single horn heard, its eerie, deep song beckoning in
    the silence. Three thousand men, silenced, standing tall
    and weighing up their enemies, worthy combatants,
    each vastly equipped and skilled in fighting. This was it,
    the final push marking the end of a three year stalemate.
    Each valorous knight stood amongst the army of the 7th
    regiment clad from head to foot in heavily plate and
    mail, regal looking red armour, all of which engraved to
    fit a large, tribal sun enamelled in orange, the sight
    before onlookers could baffle, the vast sea of deadly still
    standing knights, elves and men and dwarves alike, a
    curtain of blood red draped across the steep hill on
    which they stood with the large, vast kingdom of
    Etherille back dropping them.
    Etherille was the kingdom they fought for, throughout
    many ages it was the commanding kingdom of Ebon,
    the multi-dimentular world for which many battles had
    been fought. Although the kingdom may have been
    scarce of resources for many years, the large, walled
    city and surrounding villages had began to thrive, once
    again restoring power and making changes. This
    angered opposing kingdoms, who in turn, proposed war
    onto Etherille.
    This caused no problems; the army was strong, its
    enemies unmatching in ability although almost
    doubling in numbers.
    A long silence gave way from the repetitive horn, the opposing army, consisting mainly of brutal orcs, heavily
    muscular and wielding make-shift weapons began to
    throw intimidating abuse across the barren field,
    stomping their mail armour against rocks in an attempt
    to unnerve the 7th who in turn, stared forward silently,
    awaiting orders.
    A single woman rode along the front line of the 7th’s
    army, beautiful and elvish, her thick silvery white hair
    tied into a tight leather thong at the nape of her neck.
    She seemed neither young nor old, her physique slim
    and her curves generous.
    Her skin was pale, like it often was among elvish folk,
    her lips full and darked with the remnants of a blood red
    tribal tattoo. One beautiful, youthful eye could be seen
    glowing brightly and readily, paired with a deep red eye
    patch, a long scar detruding from under it, trailing down
    her soft cheek.
    The woman sat, fearlessly apon a heavily armoured
    horse, the mail armour of which was draped with a red
    and orange tabard embroidered with the orange sun
    seen on many of the knights armour. The emblem of
    As she turned to face the 7th, her men, her army, her
    slender body clad in moveable plate armour became
    apparent. She was heavily equipped, a large, impressive
    looking rifle, the stock made from dark wood and the
    barrel, triggered and butt from a strong, dark metal, all
    of which was engraved with an intricate pattern,
    enamelled with orange was strapped to the side of the
    horse, easily accessible by her if needed. This was
    paired with an equally designed axe strapped to her
    back, a slight orange glow escaping from its impressive
    metal face. It seemed almost to heavy for her to handle,
    although she did do with ease.

    As she faced to turn to the men, the first row of archers
    bowed their heads in respect. They had been lead by
    her before, her elite, her marksmen. She returned the
    respectful gesture despite the situation, her delicate
    features giving a slight reassuring smile to those behind
    “Their numbers are far greater than ours, almost
    doubling…” she said in a fairly average tone, speaking

    to those around her before urging the horse back,
    raising her voice to a shout, speaking to the entire
    crowd. Her voice was strong and determined, that of a
    natural leader.

    “Do not be disheartened by their force, we have the
    upper hand, you are skilled fighters, all of you, men,
    women, marksmen, valiant warriors, battle mages and
    medics alike. They will fall against us; crumble beneath
    the blow of our swords”
    She turned slightly, beginning to urge the horse into a
    steady trot along the line of men, continuing to shout
    across to the vast expanse of knights.
    “They will fall! The sun shall rise upon our victory, our
    people, villages, families and friends will bask in the
    product of our victory, security and a safe mind. We
    shall not give in to those brainless brutes, they lack
    composition, we do not, they lack skill, we do not, and
    they lack a strong heart, a strong mind and a strong will,
    something we certainly, do not lack.”
    The elvish woman rode back across the line, taking a
    place in the middle of it, looking forward, emotionless
    at her enemy.

