Theo, clad in the quiet shadows of Castle Rostomia, makes his way to find Count Damien. The dimly lit corridors echo with the distant sounds of the feast, but as Theo approaches his uncle's chamber, the atmosphere becomes more serene.
He knocks on the door, and Count Damien's weathered face appears as the door creaks open. The flickering candlelight within casts dancing shadows across the room.
"Uncle," Theo begins, his voice carrying a mix of anticipation and uncertainty, "may I speak with you for a moment?"
Count Damien nods, inviting Theo into the chamber. The air is filled with the scent of burning candles and a faint whiff of spiced wine. Theo, as he takes a seat, removes his coat, a symbolic shedding of the weight that rests upon his shoulders.
Count Damien studies Theo with a discerning gaze, recognizing the gravity of the upcoming battle in his nephew's eyes.
"Theo," Count Damien says, his voice a comforting anchor in the midst of the brewing storm, "sit, my boy. What troubles your mind on this eve of battle?"
Theo takes a deep breath, the weight of his impending responsibility heavy on his heart. "Uncle, it's... I am about to command my first battle, and I feel the weight of Visturga's legacy pressing down upon me. I have never fought, never commanded. I fear that I am untested."
Count Damien listens, his expression a mix of understanding and empathy. "Theo, every leader faces the crucible of their first battle. It is a journey into the unknown, a test of character and mettle. But remember, you are not alone. The blood of Visturga runs in your veins, and you carry the wisdom of your ancestors within you."
Theo nods, appreciating the reassurance. "I want to do right by Visturga, by our people. I want to lead with strength and honor."
Count Damien rises from his seat, placing a reassuring hand on Theo's shoulder. "You will, my boy. Tomorrow, as you stand on the precipice of destiny, know that you have the support of those who came before you. Seek guidance from the experienced voices in our ranks, and trust your instincts."
Theo looks up at his uncle, finding solace in the older man's presence. "Thank you, Uncle Damien. Your counsel means a great deal to me."
As Theo rises to leave, Count Damien offers a final piece of wisdom. "The battlefield is a harsh teacher, but it also forges legends. Embrace the challenges that come your way, and may the legacy of Visturga shine bright under your command."
With those words lingering in the air, Theo steps back into the night, carrying the weight of his lineage and the guidance of his uncle as he prepares to face the dawn of his first command on the battlefield.
Theo, having sought guidance from his uncle and finding a moment of solitude, makes his way to his chamber in Castle Rostomia. The flickering candlelight casts a warm glow upon the stone walls, and the sounds of the feast gradually fade as he closes the door behind him.
As Theo lays down on his bed, the weight of the coming battle still lingering in his mind, he finds solace in the familiar surroundings of his room. The moonlight filters through the narrow window, casting a gentle glow on the tapestries that adorn the walls.
Closing his eyes, Theo takes a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts that dance through his mind. The teachings of his uncle, the stories shared by seasoned warriors, and the weight of his untested responsibility accompany him into the realm of dreams.
The night passes, each passing hour marked by the soft sounds of the castle settling into a temporary stillness. Theo, amidst the quiet of his room, dreams of the challenges and triumphs that await on the battlefield.
----------------------------------------
As the first light of dawn begins to creep through the window, Theo stirs awake. The air in the room feels charged with the energy of the impending conflict. He dons his armor, a chestplate, undershirt of chainmail and an outer cloth shirt along with his iron plated leggings, and fastens the heirloom sword to his side before marching out to the barracks.
Walking out of the keep, Theo hears the familiar voice of a man who knows war like a brother. His aide de camp, Baron Sancho Westmour. A famed commander, known for his tactical brilliance in the battle of Silverpeak. In recent years, however, he has grown more weary and cautious. The Baron bows before Theo. He says, "Your Majesty, I humbly suggest you call off this assault." Theo, shocked by this, asks why. "Sire, the men are tired and restless, we barely have enough men to man the defences. This attack will cost us a lot of valuable resources. I fear if this assault fails the castle will fall."
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“No Sancho, we must push forward, the enemy are at their weakest, the scouts report only 200 men at best, I appreciate the concern but our men will rejoice at the victory, if we get victory the enemy forces will be repelled temporarily, and Visturga will have time to rest”
“Yes sir, you’re in charge but please take caution in the battle”
Theo, resolute in his decision, nods solemnly at Baron Sancho's counsel. "I understand the risks, Sancho, but we cannot afford to let fear dictate our actions. Visturga's legacy is at stake, and our people rely on us. We press forward."
Baron Sancho, though still concerned, acknowledges Theo's command with a bow. "As you wish, Your Majesty. May Visturga guide our blades and shield us in the coming battle."
The two leaders, now united in purpose, make their way to the gathering forces outside the castle walls. The courtyard is abuzz with activity as soldiers prepare for the impending assault. Theo addresses the troops, his voice carrying the weight of leadership and determination.
