Chapter 6: The Fate in the Balance
As the two armies clashed together on the great plains of Halador, the sight reminded Roland of the colliding waves of the Black Sea. Wincing at the blinding light of the great Sun, Roland grunted, setting his mighty steed into a gallop as he rode into the sunlight. The wind bit at the layer of sweat that had formed on Roland's brow, and his body ached from travel. None of these factors could stop our hero. As Roland witnessed the raging battle before him, he could not just sit back and watch a victory for the king's foolish advisor who had attempted to erase the history of the Old Times and vanquish the pride that filled the hearts of many villagers. As the fate of Halador hung in the balance, Roland knew that his destiny was to draw back the Dark armies...and with his horse and new found friend Alric, he was ready to take on all opposing forces that threatened the serenity of this beautiful land.
Letting out a battle cry, Roland entered the heat of battle. Striking down on his foes from atop his glorious steed, his love for the land served as fuel for victory. As Roland looked upon the defending armies of Halador, now his comrades, he realized that they were not fit for battle and merely a militia of villagers including many elders. Had the fate of Halador not been enough reason for the young men in the surrounding villages to take arms? Roland thought them cowards, and no greater burden than the Dark warriors themselves. Slashing through the on-coming mercenaries, he could tell from their attire and skill in sword play that many of these men were well trained. Upon further inspection, he noticed a strange insignia on the armor of these warriors. Roland could not believe his eyes...how could this be? What blasphemy was this?
Before Roland could comprehend this atrocity, he received a swift calculated blow to his temple from a ground fighter. Slowly losing consiousness, Roland sent his sword through the torso of a Dark broadswordsman, blood flying from his open wound, defiling the very Earth that had sprung forth life upon these plains.
Letting out a battle cry, Roland entered the heat of battle. Striking down on his foes from atop his glorious steed, his love for the land served as fuel for victory. As Roland looked upon the defending armies of Halador, now his comrades, he realized that they were not fit for battle and merely a militia of villagers including many elders. Had the fate of Halador not been enough reason for the young men in the surrounding villages to take arms? Roland thought them cowards, and no greater burden than the Dark warriors themselves. Slashing through the on-coming mercenaries, he could tell from their attire and skill in sword play that many of these men were well trained. Upon further inspection, he noticed a strange insignia on the armor of these warriors. Roland could not believe his eyes...how could this be? What blasphemy was this?
Before Roland could comprehend this atrocity, he received a swift calculated blow to his temple from a ground fighter. Slowly losing consiousness, Roland sent his sword through the torso of a Dark broadswordsman, blood flying from his open wound, defiling the very Earth that had sprung forth life upon these plains.