Book I suppose

[ChipsAHoid He/Him]

So this is the first book that I’ve actually gotten past the like 3 chapter mark, I’ve written this (the prologue), 6 chapters, and I got bored and wrote 1.2 epilogues. Honestly a lot of this is subject to change so when I edit I’ll try to update here too. I’ll add the next chapters after I get feedback. Please give advice I have no writing group so my family provides the only advice I get.

Spoiler

THE KOCCARID WARS:

Prologue: The Fall of a Hero

The Fields of Targeon

 

General Sthenos, Hero of Targeon, Starstriker of Old, and Commander of the Army of Targeon fought for his life. He spun and slashed, but there were too many foes. His honor guard had all fallen, cut down by these savage brutes. He was the last of his kind. All the other Heroes had fallen as well, one by one. He gutted another enemy with his greatsword, Fallingstar. He charged forward, deeper into the enemy ranks, swinging Fallingstar. 

Each opponent he hit screamed, glowing. He dove away, slicing the leg of another soldier as he slid. The glowing of the creatures he sliced slowly faded as they fell to the ground. Sthenos picked himself back up, and charged away, slicing at any that dared to get in his path. As soldiers pushed through the falling corpses, the bodies touched the ground. 

The moment they did so, they exploded, pure white light bursting from their veins and destroying all that stood nearby. 

Bodies flew through the air. 

Sthenos took the opportunity to see how the rest of the battle was progressing. Alerted of his survival by the explosion, a division broke off from the battle to rescue him, but Sthenos knew it was too late. Oh Riftscars, he was going to die here. 

Falling into a battle stance, slightly crouched, he held Fallingstar pointed up at his side, held in both hands and arms bent. 

He bellowed and charged. If he was going to die, he might as well take down as many with him as he could. As he charged, a battered company of green-skinned archers released a volley, several dozen aimed at him. 

He jumped to the side, but half a dozen arrows found his flesh in the joints between his plate mail. He growled, but cut a path towards the archers, who were now firing at will. 

By the time he reached them, he had well over two dozen arrows lodged in his flesh, and his power was beginning to run out. He cut into the archers, and they fled after losing almost a dozen men. 

The screams of the dying haunted him. The heat, the cries, the smell of blood. The horrors of battle washed over him, but still he pushed on. 

Just as he reached the brutes, they parted. They formed a ring while one of the creatures approached him. Over the brute’s shoulder his reinforcements crested the hill that he had been fighting on earlier, and engaged the enemy, desperately trying to reach him. 

The soldier held a massive sword. 

Sthenos froze. Impossible. That sword had belonged to Kardor, leader of the Heroes, and the most powerful Brightbringer ever to live.

“Sthenos.”

He knew that voice! Why did he know that voice? How would he know the voice of a- 

His thoughts cut off as he saw the creature’s shadow break off and run in a different direction.

“No,” Sthenos whispered. He had thought he was the last Hero.

“Really?” said Credor, brother and murderer of Kardor, and a very powerful Shadowstalker. “Of all the Heroes, I am the strongest. Did you truly think that I would fall?”

“You fell the moment you slew Kardor!” Sthenos spat.

Credor gave a hollow laugh and took off his helmet, standing relaxed, nonchalant even. His- no, Kardor’s- sword’s tip was to the ground at his side. His posture seemed to embody contempt, but deeper down, Sthenos saw pain and sorrow in his dark eyes. 

Sthenos roared and charged. Credor grimaced and leaned a little to the side as his vicious cleave swung by, and leaned back ever so slightly as Sthenos turned it into a sideways slice.

“There’s no need to be so unpleasant.”

“You killed him!” he said softly, but with so much ferocity that another, less powerful man would have shriveled from the intensity.

Credor looked at him mournfully. 

“Sometimes when there is a rotting limb, one must cut it to save the rest of the body.”

It galled him how nonchalantly the man stood. The man- if he could be called that any more- seemed genuinely pitying of him. Sthenos’ soul burned as he thought of the crimes this Rift-cursed scum had caused. He would avenge these acts.

“Surely you must see-” he began softly, but was cut off as Sthenos roared and charged again. 

“I’m really sorry about this, Nephew,” he said, softer still. “I wish you would join me, but that is not the case. You always were too honorable.” 

With that, he sidestepped another swing and lightly touched Sthenos on the forehead. His forehead crumbled away as Shadow began to course through his veins, but Credor had given him one small mercy in deciding to end his life without any physical pain. 

