“We must be prepared. They have a choice: they can surrender, or they can die.”
General Delmaic Whithart shouted these words to his assembled army, who roared in return with a hundred voices. His breastplate glinted in the afternoon light. He dismissed his soldiers - who left in columns of steel and claw - and they began marching away to the camp beyond the marshalling ground. He was standing right in front of his own red tent, considerably more ornamented than the rest and flanked by two guards almost as tall as him. But he didn’t go in, not yet. His head had a lot going on and he didn’t feel like resting. He surrounded his shelter, grabbing the hilt of his sword, alone, and looked at the horizon. He hasn’t washed his mane in days, not to say himself. Water was very limited and there was no sight of a closer river in this territory. And he had the feeling that he was going to be sick very soon, as this place was just an enormous allergen to him. The flora and fauna were just way too different from what he was used to. He felt homesick to an impossible extent. These lands felt as strange as they could be. He looked at the valley that was lying before him, a vivid green grass covered by a clear sky. And tents. Ragged, dark, blue tents raised at the end of the valley. Black and blue standards were moving faintly thanks to the wind, though he couldn’t distinguish more than that. The war against the wolven was imminent at this point, as he didn’t really think they would surrender. That was not part of their mindset. And travelling so far from the Leonian Kingdoms just to stop them from the madness they were
about to execute was beyond his understanding. Delmaic has seen and experienced tough moments in his life, complicated battles, even civil wars…but never something of this level. It’s known what the wolven wanted to do. And it’s also known what The Elder, the Red Terror, would likely be doing as well. And he wasn’t still very sure about what was that type of <creature> that the wolven claimed to have in their power. He only knows that they call it a “magical weapon of mass destruction” whose only purpose is to defeat the Elder. Whoever took this decision was out of his mind. It’s known what the Ancient Dragon Queen would be able to do with the rest of the world. She’s done it already, and whatever this “weapon of mass destruction” was, he was sure that it could not face her power. Her rage and anger would fall upon the realms, her fire would drown the houses of the fair and the palaces of the kings. She could devour any creature that got into her path. She could make Kingdoms fall and civilians would riot against their leaders. She could destroy the Leonian Kingdoms if she was released. She could end all what they knew about life. All their pride would be gone. And Delmaic, first general of the Leonian Kingdoms and defender of the King, would not let that happen during his watch.
He looked at the white lilies that were covering the valley. It seemed like a gracious display of innocence before all the almost imminent bloodshed. These flowers, as much as any other flower, or flora, or fauna, or anything…would be gone if the dragon was released. The general knelt and picked up one of the flowers, holding it in his hand, looking at it, and admiring it. “This will serve as a way to remember” he thought. These were probably the worst days of his life, and he was a warrior of great renown. Strategy was important, as well as keeping the moral high. The truth was, this time he was very uncertain about what could happen. Or at least, part of his soul didn’t know how this could end. What if the weapon they had was more powerful that the Dragon? That seemed unlikely, but with the wolven people it’s impossible to know. He allowed himself some moments to doubt about his decisions sometimes. After all, keeping the moral high for a whole legion of soldiers is extremely tiring. And he wasn’t very sure if the wolven will wait for them to move, or if they will decide to fight them first anyway. They were unpredictable folk, with soldiers that most of the time weren’t very eager to draw a line between what was morally correct and what wasn’t. Delmaic was not a person that used to generalize, specially because he knew that not every soldier was the same, but all his encounters with wolven people seemed to share quite a pattern. They all shared this irrational thirst of blood; this disgusting idea of conquering just for pillage and the sake of bloodshed itself. They attacked villages just to feel the taste of blood. Just to feel powerful, before those who had no power. For Delmaic, that was one of the lowest actions a reasonable being could do. Those in positions of power must gain the respect of their subordinates through honorable tasks, not through fear and erratic slaughter. It made him sick to even think about it. He sighed.
Night was about to fall, and the wind started to blow stronger this time. Another day camping in these foreign lands was gone. There was no movement from the enemy troops. He looked up. About 2,000 miles away, the Mighty Draconia was waiting to see its destiny. And the Leonian Kingdoms were about to have a key role in writing it.