[Introduction] Commander Pierce

Commander Pierce stood tall on a pile of stones, towering above his men. Under the gathering clouds, no sun shone on his dented helm, bent pauldrons and scathed hammer.
How they once glistened and gleamed he remembered. He let a finger trace the engravings on his battered wrist plates:
"Bring Light. Inspire strength. Give hope.". How grim a task that had become.
He glanced over his troops: battered, worn down men. Their spirit long broken by the gloom of the land and fruitless, never ending battles. Another battle was about to begin. He'd have to shout them back into bravery. The rumbling of running armor approached. The enemy had arrived.

A darkness crawled over the land, like a cloud hiding the sun. But this darkness hid courage, quenched hop, brought despair. The line of men flanking him on both sides quaivered as an invisble wave of fear struck them, shields and blades lowered. Commander Pierce clenched his teeth, braving the spell and suppressing the quivering of his left hand. Pierce never managed to understand the nature of the spell, but he did know the cure.

He lifted his hammer and bullowed: "Our score! Make them pay! Their deaths will know no glory!". The shields and swords rose back to fighting stance. Shouts followed, anger wielded to blind their minds from the desperate task that lied ahead.

"For Andorhal!" Pierce shouted as the wave of undead clashed into the line.
A flurry of blades, pikes and hammers spread along the troops, cerating a fog of glimmering weapons, occasionally swallowing a man in its hunger. Pierce's hammer fought fiercely, its shaft whistling in the air with each swing, each blow demanding its toll on the attackers.

A young soldier slammed into his side, a blade protruding from his chest.
"Close!" he ordered, and the soldiers followed obediently. Right behind his fighting men, Pierce placed a foot on the young man, pulled the blade out and let the Light work its wonder.
"Another gray hair" he muttered. The flecks of gray hair on his once proud brown hair had doubled in this exhausting battle. The boy opened his eyes, in shock and still in pain. Pierce grabbed him fiercely by his armor and dragged him to his feet.
"Fight! Damn you! Fight! You have a score to settle." Together they jumped back into the fray. Pierce's hammer ended another unlife. The boy immediately fell to another blade.

Shouts, and orders continued, the undead continuing their relentless assault against the battered line of defense. Suddenly the horn of retreat echoed in the distance. Pierce stomped on a corpse trying to crawl back in retreat and finished it mercilessly with his hammer.

"Dewey! Report!"
A meager soldier came running along.
- "Moderate toll.. "
"Numbers?"
- "Couple rejoined the families. Few on their way."
A moderate toll... Pierce had forbidden the mention of deads. The only men who died were heroes. The image of heroic bravery had to be kept alive.
"Show me."
Dewey lead him to the wounded soldiers being gathered. Dewey had placed his orders well: the wounded were hidden from eachother's sight. All they would see was the men standing. Pierce kneeled before the first, briefly glancing at Dewey's secret hand signal: he would make it.
"John.. How are you feeling?"
- "No so good, Commander.. I.. I can't feel my legs."
Pierce nodded, placing his hammer on the ground.
"You weren't planning on running off, were you?" he laughed grimly.
- "Never. We have a score to settle."
"Good. Good. Don't you become lazy on me now."
- "No Sir!"

Pierce grabbed his hammer and walked to the next. The medic was with him, signaling a certain death.
The soldier was shaking his head aimlessly, screaming, mumbling in pain and delirium.
"Anything we can do?"
- "Ease the pain.. We don't have much medicine left."
"Dewey.."
Dewey took his order and rallied the men. The distraction and noise that followed deafened the brief cry of the dying soldier, as Pierce thrusted his stiletto in the man's heart. The coup de grace. When the men were in formation, Dewey returned.
"Dewey... gather ten corpses, place them around him and tell them they were his victory. Tell them he died, knowing he settled his score and spoke words of courage to those who remained. He is with his family now."

Pierce grabbed his hammer, eyeing his shivering left hand angrily. The doc ignored the signs of the trembling hand, the graying hair. No need to remind the man what he already knew.

Dewey broke the silence.
- "Some of the men are trying to hold down a sort of minion.. They cornered it."
Pierce followed his companion to the battlefield where the forsaken was imprisoned by a wall of soldiers.
- "You can't kill me!" the undead shouted. "My master will bring me back. Yes he will! My life is eternal! You can join us... or die. But either way your life ends here. Look at the ground that will bear your corpse!"
Pierce stepped in and knocked the being on the ground with his gauntlet, locking it on the ground with his weight.
"Your master will bring you back, to his side?"
- "Yes! Yes! You fool.. My life is eternal!"
"Then deliver him a message: the extent of my compassion... "
Pierce called upon the Light, slowly burning the undead corpse till it died. He waited for the echoes of its shrill cries to die out before letting go of it.

Facing his troops he raised his voice:
"Hear how the wicked shrivel and scream in the death they so adore. Hear how our soldiers fight for their life with bravey and courage till the end!"

Dewey joined in, retelling the brave end of a soldier. He had slain at least ten undeads. He had spoken words of courage to those remained as he parted to join his family.
Pierce left Dewey to his work and traced the engravings on his plated wrists. He prayed the Light would forgive him when the time would come for his end. But he would sacrifice even that comfort if it would keep his men standing.

To bring hope... How grim a task that had become.