I was born to the name of Glafirpul, the son of two farmers. My parents were mere peasants who have never seen war, and I was expected to amount to nothing more than that - a commoner, working my life in the farms.
For better or worse, my life didn’t end up that way. When I was born, the Dwarves and the Greenskins had been warring for over fifteen years, with no victor in sight. We lived close enough to the center of the Mountain Kingdoms to be spared the carnage and bloodshed of the war… for a while.
When I was seven my father was drafted into the Mountain Guard. “Do not let others get what they want,” he told me before he left. “Fight, Glafirpul, fight. If they try to take what’s yours, hold onto it tighter.”
I began to make a living
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The Dwarf Cities seemed to be winning, and soon our town was under threat from invasion. I wanted to leave to be safe, but my mother refused to leave the house she and my father had lived together …show more content…
Although we had taken one hill, the other four were well-armed, and the task of re-conquering our territory seemed futile.
As we stayed in the stronghold, indecisive, the dwarves suddenly surrounded us and began a siege. They knew it was too risky to attack us outright, but they also knew we didn’t have many provisions - starving us out would probably be easy. In five days half of our forces had deserted - two more days and half of the remaining did the same. After a fortnight hardly one hundred of my men remained, against what seemed like an endless sea of enemies and former allies alike.
I finally had enough. I walked out of the front gates with the remainder of my men - the most loyal, the ones willing to starve to death for their kingdom. Raising my sword, I yelled: “Today we will go down in history! Whether people weep for our deaths or cheer for our victory, depends on you.” I slowly looked at all the familiar faces in the enemy, before charging down with my soldiers, fully prepared to