The Last Stand

I groaned as I was violently shaken out of my drunken slumber. "My Lord! The enemy approaches, please wake up and rally the troops!" I waved him away and rubbed my eyes. My head was splitting. How much had I drank?

"Who are you? You're not my general." I demanded, still mostly asleep and more than a bit irritated.

"Y-you had the other general executed, milord," he replied sheepishly. "Please wake up!"

That mouse of a man before me was my new general? Bullshit. I wiped my eyes and sat up, the headache flaring as I moved. I got a good look at him, and it sparked recognition. "Wait a second. You're the bartender!"

"Y-yes milord. You picked me randomly to be the new general."

"Randomly?" I shot him a glare as i began to stand.

"U-uuh, I mean, you-" he dropped off, stumbling over his own words. "You expertly selected me to be your new general!" He exclaimed, throwing his finger in the air.

"Enough." I moved to my dresser and threw on some some undergarments. The King rides in his armor today. "Bring me my armor."

The man scampered away, returning moments later with a set of platemail. He helped me dress into it, and we flew out the door. No time to waste. "What happened last night? Also, what's your name, anyway?" I asked as we jogged.

"Vance, my Lord." He looked over at me. "Last night, in an.. intoxicated.. state, you executed your general and a servant for.. uhm.. copulating. On the floor. In the anteroom." The new general mumbled as we slowed.

"TO ARMS!" I shouted, once we reached the courtyard. This shouting, of course, only emboldened my headache. I should really find a healer. "WE STAND OUR GROUND TO THE LAST MAN." I grabbed a sword, and lifted it above my head, crying out: "THE LIONS POUNCE!" Men around the courtyard lift their respective weapons above their heads, repeating the cry in unison. "THE LIONS POUNCE!"

The cry was so loud, it echoed in the mountain pass, reverberating off the stone walls. The stone fort is one of the last strongholds before the Vekh would break free; into the open fields beyond, they would slaughter. That could not be allowed to happen.

Lancers, in similar platemail to me, were mounting. Longbowmen and skirmishers were mounting the walls. Mages in robes were preparing their spells, checking their books and some were mounting. Spearmen readied.

"YOU!" I pointed at a mage, who jumped. "Heal my hangover." The mage nodded, placing her slendee hands on my head, and closing her eyes. The familiar static electricity feeling of healing covered my head, and the pain lessened. "Thank you." She nodded.

They were coming. We could hear the screeches of Vekh echoing ominously through the pass. The spearmen and the lancers filed out, a look of grim determination on every man's face. They would hold the outside of the fort, hold off the Vekh from the walls as long as possible. Bowmen readied. Skirmishers brandished their bows as well, but they would have the job of fighting off any that scaled the walls, mainly. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.

The deafening sound of a horn, followed by the beating of drums and a last cry of "THE LIONS POUNCE!" marked the beginning of the end as the Vekh came into view.

The Vekh are truly horrifying. They have beaked heads and black eyes, standing at a heights just short of a man. Their hands and feet resemble those of humans, however they have finger-spikes good for climbing and killing alike. Their bodies are covered in a hard fur-like carapace that provides some natural defense, and many wield weapons.

Arrows started flying. Men started changing. Drums beat faster. I readied a spell, and sighed. Who was I kidding? We were all going to die in the last defense of our country.

I wonder if there's liquor in Hell.