Death, despair, and destruction. Inevitable was the fall of Los Valles as the screams of people replaced the peaceful banter of a once lively kingdom. The stone walls reduced to rubble, banners engulfed in flames, and houses that were once home to loving families razed to the ground in flames. Chaos broke loose as hundreds of Nalgurin’s warriors scatter across the cobble streets of Los Valles with swords, spears, clubs, and axes, killing, torturing, and defiling anyone in their sights. Fathers watched hopelessly as their wives were beaten and violated in front of their eyes. Children were traumatized as the heads of their friends and family hung from spears, it’s empty and lifeless eyes, gazing towards their flickering life as a blade was placed on their neck, blood slowly trickling down slowly turning into a steady stream of gushing blood as orcs give them a slow and painful death.
No one could blame the people who chose to stay in this kingdom, it was their home, it was where they felt most safe regardless of witnessing the many who fled in droves, fearing for their lives. In a sense, they chose to die here, they chose to go down with the walls, the homes, and its castle, but how they died was left to the hands of their conquerors, their butchers.
Half-elves have long been shunned by their full-blood elf kin and ridiculed by their full-blood human kin in days of old, thus when the rising of half-elven kingdoms like Los Valles came to be, many flocked to unite with their own kind, ruled by their own half-elven kin, without fear of being outcasted or ridiculed for their mixed blood. To the families whose bloodlines stretched far into the days of old, Los Valles was more than just a home, it was their first refuge and never again shall they be turned away, forced to leave let alone do so because of the forces of the Dark Lord. However, in events such as this, there remains no merit to honoring one’s home, no merit in one’s faith to this land, for they shall not die as martyrs, nor shall they fall as an honorable half-elf, nay. They shall be slaughtered like livestock, their lives sown like fields of wheat.
The knights witnessing these horrific vicious acts were overcome with anguish, fear, anger, and desperation. Their morale crumbled as orcs and trolls run rampant spreading death and ruin. With no choice left, the Los Vallian knights slowly fell back, outnumbered, outmatched, and overwhelmed. Much of the people started fleeing, running to the other end of Los Valles where the south gate was being held onto by King Trunno’s knights.
Since the destruction of the northern wall along with its gates, the king and his daughter fought on two separate fronts with King Trunno trying desperately to hold the orcish advance until they were eventually pushed back to the southern gates where they stood their last stand. The princess and her men on the other hand, went from door to door searching for survivors amidst the raging flames and the unrelenting attacks from orcs.
“Your Highness! There’s too many of them!” exclaimed a Los Vallian knight as he clashed swords with an orc, swiftly slaying him as he finds the killing angle after blocking its attack. Before he can utter another word, three more orcs run towards him, determined to take his life.
“My Lady, we must retreat to the southern gates, we’re slowly being overwhel—” said a knight, his pleas for a retreat cut short as another orc interferes with his ongoing fight and stabs him through the back.
Making her way out of a burning hut was the princess in full armor and a helmet covering her face, carrying an infant in her arms and another young half-elf on her back.
“Hold the line Pellandir! There are countless more hiding in some of these houses,” replied the princess as she signaled two knights to accompany the children to the southern gates. “We must spare the people such insufferable fates.”
Rushing in to assist Pellandir was another knight, thrusting his blade into the belly of a foul orc as his comrade parried its blade. Quickly catching a glimpse of an orc making his way to a house about a block away, he shouted, “Orc! Over there!”
Steadfast and determined, the princess and four other knights rush towards the house that the orc entered. As they ran, arrows flew past them, with one of the knights being shot dead in his tracks in his leg, and soon his shoulder and chest once he hit the ground. In response, the other three raised their shields as they covered the princess. Deadly were the orcish arrows, tipped with poison from the Northlands, incurable and fast to spread, it kills within an hour of hitting its target.