While he might not have felt any pain from his skull crumbling into dust, he still knew it was over. His troops would be killed, and any who surrendered would be cut down without a passing thought. The Koccarids were ruthless. They would then swarm into Targeon and kill all who stood. As his vision slowly began to fade to black, he saw Credor looking down sadly at him.

“I am sorry you had to die the way your father did,” He said softly. His gaunt expression seemed to be filled with genuine pain and sadness. It was as if his soul hadn’t yet left his body, but that didn’t seem possible with how often he used his powers. Surely he should have gone insane by now. Sthenos was shocked to realize that Credor thought he was doing the right thing in killing so many, even if he hated himself for it.

However, Sthenos saw something Credor did not. He smiled fiercely, looking over Credor’s shoulder and seeing Sthenor, his son, raising a knife. 

Credor’s eyes widened, and he began to turn, but it was too late. 

The knife took him in the side as he turned.

 Credor screamed. 

Growling, he backhanded Sthenor and thrust Kardor’s Sword into Sthenor’s chest.

No! His mind yelled. He no longer had the strength to move anything but his eyes.

Credor’s eyes rolled up into his head, and he collapsed. Sthenor fell to his knees, gasping.

“I’m sorry”. Sthenor breathed, unable to muster the strength to speak. “I have failed you, Father.” 

He took one final gasp, then collapsed to the ground, eyes staring sightlessly.

Then it all faded to black.

Edited September 13, 2025 by ChipsAHoid

[CoderDrag0n8 He/They]

29 minutes ago, ChipsAHoid said:

So this is the first book that I’ve actually gotten past the like 3 chapter mark, I’ve written this (the prologue), 6 chapters, and I got bored and wrote 1.2 epilogues. Honestly a lot of this is subject to change so when I edit I’ll try to update here too. I’ll add the next chapters after I get feedback. Please give advice I have no writing group so my family provides the only advice I get.

 

THE KOCCARID WARS:

Prologue: The Fall of a Hero

The Fields of Targeon

 

General Sthenos, Hero of Targeon, Starstriker of Old, and Commander of the Army of Targeon fought for his life. He spun and slashed, but there were too many foes. His honor guard had all fallen, cut down by these savage brutes. He was the last of his kind. All the other Heroes had fallen as well, one by one. He gutted another enemy with his greatsword, Fallingstar. He charged forward, deeper into the enemy ranks, swinging Fallingstar. 

Each opponent he hit screamed, glowing. He dove away, slicing the leg of another soldier as he slid. The glowing of the creatures he sliced slowly faded as they fell to the ground. Sthenos picked himself back up, and charged away, slicing at any that dared to get in his path. As soldiers pushed through the falling corpses, the bodies touched the ground. 

The moment they did so, they exploded, pure white light bursting from their veins and destroying all that stood nearby. 

Bodies flew through the air. 

Sthenos took the opportunity to see how the rest of the battle was progressing. Alerted of his survival by the explosion, a division broke off from the battle to rescue him, but Sthenos knew it was too late. Oh Riftscars, he was going to die here. 

Falling into a battle stance, slightly crouched, he held Fallingstar pointed up at his side, held in both hands and arms bent. 

He bellowed and charged. If he was going to die, he might as well take down as many with him as he could. As he charged, a battered company of green-skinned archers released a volley, several dozen aimed at him. 

He jumped to the side, but half a dozen arrows found his flesh in the joints between his plate mail. He growled, but cut a path towards the archers, who were now firing at will. 

By the time he reached them, he had well over two dozen arrows lodged in his flesh, and his power was beginning to run out. He cut into the archers, and they fled after losing almost a dozen men. 

The screams of the dying haunted him. The heat, the cries, the smell of blood. The horrors of battle washed over him, but still he pushed on. 

Just as he reached the brutes, they parted. They formed a ring while one of the creatures approached him. Over the brute’s shoulder his reinforcements crested the hill that he had been fighting on earlier, and engaged the enemy, desperately trying to reach him. 

The soldier held a massive sword. 

Sthenos froze. Impossible. That sword had belonged to Kardor, leader of the Heroes, and the most powerful Brightbringer ever to live.

“Sthenos.”

He knew that voice! Why did he know that voice? How would he know the voice of a- 

His thoughts cut off as he saw the creature’s shadow break off and run in a different direction.