    “Heed my words, the words of your commander, men
    of Etherille, stand proud, stand tall, do not show fatigue,
    they will fall to –you-, they will fall on your behalf, your
    The woman peered to her side, archers lining the front
    lin, their bows raised intimidating at the enemy, their

    expressions fearless and noble, awaiting command. The enemy stomped in time, the echo of their battle
    cries bellowing across the land, make-shift spears,
    swords and maces raised above their heads. After a
    while of rampant noise-making paired with the silent,
    fearless stares of the 7th, the orcish army stopped, the
    eerie clack of armour shuffling in the light wind, before
    the elvish commander narrowed her eyes, staring at the
    large, brutish male Orc leading the orcish army.

    “We meet again, Tal’Dan Wood.” she states, letting out
    an absent sigh, shaking her head a little.
    “I never thought it would come to this, but you cannot
    do this, Etherille is not your to take… and we won’t let
    “You are foolish” He replied drudgenously, his voice low
    and husky. “You are not a noble woman, your place in
    Etherille is false… It is a free country for any who are
    willing to take, that is why I am here”
    “A noble woman could not lead an army of men, a noble
    woman could not protect the kingdom, and a noble
    woman could, and would not kill you, fool”
    “So be it, Dacilia” Tal’Dan replied in a growling voice,
    turning his back and cried “We fight! Take Etherille,
    show no mercy”
    Dacilia grunted peering to both her sides, the fearless
    faces of the strong marksmen to either side of her.

    Flicking her wrist firmly, a sharp knife protruded from a
    sharp box strapped with leather to the inner side flicked
    out from under her hand as she leaned down to sharply
    hit the plate armour on the side of her horse with it,
    causing a bellowing bang. In return, a horn large horn
    was blown from the depths of the Etherille city, thrice.
    “Hold” cried Dacilia, watching the ever advancing
    orcish army, their un-strategically placed warriors
    holding their spears at a point.
    “Hold…” Another few seconds, several marksmen
    fidgeting a little as the opposing army continued
    The heavily equipped elvish man by her side peered up
    from his aimed bow, tilting an eyebrow at Dacilia’s
    emotionless expression as the army advanced ever
    “Dacey…?” he questioned, the front line of the army
    now only meters away, Dacilia’s eyes narrowed.
    “DACILIA SURION. FOCUS…” the male leaned up to
    firmly slap Dacilia across the leg.
    She glanced down momentarily, tilting her head before
    looking up at the intruding army, their spears pointed
    forward, determination in their eyes.
    “… Shoot them down… SHOOT THEM DOWN”

    Her voice raised, leaning down to quickly grab the large
    rifle by her side, hauling it up into her arms and aiming
    above the front line, to the orcish warriors in the
    background of the army, shooting a few of them down
    as arrows flew past her ears. As the second push of orcs cascaded across the hill and
    the archers of the 7th parted revealing fully clad warriors
    carrying large, double bladed swords.
    The archers at the front took a few steps backwards,
    keeping in formation all the while, the organization of
    the army like that of a well planned dance, each man
    moving in synchronisation with each other.

    Men charged forwards, their valiant cries piercing into
    the hearts of the opposition as Dacilia’s horse reared up,
    her eyes focused on the battle at hand, although not at
    those around her. It was the one downfall, comments
    that were made… “A woman cannot command an army
    of three thousand men… Her emotions get in the way”.
    This was not the case, Dacilia was a strong woman,
    almost unnaturally so, her heart changing from one of
    compassion, to one purely driven by the will to survive,
    the will to protect within seconds.
    She had the will of a hundred men, her commanding
    skills unmatched, her combat skills, with both ranged
    and melee equally so.
    This was the reason she was where she was, at the top,
    stewardess of Etherille.
    Her countless battles, both singular and with the help of
    an army, the villages and cities she’d protected, the
    allies she’d made and the enemies she’d slain, her
    continuing effort to regain Etherille’s former glory, her