“Silnan, with me, we shall make quick work of this foul orc together and find any survivors,” said the princess to the knight on her left, and looking at the other two knights gave them a command. “Their archers will be repositioning, use this chance to assist Pellandir and Oruis. This street will soon be overrun, gather the others and head for the next.”
As the two knights departed to assist their kin in the fight, the princess and Silnan quietly make their way into the house, checking every room for both the orc intruder and any survivors. The princess drew her sword as she cautiously approached one of the bedrooms of the house, steadily breathing, senses sharpening as she suddenly notices the smell of smoke coming from somewhere in the house. Knocking down the door that stood her way, she enters with her blade at the ready only to find an old mother holding her child close, cowering in a corner, fearing for their lives.
“Silnan, make haste, to me!” the princess called out, a warm smile breaking the tense and heated expression on her face as she looks at the two survivors, “It’s okay young one, I will keep you and your mother safe, I swear it on The One’s true name.”
“I’m coming My Lady,” Silnan replied as she made her way to the room from the hallway.
As Silnan crossed through the kitchen, a tall, muscular figure carrying a flail and a torch rammed her on her side, crashing her into a wall before falling on the floor. Before she can stand up and recover from the impact, her assailant instantly struck her back with its spiked flail. While it was enough to immobilize Silnan, her opponent did not hesitate to strike her again, and again, and again, until it accidentally struck her head, blood splattering everywhere as this merciless monster retracted the flail.
“SILNAN!” the princess bellowed, her expression instantly turning into deep anger, seeing the blood drip down the flail. Towering at nearly seven feet tall, was a muscular red orc, a high orc, bred to kill and slaughter its opponents. With Silnan gruesomely killed, the high orc turns its gaze towards the mother and child behind the princess letting out a devilish smile along with a deep growling noise.
“You shall not lay hands on them. Not while I stand here before you, monster,” said the princess valiantly, shrugging off as much pent-up rage as she can for she cannot afford to be blinded by such emotions. Too much has she seen in this siege, believing it to be more vile and despicable than what she has seen on the battlefield for a time already came when orcs have lain siege of the west.
Firmly grasping her sword, the princess charged at the high orc with no fear nor hesitation for what may come. The orc roared in response awaiting the princess to be in range of his flail, eager to demolish her like the dead half-elf, Silnan, whose blood soaked the floor.
The orc roared loudly as it swung its flail with force into the incoming princess who slid under the spiked ball, making it crash against the wall. While the orc tried to retrieve the spiked ball which was now stuck on the wooden wall, the princess got on her feet slashing at its right hand holding the flail, severing it. In pain, the orc shrieked briefly as it lost its hand, instinctively tackling the princess with its large left shoulder.
The princess slowly got up to her feet, grabbing her sword once again, thrusting at the now rage-fueled orc that ran towards her. Despite its large body, it evaded the princess’ blade and waved its arm with the severed hand in a whiplike manner, splashing the princess’ visor with so much blood that it went into her eyes denying her any vision of her opponent. Without pause, the orc gave a skull-shattering headbutt, denting the helmet the princess wore and sending her back across the hallway.
Momentarily stunned, the princess took off her helmet afterwards, unveiling her bloodied face quickly wiping off the blood covering her sights, revealing her blue eyes with a wrathful stare as she gazed upon the orc who now smiled deviously, feeling overly confident about the battle.
Grabbing her sword once more, the princess chanted under her breath, mysterious runes now appearing on her blade, her body swirling with etheran. This was a sacred spell passed down from many royal bloodlines of humans and elves, used to turn the tides of battle for it can encompass even an entire legion of soldiers, empowering them, enhancing their physical prowess and heightening their senses, filling one’s spirit with an unquenchable flame of battle, this was the power of the Blade Blessing.
Paying no attention to what the princess had done, the orc rushed to attack her, but this time, every single attempt at striking her failed as the princess evaded every attack thrown at her countering with a punch to the stomach as the orc’s backhand missed. However, the princess couldn’t keep up the power of the Blade Blessing far longer, thus she decided to end the battle after seeing an opening, thrusting her blade into the orc’s chest to which it cried out in pain.