“No,” Sthenos whispered. He had thought he was the last Hero.

“Really?” said Credor, brother and murderer of Kardor, and a very powerful Shadowstalker. “Of all the Heroes, I am the strongest. Did you truly think that I would fall?”

“You fell the moment you slew Kardor!” Sthenos spat.

Credor gave a hollow laugh and took off his helmet, standing relaxed, nonchalant even. His- no, Kardor’s- sword’s tip was to the ground at his side. His posture seemed to embody contempt, but deeper down, Sthenos saw pain and sorrow in his dark eyes. 

Sthenos roared and charged. Credor grimaced and leaned a little to the side as his vicious cleave swung by, and leaned back ever so slightly as Sthenos turned it into a sideways slice.

“There’s no need to be so unpleasant.”

“You killed him!” he said softly, but with so much ferocity that another, less powerful man would have shriveled from the intensity.

Credor looked at him mournfully. 

“Sometimes when there is a rotting limb, one must cut it to save the rest of the body.”

It galled him how nonchalantly the man stood. The man- if he could be called that any more- seemed genuinely pitying of him. Sthenos’ soul burned as he thought of the crimes this Rift-cursed scum had caused. He would avenge these acts.

“Surely you must see-” he began softly, but was cut off as Sthenos roared and charged again. 

“I’m really sorry about this, Nephew,” he said, softer still. “I wish you would join me, but that is not the case. You always were too honorable.” 

With that, he sidestepped another swing and lightly touched Sthenos on the forehead. His forehead crumbled away as Shadow began to course through his veins, but Credor had given him one small mercy in deciding to end his life without any physical pain. 

While he might not have felt any pain from his skull crumbling into dust, he still knew it was over. His troops would be killed, and any who surrendered would be cut down without a passing thought. The Koccarids were ruthless. They would then swarm into Targeon and kill all who stood. As his vision slowly began to fade to black, he saw Credor looking down sadly at him.

“I am sorry you had to die the way your father did,” He said softly. His gaunt expression seemed to be filled with genuine pain and sadness. It was as if his soul hadn’t yet left his body, but that didn’t seem possible with how often he used his powers. Surely he should have gone insane by now. Sthenos was shocked to realize that Credor thought he was doing the right thing in killing so many, even if he hated himself for it.

However, Sthenos saw something Credor did not. He smiled fiercely, looking over Credor’s shoulder and seeing Sthenor, his son, raising a knife. 

Credor’s eyes widened, and he began to turn, but it was too late. 

The knife took him in the side as he turned.

 Credor screamed. 

Growling, he backhanded Sthenor and thrust Kardor’s Sword into Sthenor’s chest.

No! His mind yelled. He no longer had the strength to move anything but his eyes.

Credor’s eyes rolled up into his head, and he collapsed. Sthenor fell to his knees, gasping.

“I’m sorry”. Sthenor breathed, unable to muster the strength to speak. “I have failed you, Father.” 

He took one final gasp, then collapsed to the ground, eyes staring sightlessly.

Then it all faded to black.

Yooo your a writer?

thats sick

[ChipsAHoid He/Him]

Just now, CoderDrag0n8 said:

Yooo your a writer?

thats sick

You’re*  

Yeah, I’m not like Sanderson or anything, but least I’ve been getting a lot of positive feedback so I think it’s good

[CoderDrag0n8 He/They]

3 minutes ago, ChipsAHoid said:

You’re*  

Yeah, I’m not like Sanderson or anything, but least I’ve been getting a lot of positive feedback so I think it’s good

I like writers

they provide books

that I then read

and enjoy

I'll get to yours in a bit.

[Vielence She/Her]

On 6/21/2025 at 9:21 PM, ChipsAHoid said:

So this is the first book that I’ve actually gotten past the like 3 chapter mark, I’ve written this (the prologue), 6 chapters, and I got bored and wrote 1.2 epilogues. Honestly a lot of this is subject to change so when I edit I’ll try to update here too. I’ll add the next chapters after I get feedback. Please give advice I have no writing group so my family provides the only advice I get.

