“There’s… an awful lot of them,” Private Hagell said.
Sergeant Jolfrak nodded.
General Drax’iat had swept from the West like a plague. The Fortress of Mordoth had guarded the pass into Erebia for centuries… but now the garrison was dead, the castle taken.
“Only one option now, lad.”
As they walked out, the General himself approached. A huge man, some said half-troll. “Do you surrender, eastscum?”
“Yessir.” Jolfrak clutched his shako, then threw it high.
As Drax’iat looked up, Hagell buried a knife in his throat.
The army fell silent as the two adopted a fighting stance.
“Just not yet.”
—–
I was asked to write an epic fantasy in 100 words. It’s trickier than you might imagine. This story is a mixture of that, and the fact that today is the feast day of St. Jude – the patron saint of lost causes.
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