As the power of the sacred spell left the princess’ body, the orc with its last few breaths gave a crushing embrace to the princess and ran straight towards the room where the two survivors shivered in fear, not knowing the fate that lies ahead of this battle. With this final attempt at finishing off the princess, the orc looked into her face as she coughed up blood from the impact. Her unchanging look of sheer will and determination did not falter as she twisted the blade still impaled on the high orc’s chest, finally slaying her opponent, its body slowly dropping down on the floor with a thud.
As the princess pulled her sword from the orc’s body, tears poured down the mother’s eyes as she looked at the princess, her savior. Meanwhile her child broke free from her arms, running towards the princess, giving her a hug which filled the princess with happiness she never felt from the moment the siege of the kingdom began. The half-elven child’s little embrace was a stark contrast from the orc’s grip, it was comforting and relieving.
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“Thank you, Princess Ariabelle, my mother and I will never forget this day,” said the half-elven child, tears also in her eyes, knowing that they have narrowly escaped their demise.
“Come now young one, I shall accompany you and your mother to the southern gate so that you can escape this carnage,” replied Ariabelle, “The street on your front door would be overrun by now, is there another way out of your residence?”
“This way My Lady,” ushered the child’s mother, leading the princess and her child towards another exit by the kitchen. As they exit the room, the torch from the orc that Princess Ariabelle has slain rolled over to a piece of cloth, igniting it, slowly spreading the fire throughout the house.
Passing through the kitchen, the three of them were greeted by the lifeless body of Silnan on the ground surrounded by a pool of blood from the dead orc’s attack. The mother dared not look, shielding her young one’s eyes with her hand as she led him. Ariabelle, passing by, averted her eyes from such sight, her heart beating heavily with sadness and pain. Valla nirno firem elfenye; may the Jewel guide your soul forevermore.
Once they made it outside, Ariabelle took the lead despite being injured, for her duty is still to her people, to lead these two and secure their escape. The princess hurriedly led the survivors away, peeking at the cobble street that was now overrun with orcs only to see two dead knights on the ground, recognizing one of them as Oruis. Cursing silently, she continued to guide the survivors toward the south gates avoiding large groups of orcs that scoured abandoned homes, burning them down after a bountiful plunder of what treasures they find within be it food, a couple of gold coins, or weapons.
Princess Ariabelle knew there were more people hiding, with every house they passed feeding her soul with this feeling of helplessness. It was not long before they felt the ground shaking beneath their feet, but while it did not deter the three’s journey to the southern gates, the princess knew what was coming.
Trolls were one of the formidable troops that Nalgurin commanded, a race of giant people taller than high orcs at about twelve feet and sometimes possessing only a singular eye. It was undeniable that as time passed, more powerful foes landed on the shores of Arnenya with the trolls’ sudden appearance in the siege of Morcris. This brought a horrid thought to Ariabelle’s mind, asking herself, pondering if the conquest of Arnenya would bring about the appearance of one of the Northrel knights. Not fearing them would be one’s undoing, with tales of their power and their Relic Instruments reaching far and wide across Infinia.
“Over here!” beckoned Ariabelle as they turned left in an intersecting pathway.
Upon turning, a flurry of arrows rained down on them, fired from the rooftops of houses and other buildings. Ariabelle quickly pulled the half-elf child behind her as she slashed with unmatched precision, cutting in half three arrows in succession. While Ariabelle managed to save the child, the same could not be said about her mother, an arrow piercing through her shoulder.
“J-Jeyan…” muttered the child’s mother. The wound on her shoulder slowly darkened as the poison made its way through her body.
Just when Ariabelle knelt down to try and help the mother, two trolls appeared before them with one coming from the intersection they just turned from and the other from destroying a nearby house in that same path. A large group of orcs were also fast approaching, their archers in the rooftop quickly repositioning.