 

THE KOCCARID WARS:

Prologue: The Fall of a Hero

The Fields of Targeon

 

General Sthenos, Hero of Targeon, Starstriker of Old, and Commander of the Army of Targeon fought for his life. He spun and slashed, but there were too many foes. His honor guard had all fallen, cut down by these savage brutes. He was the last of his kind. All the other Heroes had fallen as well, one by one. He gutted another enemy with his greatsword, Fallingstar. He charged forward, deeper into the enemy ranks, swinging Fallingstar. 

Each opponent he hit screamed, glowing. He dove away, slicing the leg of another soldier as he slid. The glowing of the creatures he sliced slowly faded as they fell to the ground. Sthenos picked himself back up, and charged away, slicing at any that dared to get in his path. As soldiers pushed through the falling corpses, the bodies touched the ground. 

The moment they did so, they exploded, pure white light bursting from their veins and destroying all that stood nearby. 

Bodies flew through the air. 

Sthenos took the opportunity to see how the rest of the battle was progressing. Alerted of his survival by the explosion, a division broke off from the battle to rescue him, but Sthenos knew it was too late. Oh Riftscars, he was going to die here. 

Falling into a battle stance, slightly crouched, he held Fallingstar pointed up at his side, held in both hands and arms bent. 

He bellowed and charged. If he was going to die, he might as well take down as many with him as he could. As he charged, a battered company of green-skinned archers released a volley, several dozen aimed at him. 

He jumped to the side, but half a dozen arrows found his flesh in the joints between his plate mail. He growled, but cut a path towards the archers, who were now firing at will. 

By the time he reached them, he had well over two dozen arrows lodged in his flesh, and his power was beginning to run out. He cut into the archers, and they fled after losing almost a dozen men. 

The screams of the dying haunted him. The heat, the cries, the smell of blood. The horrors of battle washed over him, but still he pushed on. 

Just as he reached the brutes, they parted. They formed a ring while one of the creatures approached him. Over the brute’s shoulder his reinforcements crested the hill that he had been fighting on earlier, and engaged the enemy, desperately trying to reach him. 

The soldier held a massive sword. 

Sthenos froze. Impossible. That sword had belonged to Kardor, leader of the Heroes, and the most powerful Brightbringer ever to live.

“Sthenos.”

He knew that voice! Why did he know that voice? How would he know the voice of a- 

His thoughts cut off as he saw the creature’s shadow break off and run in a different direction.

“No,” Sthenos whispered. He had thought he was the last Hero.

“Really?” said Credor, brother and murderer of Kardor, and a very powerful Shadowstalker. “Of all the Heroes, I am the strongest. Did you truly think that I would fall?”

“You fell the moment you slew Kardor!” Sthenos spat.

Credor gave a hollow laugh and took off his helmet, standing relaxed, nonchalant even. His- no, Kardor’s- sword’s tip was to the ground at his side. His posture seemed to embody contempt, but deeper down, Sthenos saw pain and sorrow in his dark eyes. 

Sthenos roared and charged. Credor grimaced and leaned a little to the side as his vicious cleave swung by, and leaned back ever so slightly as Sthenos turned it into a sideways slice.

“There’s no need to be so unpleasant.”

“You killed him!” he said softly, but with so much ferocity that another, less powerful man would have shriveled from the intensity.

Credor looked at him mournfully. 

“Sometimes when there is a rotting limb, one must cut it to save the rest of the body.”

It galled him how nonchalantly the man stood. The man- if he could be called that any more- seemed genuinely pitying of him. Sthenos’ soul burned as he thought of the crimes this Rift-cursed scum had caused. He would avenge these acts.

“Surely you must see-” he began softly, but was cut off as Sthenos roared and charged again. 

“I’m really sorry about this, Nephew,” he said, softer still. “I wish you would join me, but that is not the case. You always were too honorable.” 

With that, he sidestepped another swing and lightly touched Sthenos on the forehead. His forehead crumbled away as Shadow began to course through his veins, but Credor had given him one small mercy in deciding to end his life without any physical pain. 

While he might not have felt any pain from his skull crumbling into dust, he still knew it was over. His troops would be killed, and any who surrendered would be cut down without a passing thought. The Koccarids were ruthless. They would then swarm into Targeon and kill all who stood. As his vision slowly began to fade to black, he saw Credor looking down sadly at him.

“I am sorry you had to die the way your father did,” He said softly. His gaunt expression seemed to be filled with genuine pain and sadness. It was as if his soul hadn’t yet left his body, but that didn’t seem possible with how often he used his powers. Surely he should have gone insane by now. Sthenos was shocked to realize that Credor thought he was doing the right thing in killing so many, even if he hated himself for it.

