There I am, riding high on my recent separation from the Sarranid Sultanate, finally a free man. Under my command are an elite army of about 35 Swadian Knights and 40 Sarranid Mamlukes. My men are happy, morale is high, and lo and behold, we stumble upon a castle with only 120 relatively weak soldiers guarding it! And better yet, it is a filthy Vaegir stronghold. After suffering under the orders of Sultan Hakim for too many months, I think it is high time I strike out on my own, and stake a claim in this land of Calradia. The castle in question also borders the lands of the Sarranid, with whom I still have fairly high esteem, so chances are good I can make peace with them, and have only the Vaegir swine to contend with on my other border if I manage to storm this castle.

I quickly don my battle armor, as I won’t be riding my steed into this battle, and we lay siege to the fortress. As my companions are good with tools, it only takes a mere six hours to build the ladders for our attack. And what a glorious attack it was! As we charged towards the castle, stopping only to pick off archers from their parapets, the enemy literally crumbled before us. My knights and mamlukes performed admirably, and with the quick work of our surgeon, we only lost 3 of our men, though many more were gravely wounded. It matters not, we have now declared independence, and the men are celebrating with a vigor I have not seen in many moons.

Unfortunately, the rest of Calradia does not share our enthusiasm. Even my arduous efforts for Sultan Hakim do not merit his support! No matter, we are highly trained soldiers, and we can defend our lands. Until half of the Vaegir army comes crashing down on our doorstep, that is. Though we are heavily outnumbered, our tactics and newly reinforced fortress should help us win the day. Wait, what is that sound? A terrible rumbling shakes the very foundations of the castle! It seems the other larger half of the Vaegir army has arrived, with none other than King Yaroglek leading the way. Suddenly, the tide has turned against us. With legions upon legions of men (my scouts say over 1,500) against our mere 75 troops, I fear this may be the end. But damn it, we will not go down without a fearsome fight!

Night falls. The castle shudders. It has begun.

Their army crosses the fields with a slow, yet menacingly steady, pace. I take aim and shoot, arrow after arrow, and take down at least thirty of their men before I run out. A token effort, as it does not slow their approach. The crawling mass of soldiers oozes up the ladders and bursts into our ranks: swords and pikes and shields and maces and arrows, smashing, slicing, crushing, piercing. My sword is quickly covered in blood, as are my men. Everything is red. We are utterly destroyed.

I awaken in a dungeon. My dungeon. Former dungeon, rather. Many days pass. Finally I am able to bribe my way out, and set off once again. I no longer lead an army. I am just a man on a horse, stripped of all my former glory. No one will call me “king”.

Not yet, at least.