Among the group that was approaching them was an orc armed in a more well-fashioned armor compared to his allies. Taking out his bow and an arrow from his quiver, he agilely positioned himself aiming for one of the three.
“Compassion, the weakness of your race. Either the knight dies saving the child, or the mother dies saving both,” said the orc cunningly in orcish speech as he released the arrow, “So, which will it be?”
The arrow, imbued with dark magic, flew incredibly fast towards the half-elf child. Ariabelle knew what she had to do so that the child could escape, knowing that the mother had the chance to live if cured by any healer as they were near the southern gates. It was too quick, the arrow will eventually strike the child if she does not act, as precise as she can slice an incoming arrow in half, this arrow was like a shooting star of deadly proportions.
In the blink of an eye, Jeyan’s mother threw her already poisoned body in the arrow’s way, knowing all too well that her fate was already sealed the moment the first arrow struck her. She fell down, instantly lifeless as the arrow’s magic melted away her innards like acid. No final words, no goodbye, not even a kiss on Jeyan’s cheek.
“ALWE!”
A voice from a distance shouted, and all of a sudden, a wave of arrows rained down on the orcs from the direction of the southern gate. One by one the incoming orcs that charged fell as arrows bombarded them, piercing through their poorly made armor. The number of arrows were somehow able to topple both of the trolls, their bodies collapsing on the buildings that stood beside them. However, as Ariabelle looked towards her dying foes, the orc that targeted them was surviving the onslaught of arrows as he used one of his fellow orcs as a shield, killing his kin in the process.
“Your Highness!” called a voice.
Riding towards them with a group of mounted knights was Pellandir. Along with Pellandir’s group were three knights wearing the crest of the King’s Guard upon their armor.
“I have regrouped with more of our forces in the nearby districts which are now overrun with orcs, but we have succeeded in rescuing many civilians who have reached the southern gates by now,” reported Pellandir. “I am glad to see that you are—"
“My apologies Your Highness,” said Pellandir briefly as his expression changed after realizing what has transgressed. Ariabelle knelt down beside Jeyan’s mother, with Jeyan frozen in place, unable to talk nor shed a tear, not knowing how to process the events that have unfolded before him. Jeyan had no one to shield his eyes at the dreadful sight on the ground.
The world around her grew distant, blurred into a haze as Ariabelle knelt. The pain of so much loss starts to grip her heart, like a cunning serpent coiling its prey. For a fleeting moment, everything was silent, the battles, the clashing of steel, the burning of fires, the cries of suffering, none penetrated the stillness of Ariabelle’s thoughts. But once more, in one steady breath, she steeled her resolve, shattering the cage of despair and stepping back into the chaos around her.
Ariabelle closed Jeyan’s mother’s eyes with her fingers, but before she could say any prayers the trolls that came crashing down on the houses nearby finally got on their knees roaring ferociously as they grabbed their massive clubs. Not only were the two trolls alone, but the orc who survived the rain of arrows sounded a horn, calling for reinforcements that did not take long to arrive.
“We must depart young one,” said Ariabelle to Jeyan in a soft tone, loneliness etched in her face, taking her mother’s ring and putting it onto Jeyan’s palm, “Her spirit lives on in you, and I must ensure your escape of this defiled land.”
“Y-your Highness, you might not want to hear this, but Oruis is—”
“It is okay Pellandir, I have prayed that the Jewel guides him and Silnan, and all our brothers and sisters who have laid down to rest in this battle,” said the princess, who grew anxious of all the death that she has seen. Knights they may be, or another resident of Los Valles, while she may not have known everyone deeply, Ariabelle has always had a passionate love towards her people, and now these very people’s lifeless bodies lay everywhere in the wasteland that was once Los Valles, their blood paving the roads, their screams echoing in the distance.