However, Sthenos saw something Credor did not. He smiled fiercely, looking over Credor’s shoulder and seeing Sthenor, his son, raising a knife. 

Credor’s eyes widened, and he began to turn, but it was too late. 

The knife took him in the side as he turned.

 Credor screamed. 

Growling, he backhanded Sthenor and thrust Kardor’s Sword into Sthenor’s chest.

No! His mind yelled. He no longer had the strength to move anything but his eyes.

Credor’s eyes rolled up into his head, and he collapsed. Sthenor fell to his knees, gasping.

“I’m sorry”. Sthenor breathed, unable to muster the strength to speak. “I have failed you, Father.” 

He took one final gasp, then collapsed to the ground, eyes staring sightlessly.

Then it all faded to black.

WHAAAAAA 

THAT IS AWESOME. 

Please write more bc I wanna know what happens next!!!!

On 6/21/2025 at 9:57 PM, CoderDrag0n8 said:

I like writers

they provide books

that I then read

and enjoy

I'll get to yours in a bit.

Agreed. 

[ChipsAHoid He/Him]

3 hours ago, VieB13 said:

WHAAAAAA 

THAT IS AWESOME. 

Please write more bc I wanna know what happens next!!!!

Agreed. 

Ah I’d forgotten I’d put this on the Shard. I updated the post to current edits and spoilered for length.

I’ll release the next chapter. That one I feel confident doesn’t need much overhaul. 

Oh, and please do give me advice. I have very little to go off of. I do also answer questions but I reserve the right to RAFO it

Spoiler

The Chapter 1: First Blood

276 years later, Taragorn.

Varin ran down the pass into the small town of Sprensle, brandishing his sword as he ran. He and his small squad of soldiers were to root out the Koccarids who were holding the town, along with a few other squads. This was his first real battle on the frontlines. He had been training since he was a young boy, and now he had command of his own squad in the Havar army. 

As they rounded the bend at the end of the pass, they saw the town. It was small, and dirty, yet held some strategic value, being in the shadow of the pass through the mountains. 

Then they saw the group of Koccarids. Varin had only read about them before. They were about the same size as a human, and extremely disfigured, with skin shades of greens, greys, and blacks. They had long, wild manes of hair, and large fangs. They wore crude leather or rusted chain mail, virtually useless, and their swords were in a similar state of disrepair. 

Compared to Varin’s squad of soldiers wearing shining coats of mail, and shields and swords glinting in the sun, this would be an easy victory. There were a few complications, however. First of all, they were outnumbered. Second of all, the Koccarids were incredibly strong. Third of all, the Koccarids had the defensive position. They would need their skill and masterfully forged gear to win this battle.

 

Varin led the charge, as any brave commander would do. He and his squad ran towards the city. Two Koccarid sentries tried to stop them. Varin swung his sword in a devastating arc, knocking the Koccarid’s blade aside. He punched the sentry in the face, then proceeded to run the sentry through the gut. The Koccarid’s eyes glazed, and he fell over, dead. Varin pulled out his sword.

“Looks like I’ll be needing to clean this thing.” Varin muttered. It was covered in black blood. His first time drawing Koccarid blood.

He found this immensely satisfying to rid the world of such a monster.

As he turned to face the other, he found its head hurtling towards him. He threw his shield up just in time, narrowly avoiding a concussion.

Varin sighed. “Brondolf, we’ve talked about this before. Do not hit the heads so hard they go flying. I forbid it. It’s too dangerous!”

“I was aiming it at the one that you were after.” Brondolf said, pointing his hammer at the corpse of the Koccarid

“It could have hit me, or another member of the squad!”

“Will you two finish up your picnic and help? We’re fighting a war over here!” yelled Asvard over his shoulder as the group continued to charge.

“Right, sorry!” said Brondolf.

They charged right into the town. Suddenly, from a right alley, half a dozen Koccarids burst out, and charged them. 

Varin went into a flurry of overhand, underhand, side sweeps, and thrusts. Two of the Koccarids were felled in a pair of back and forth strokes, necks slashed, and he stabbed one through the chest, black blood spurting everywhere. He slashed one down with a massive downwards cleave, his sword coming an inch from the ground. He turned it into an uppercut in less than a second, slicing a long gash in another Koccarid. 