    success in doing so and her logical, normally rational
    mind set, winning both the support of her followers and
    the deep hatred of her enemies.
    As the siege of knights ran heartily past the archers,
    who in turn continued to fire sharply headed arrows into
    the crowd, Dacilia clipped her rifle back onto the side of
    the horse, hauling her large axe over her shoulder with
    incredible strength, her horse rearing high onto its hind
    As she lifted the axe, the knights around her stopped in
    their tracks, turning to look at her, a ray of sunshine
    striking down onto the polished flat side of the axe,
    causing a blinding glint.
    As the horse reared back down onto four legs, Dacilia
    allowed her axe to fall forward in a charging gesture,
    letting out a determined yell.
    The knights bellowed a cry in return, charging forward
    into the incoming army, hacking them mercilessly to
    And thus the battle began, a long fight lasting well into
    the next sunrise.
    Men fell, Orcs and 7th alike, their bodies scattered across
    the barren hill in a bloody massacred carpet.
    The battle was equally matched, the large numbers of
    the orcs army pushing back against the skilled knights
    of the 7th, cries of agony mixed with the valiant screams
    of victorious combatants echoing across the valley
    behind and way back into Etherille city, where women
    and children cowered in their homes, in the streets,
    sobbing for the men who had gone to fight, the sound
    of which horrific.
    Hours passed, each side becoming fatigued, sloppy and
    unorganised although soldiered on, the will from both
    the orcs and the 7th apparent.

    Dacilia dismounted, hauling her axe down with her,
    clipping her rifle onto her back as her horse rode off into
    the distance, clearly trained to return to the safety of
    the inner city walls. She wandered across the wasteland, her hand dragging the flat side of the large axe across the floor in an unenthusiastic attempt to get her bearings.
    It fell almost quiet, just the occasional clattering of armour and weapons colliding with each other, the
    slight moan from injured men, the cry as sharp weapons
    pierced through armour and clean into the flesh of the
    tired men.

    She stumbled across, avoiding the bodies littering the
    floor, walking straight past pairs of battling orcs and
    orange-clad soldiers, determining walking into the
    centre of the battlefield, her axe continuing to drag
    across the muddy floor.
    She stood calmly, her eyes narrowed before raising her
    voice, bellowing across the uncultivable loam.

    “Tal’Dan, show yourself you coward, face me like a man!”An angered growl protruded through the beckoning,
    deadly silence… “As you wish” Tal’Dans gravely voice
    replied from somewhere amongst a pile of dead 7th
    knights. The large brutish male hauled himself up and
    strode over to the centre where Dacilia stood. He faced
    her, towering above her slender frame, four times her
    size with muscles rippling under his rough, greenish skin.
    As they stood in silence for a matter of minutes, staring
    each other down, both gripping their weapons
    “You can give up now, leave while you’re ahead” Dacilia
    suggested coldly.
    “No, I never give in, and am I not about to start. Etherille
    will be mine” Tal’Dan replied with a scowling look,

    pulling off his helmet and throwing it into the space
    between them; a challenging gesture aimed at solely
    Dacilia let out a cold, emotionless scowl, removing her
    own helmet, revealing her long cascade of silvery hair,
    falling messily down to her upper thighs and chucked it
    in the centre, causing a bellowing crash as it hit against
    “Normal rules of Comba...-“ Dacilia began to exclaim,
    before Tal’Dan ran forward, charging her and forcing
    her to the ground, catching her unawares.
    She squirmed, attempting to wriggle out from under
    the bulky mass of Tal’Dan before falling still, a short
    knife pressed against her throat.
    Dacilia stared upwards, meeting the angered, psychotc
    gaze of Tal’Dan, the knife very slightly cutting into her
    skin, before the large orcish male faulted, dropping the
    knife to his side and staggered up, a look of
    bewilderment upon his face.
    He peered for a minute absently forward, before falling
    onto his knees with a withering cry of pain.
    “You… b*****d”
    He absently fell forwards on his front, a feathered arrow
    extend beyond his mid-back.
    Dacilia let out a deep sigh of relief, staring upwards in
    an attempt to presume what had happened.
    Dacilia squinted, suddenly sitting up, her head a
    jumbled mess of reminiscences from the past few hours.
    A few moments of confused grunting passed before
    Dacilia noticed a tall, Elvin male standing silently behind
    the withering corpse of Tal’Dan wood, his bow held in
    one hand by his side. Dacilia tilted her head, peering at
    the man who in response bowed his head respectfully, a
    slight grin curving the corners of his lips as his glance
    moved across her slender body, her pale skin slightly
    patched with blood and dirt and her wild hair cascading
    past her shoulders.
    She peered at the man silently before giving him a
    warning growl, noticing his grimace, although he
    merely walked forward fearlessly, the cheeky grin
    turning into an almost loving smile. He offered her a
    hand, the muscles of his arm rippling under his skin as
    he leant down to pull her onto her feet.