“I am sorry to interrupt My Lady, but King Trunno requests your presence at the defense of the southern gates,” said the knight with the crest of the King’s Guard.
“How is the situation over there?” Ariabelle asked as she held the silent Jeyan’s hand.
“We’ve managed to hold on for quite a while My Lady, but the ever increasing amounts of orcs are slowly overwhelming us,” replied the knight, looking over the princess’ shoulder seeing that enemies are now charging at them.
“More of them are coming, Your Highness,” said Pellandir as he draws his blade while on horseback. “We can enter some houses and find more survivors while some of us hold out.”
Ariabelle’s thoughts were in disarray after what just happened to Jeyan’s mother. As a child her father, the king always told her that a leader’s duty is to her people, remembering the very words King Trunno told her:
“One is not born into nobility as a privilege to rule over others, but a privilege to serve their people. You and I are fortunate to even have the right to protect each and every one in Los Valles. It gives purpose, meaning—to fight against the dark forces that oppose peace. For what purpose do battles have? What meaning does the battle between light and darkness hold, if not for the people who stand on each side?”
“My Lady, we cannot afford more of our men to die here, the southern gates need us to secure the citizens’ escape. We must retreat,” ushered the knight of the King’s Guard.
Yet her father’s voice still lingered.
“But when the time comes Aryavelya, you must overcome the sacrifices that come with this privilege. I pray to The One, you need not make the choices many a king and queen have done for the greater good. Do not falter when there’s still more to be done alive.”
“Your Highness, what is your command?” asked Pellandir, unsheathing his sword, getting ready for battle once again.
Ariabelle glanced down at Jeyan, still and silent, betraying any hint of fear at what was about to come their way. She cannot stand by as more of Los Valles dies at the hands of such monsters, but she also cannot falter, for there is still more at stake, there is more to the path that lie ahead of her than the death of a martyr. At that moment she knew what she needed to do, she could not forfeit their survival for a slight chance of maybe, just maybe finding another survivor.
“We retreat to the southern gates!” Ariabelle commanded, with no hesitation and no regret. This was the right call. This was what she needed to do, for the southern gates is the last escape of anyone trying to flee from death.
“As you wish My Lady. Quifan al tureno! To the southern gates!” ordered the knight of the King’s Guard. Pellandir giving a nod, sheathed his sword and swiftly mounted his horse.
The knight gave Ariabelle the reins of a saddled horse they brought along to which she carried Jeyan onto. Ariabelle mounted the horse as well, seating herself behind Jeyan whose emotionless gaze filled Ariabelle’s heart with sorrow yet still an unwavering passion to fight for Jeyan and everyone else in the kingdom. Pellandir and the rest of his troops followed suit and rode with the knights of the King’s Guard, escaping from the oncoming horde of orcs.
Taking their positions once more, the orcish archers aim hastily with their bows, desperate to take down the riders escaping from their sights.
“Steel incoming!” warned Pellandir as the shield on his back was struck by an arrow. “Make haste everyone, make haste. Hiyah!”
“Our spotters were fortunate to have found you, although it appears our efforts did not quite fully make it in time,” said the knight as they rode across the ruined streets of Los Valles towards the southern gates.
“Nevertheless, we are still grateful for the spotters that led our arrows find their marks,” replied Ariabelle as her gaze flickered at Jeyan, her expression clouded with worry before forcing herself to look forwards again into the distance.
While her thoughts whispered aloud in a sea of noise filled with the horrors of bloodshed and ruin plaguing Los Valles, her resolve remained unshaken.
Her silence speaks loudly, echoing unfathomable depths. I cannot possibly imagine the burden she carries within her heart and her soul, let alone the burden that her departed mother carries, having to watch from beyond as her daughter suffers. May The One strengthen her resolve to fight and live on and may He empower and manifest my will to keep this child alive. Your sacrifice, and the sacrifice of all who have fallen will not be in vain. I shall not falter—for there is much more ahead of me.