"Brave warriors of Visturga, today we stand united against the forces that seek to challenge our sovereignty. We fight not only for ourselves but for the legacy of those who came before us. With the strength of Visturga flowing through our veins, let us march forward and defend our home!"
The soldiers, inspired by Theo's words, raise their weapons in a resounding cheer. The castle gates open, and the army begins its march toward the battlefield, with Theo at the forefront and Baron Sancho by his side.
As they approach the enemy stronghold, the tension in the air grows. Theo takes a moment to look back at the castle, his thoughts briefly returning to the quiet chamber where his uncle's wisdom still lingers. With a determined gaze, he faces forward, ready to lead Visturga's forces into the crucible of their first battle.
----------------------------------------
He arrives at the field, on a damocles shielded horse wearing a caparison with the coat of arms. Wielding his Veridian Steel Blade, he overlooks the enemy camp, his men watching and Sancho by his side.
“Men, Today we slaughter their camp, tomorrow their King, Charge!”
Following the order, 300 of his men and the 200 of Count Damien’s reinforcements charge the position before he himself advances on his horse.
The clash of steel and the thundering hooves resonate on the battlefield as Theo leads the charge, his Veridian Steel Blade gleaming in the morning sun. The enemy forces, taken by surprise, scramble to organize their defense.
Theo's heart pounds in his chest as he guides his horse through the chaotic battlefield, his eyes scanning for weaknesses in the enemy lines. Baron Sancho, ever the tactician, coordinates the troops, ensuring a strategic and coordinated assault.
The battle unfolds with a fierce intensity. Swords clash, arrows fly, and the air is filled with the cries of the wounded and the victorious. Theo fights alongside his men, demonstrating the courage and determination he inherited from the legacy of Visturga.
In the midst of the chaos, Theo spots the enemy commander rallying his troops. Without hesitation, he directs a group of skilled warriors to engage the enemy leader, seeking to break their morale and turn the tide of the battle.
As the sun climbs higher in the sky, the outcome of the battle hangs in the balance. Theo, fueled by the weight of his responsibility and the teachings of his uncle, fights with unwavering resolve. The battlefield, once a realm of dreams and uncertainties, now becomes the proving ground for Theo's leadership.
The clash continues for hours, each moment a test of Theo's mettle and the unity of Visturga's forces. With each swing of his blade, he feels the weight of his lineage, the echoes of his father’s wisdom guiding his movements.
But then he sees it, like a wolf to a shepherd, an army so massive, they blot out the grass and terrain in the horizon. Their weapons clanking so loud, you could hear it from miles away, and there it was. This wasn’t the main force, this was a diversion, but the worst thing Theo noticed, was the enemy main force was wounded, they had just fought a battle, but against who.
Theo's thoughts were abruptly shattered as the air filled with the sickening screams of agony. Out of the shadows emerged an Imperial Swordsman, an embodiment of death, launching a ferocious assault. With brutal force, the swordsman crashed into Theo, violently ripping him off his horse.
As Theo staggered to his knees, the metallic tang of blood hung thick in the air. He deftly evaded the initial thrust of the swordsman's weapon, only to find himself tumbling into a nightmarish tableau. The ground beneath him was a gruesome tapestry, adorned with a grotesque mosaic of lifeless bodies.
Theo, desperate to escape the clutches of impending doom, writhed through the battlefield's gruesome aftermath. His hands sank into the putrid mound of corpses, their identities and allegiances now lost to the indiscriminate brutality of war. Their lifeless forms whispered tales of despair, their vacant eyes gazing blankly at the heavens.
Struggling to rise, Theo felt the visceral squelch of organs and the warmth of congealing blood beneath him. The once vibrant souls now lay silent, their mouths agape, expelling the last remnants of crimson life. Amidst the sea of corpses, Theo's feeble attempts to crawl away were hindered by an excruciating pain shooting through his leg, an arrow had pierced his calves.
All Theo can hear are the screams of battle, as his men are dying left and right, in an attempt to try and break through the Imperial formation. He hears the screams of men and the sound of crunching bones, broken necks, stabs, kicks, slashes, and the cries of men for their families can be heard amidst the concert of clashing steel. He hears the voices of men he talked to regularly in the barracks, the sound of soldiers are cut short as their throats are slashed in one motion. The day was truly bloody.
Theo looks around in fear, his men are too hard pressed to be able to help him. At last, the impetuous prince realizes the cost of his actions. Suddenly, he hears footsteps start advancing towards him slowly, before he knew it, he was at the mercy of an Imperial Swordsman. “Any last words?” the man says. Before Theo can even think, a man tackles the swordsman to the ground and picks him up. It was Baron Sancho, coming to save him once again. He ordered some squires to bring the prince to the camp while he leads the men in pushing the Imperials back.
Theo is placed on a bed far from the frontlines, tended to by nurses and guarded by some of the household guards. The winter snow makes it impossible to see what is happening. As he recovers, He stares at the sky and awaits.