The other one was up against a wall with a sword penetrating through his sternum, and partially into the wall. Asvard smiled grimly as he pulled his sword out.

 

As they progressed through the city, another dozen burst out of the tavern. Varin ran, shield first, into the enemy. Several swords struck his shield. He cut off the arm of one Koccarid brute, and aimed an overhand stroke at another, slicing its head clean in two. 

He was then surrounded by five Koccarids.

The nearest growled something in broken Havar which amounted to something roughly meaning “Surrender now or die!”

“I don’t think so,” replied Varin. 

He ducked, and spun around in a circle, sword out, slicing three in the chest. He cut one across the stomach, and quickly reversed his sword with a flourish, ramming it behind him.

The last Koccarid died with a gurgle, and Varin pulled out his sword.

As he turned to see how the others were doing, he saw Knut go down from being hit with a club to the head, and Agnar take a slash to the thigh. As the Koccarid loomed over Agnar, Varin pulled out his dagger, and threw it. 

It buried itself deep into the Koccarid’s back. He heard heavy, grunting breaths behind him, and he pointed his sword at the throat of his attacker without even turning around.

“Surrender if you want to live!” he cried.

“Put down your sword, Varin!” grunted Brondolf, his voice obstructed by the sword against his throat.

“Oh, sorry,” Varin replied, lowering his sword carefully.

The last Koccarid, arm missing from Varin’s attack, went down to Ardgar, Agnar’s brother, whilst Varin recovered his dagger.

Ardgar rushed to Agnar’s side, and bandaged his leg.

“Can you walk?” asked Ardgar.

“I think so,” said Agnar, gasping.

 

After they put Knut safely in a small hut away from the action, with Nyr to guard him, they continued until the town center where the remaining Koccarids lay in wait. 

They entered the town center. The Chieftain was sitting on a makeshift throne, conversing with his guards. 

Varin threw his dagger, and it flew true, flashing towards the Chieftain’s throat. However, the blade was deflected by a nearby guard. 

The three guards near him were equipped with real armor and weapons. They wore armor made of a material as dark as midnight, covered in spikes, gleaming in the light. All three wielded glaives with curved heads on each end of the stick, made of the same material as the armor, and two huge projectiles that resembled shurikens strapped to each guard’s back. 

Varin charged, and went into battle mode. He deflected all three glaives in quick succession, and hit a lightning-fast, powerful slash at one of them. It bounced off his chestplate, barely scratching it. 

Varin overbalanced and had to dodge as a slash came right at his exposed back. 

He wasn’t fast enough.

 

The blade just nicked his side, drawing blood.

Riftscars, that hurt! That’s going to complicate things! Varin thought grimly.

He dodged another slash, and parried the other two, all the while looking for weak points.

There! he thought. 

He slid through one’s legs, while two glaives dug into the tile stone paved road where his head and chest had just been. 

He stabbed his sword through the back of the knee of one, dropping him to one knee with a grunt of pain.

He parried another strike that the wounded Koccarid stabbed behind his back. 

Where is my squad? he thought, desperately rolling away from two more deadly swipes.

He glanced back at where they were last, and found that they were having their own problems with another horde of Koccarids. 

He swept the legs out from under one of them, knocking him over. He smashed his pommel into the face of the Koccarid several times, crushing his nose and leaving him dazed. 

It was now single combat. He parried a swipe, and the other came up lightning fast, sending his sword flying. 

He reached for his dagger, and realized it wasn’t there. 

Patov’s touch! Varin cursed.

He was unarmed. 

The Koccarid grinned cruelly, yellow teeth showing, and ran Varin through the stomach.

 

Varin felt his blood gushing out of his wound. 

Impossible! He thought. That black glaive had gone through solid steel!

With the last vestiges of his strength, he kicked the remaining Koccarid in the knee, breaking it with a bone-crunching CRACK! After a brief and one-sided struggle, he snapped the guard’s neck, and dropped him to the floor. Varin pulled the glaive out of his stomach, and desperately tried to staunch the flow of blood.

Miraculously, it slowed. He stumbled over to the other guard, and after a brief struggle in which Varin had to disarm him with a slash to the arm, beheaded the other two wounded guards. He grunted and stumbled to retrieve his sword and dagger. He then glanced over at the battle at the entrance to the town center. 