    Dacilia grunted, allowing the man to pull her up.
    “Justyn” Dacilia registered, giving him a reprimanding
    glare before glancing away from the masculine face
    looking arrogantly amused at her and glimpsed around
    their surroundings.
    “Dacey, you should not have challenged Tal’Dan alone;
    you could have been seriously hurt”
    “Oh do shut up, and it’s General Dacilia Surion too
    you. ” Dacilia replied, glancing back angrily to Justyn,
    who responded with a simple confident smirk.
    “You need to remember who you’re talking too, Justyn.
    That attitude of yours will get you into serious trouble
    one day”
    “Of course it will, Dace” Justyn grinned, swiftly
    wrapping an arm around Dacilia’s waist, pulling her slender body close to his.
    Dacilia growled angrily, slapping Justyn across the
    shoulder mercilessly.
    “Justyn! Do I need to remind you that I am engaged,
    your general and we are standing in the middle of a
    Dacilia pulled back a little, attempting to wriggle out of
    the arms of the muscular man, although the effort was
    indeed rather feeble. Justyn was stunningly handsome,
    his hair long, wavy and dark, framing his chiselled,
    beautifully masculine face. He held himself with a sense
    of old-world arrogance, his accent sensual and his strong voice incredibly sexy.
    “You are impossible” Dacilia gave a sharp shrug,
    releasing herself reluctantly from Justyn’s arms and
    began walking across the ground littered with bodies,
    several 7th men standing against swords, sat against
    rocks tending to wounds or amongst other men, talking,
    peering around to find friends and companions. In the
    distance, a small pack of orcs ran away from the scene,
    the remaining alive, obviously hearing the news of
    Tal’Dans defeat they fled, leaving victory to the 7th.

    Dacilia walked to a nearby warrior leant against a
    Large rock while tending to a wounded magi. “Get back
    to the city, carry the wounded and leave the dead”
    She turned on her heel as the warrior nodded, setting Of to find the remaining living 7th.
    Justyn strode along a few paces behind Dacilia, his calm
    Gaze watching her feminine hips as she angrily walked
    Onwards, turning only to stare frustrated at him.
    “Stop it” she grunted.
    “Stop what?” questioned Justyn, one eyebrow tilted.
    “That! That insufferable look! That same insufferable
    look you do whenever you’re on your high horse.”
    Snapped Dacilia.
    Justyn smirked, his beautiful facial features distorting
    To give Dacilia a mock-serious look, before bowing low,
    One hand behind his back, the other in front of him.
    “My utmost apologise, Lady Surion” he grinned, pulling
    himself up to his full height.

    He took her breath away, this simple teasing moment almost liquefied her inside, and he knew it. She would not give into his charm, his seductive voice and unmatched masculine beauty.
    The way he gracefully strode across to her, the confidence he held when in her company, confidence others dared not show. He did not fear her, nor did he respect her authority, and it tore her apart.

    Chapter two

    After a hectic two days of paperwork, organising for the corpses of the fallen 7th to be burnt and tending to her own emotional war, Dacilia sat