Takarn awoke to find himself chained to an ornate and intricate floor. Depicted on it were scenes of battle and heroics, he marvelled at the beauty of it for several seconds before scanning his surroundings.

He was in a long rectangular hall with incredible white marble pillars decorating its sides, at the far end of the room was a chair and sat on that chair was a truly immense man.

He was fat, flesh rolled of him in waves and the warn spring breeze elicited a glistening sheen of sweat on his body.

“Ah, so this is the monster.” Said the fat man in a repulsive gurgling voice.

“Yes my lord Lodo, this is it.” Said a small page boy while glaring scathingly at Takarn.

“Well, he doesn’t look like much does he?” Said the fat man questioningly.

“Well, he isn’t doing much now, but we assure you he is quite formidable.” Said the smaller man pleadingly while holding up his hands.

“I’m still not convinced.” Said the man frankly. “Give him our brand and then send him off to the slave pits of Boranon, there we shall see what he is truly made of.” Said the fat man as he waved Takarn away.

Several men then came up and stuck him with needles, he suddenly felt incredibly tired and his eyelids began to flutter closed.

It was at this moment that Takarn noticed the heavy doors at the other end of the room begin to swing open, he couldn’t see what was happening as he was faced the other way but what he heard shook him to the core.

“My lord Lodo, The knights have come! The siege is over, we are saved! The monsters are beaten.” Yelled an enthusiastic voice.

Beaten?! How can the orcs have been beaten? This is inconceivable! He thought before the blackness of unconsciousness once again took him.

-----

“Saddle up Salen.” Said a gruff older voice. The man Salen turned around to give a quick retort, he was Salen Relihov, knight of Belandier veteran cavalryman of the king’s army.

He turned dramatically and was met with the amused smile of knight captain Benjamin Carhov. His previously angry stance turned into one of awe as he quickly snapped to a salute, this was the knight captain, one of the greatest soldiers in the king’s army.

The older knight chuckled.

“At ease knight, now saddle up, we have a city to save.” Salen nodded and began to saddle his horse as fast as was conceivably possible.

They had been ordered by the king to break the siege on Hamar, and what their forward scouts had reported was terrifying.

Monsters, as far as the eye could see. Hamar was being sieged by the demons of the seven hells and the only hope for the city was the Knights of the White Hand, and just like Belan Brightfire they would smash the Orcish horde back to the plains.

“Knights! In formation!” Yelled the knight captain from atop his white warhorse.

The city of Hamar was located on the change in terrain between the hilly kingdom of Belandier and the flat plains of Belador, as such any army coming from the side of the kingdom would have the high ground, leading into a flat plain with little cover. The perfect country for a cavalry charge.

The knights formed a wedge formation on the top of a hilled ridge overlooking the camps of orcs and the siege of Hamar.

“Knights!” Yelled the knight commander from the tip of the formation.

“Down there are the legions of hell! The age old enemy of mankind, the orcs!” This elicited a hail of insults being thrown toward the far off Orcish horde.

“Once again they have come to our lands, once again they have come to bring fire and blood and ruin to our people. But once more will we throw them back!” A roar of approval was screamed from the lines of knights.

“We will make like the great Belan Brightfire and toss the hell spawn back to their plains!” This elicited yet another cry of bloodthirst and approval.

“We will do this for we are the knights! For we are the strongest!” He yelled as he gestured for the charge to begin.

It happened slowly at first, just the quiet plodding of hooves. But god did it grow, the charge sped up from a light trot until and whole company of knights, 2000 men and horses were charging at full gallop down the plains. The ground shook with the fury of the gods and all that could be heard were thundering hooves and battle cries.

The orcs noticed them far too late. Salen looked on in morbid amusement as they desperately tried to piece together a spear wall to halt the advance. Too little too late.

The knights hit the Orcish flank like the smith god Moranith hits his hammer. And the world lit up in a wave of screams and death as the armoured angels tore their way through Orcish flesh.

The horde buckled and then eventually fled, the horde was broken. The former power that was the orcs had been crippled once more. Business as usual.

Or was it?

For deep within the bowels of the great city of Hamar sat an orc, no a monster, and he was hungry, hungry for conquest, plunder and flesh. And all this war had done was wet his appetite.