There was only one remaining Koccarid near his squad- The Chieftain. He had disarmed Agdi, the cousin of Agnar and Ardgar, and was raising his sword to stab him. Varin threw his knife, but the Koccarid lifted his other arm to choke Agdi. 

The knife took him in the arm. 

He grunted, but growled and slashed his sword down directly on Agdi‘s head. Varin fell to his knees. He dimly saw Tregon run the brute through. The brute grinned savagely and ripped the knife out of his arm, slashing Tregon’s throat. Then both Varin and the Koccarid collapsed to the floor.

 

When Varin awoke, he was back at camp. He sat up groggily. Then he nearly leapt out of his skin as he saw Knut a few inches away, staring at him.

“Knut!” he exclaimed. “You’re alright!”

Knut said nothing, and continued to stare blankly.

“Knut?” Varin asked.

Knut did not react. Varin waved his hand in front of Knut’s face. Knut still did not react.

Varin left the tent he was in to seek out Brondolf. When he found him he was sitting despondently with the rest of the squad in front of a small cook fire in the summer twilight.

Brondolf looked up with a shocked expression.

“How are you up and walking?” he asked. “It’s only been two days!”

“Two days?” Varin asked, alarmed. How had so much time passed?

Brondolf just nodded. They were still trying to process what had happened to their friends.

“What happened to Knut?” he asked, but he already knew, deep down.

“The knock on his head messed up his brain.” Brondolf sighed. “He may never recover.”

After a pause, Varin prepared himself for the worst and asked.

“How many did we lose?”

Brondolf looked into the distance.

“We lost Agdi and Tregon to the last Koccarid. Astor, Karnol, and Feron fell to the wave of Koccarids at the throne, and Sthrik bled out at the medic.”

Varin felt as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to his face.

“Six dead? That leaves us with only ten remaining!”

He looked at the other members of his squad. The majority of squads were composed of soldiers of very similar backgrounds, with the majority being Havar, and a few squads here and there that were mainly from the Eastern Alliance or Draedus. 

Varin’s squad on the other hand consisted mostly of the leftovers, the men who didn’t fit into any of the other squads. How unfortunate those squads were to lack these men.

Brondolf was tan of skin and dark of hair. He had a very burly form, though he did not have as much muscle between his ears. He was from the Eastern Alliance.

Asvard was very pale with blond hair and blue eyes, as he was from the Northern Wastelands. 

Ardgar and Agnar had pale skin and brown hair with a smattering of freckles and dark green eyes. Both of them were also from the Eastern Alliance. 

Knut had gray skin and pale blue hair, as he hailed from Turgos. 

Keevi and Darvig were both from Draedus, and accordingly had dark brown skin and black hair, with faint red streaks. 

Nyr came from Eulthas, and being a male, had orange skin, rather than purple, as the females did. 

Paegros was a Bloodhunter, so he never showed any part of himself, just a skull mask, the rest covered by hooded black robes and gloves just as dark. 

Finally, there was Varin. Varin and Astor were the only ones from Havard, so they were tall, brawny, and had a metallic sheen to their black hair.

But Astor was dead now, due to the wrath of the Koccarids. Varin still wondered why they fought. All that he had been told was that he was to enter the military, and fight for revenge against the Koccarids, alongside other soldiers from Havard, Draedus, Eultho, and Argor, as well as a few other smaller countries that together formed the Eastern Alliance. Of course, there were a handful of soldiers from other countries such as Turgos or the Northern Wastes who came to fight.

He knew he shouldn’t, but he still blamed himself for the last four deaths. He should have predicted the ambush, should have stayed with them, should have-

“Varin!”

Varin started and looked over.

“You have that look in your eyes again. You can’t save them all. I know you feel like it’s your fault but-” Brondolf said.

Varin hadn’t stopped feeling that for too long. Not since Krai. 

He stood abruptly.

“Get some rest, all of you. We have a long day’s march ahead.”

“Varin?”

Varin didn’t respond. He stalked off. As he walked through the camp back to his tent, he heard scuffling behind him. He sighed and hid between two tents as Brondolf came walking around a bend. He stood still as Brondolf passed by. He knew Brondolf wanted what was best for him, but he just wasn’t in the mood to talk. He heard Brondolf sigh, and Varin watched as he turned and walked past the other way, now heading back to the fire.

Varin walked the rest of the way to his tent. Sleep was a long time coming, and when he finally drifted off, the nightmares welcomed him.