The primal howls of men filled the night as the fighting waged on. It had been days since the lower class had rebelled against the Lord Hugo Helmoor and open war had left much of the once great stone city reduced to rubble. Catapults controlled by Helmoor's forces had crushed nearly the entire lower class district, which was where most of the fighting took place. However, the rebellion held strong due to the leadership of Garon Tildeth, a man of such physical and mental strength that he was the rebellion.

Garon Tildeth fought along side his red clad soldiers this night as he often did. He gave his men courage out on the battlefield that was once their homes and being a master of the sword he held nearly no equal. Fighting with his son, his brother, and his people, he had no doubt that the rebellion would be a success and they would all live peacefully there after.

Faron Tildeth stood on the front line his long sword held steady standing beside his father and his Uncle Geth Tildeth. A tall, dark haired and dark eyed young man with a strong handsome face. He was the spiting image of his father and standing next to each other the only difference between the two was his father's graying hair and his slightly larger build. Faron wore his red stained plate armor, his sword sheath on his left hip, tight black leather gloves, and thick leather pants, and finally his black travel boots.

"Here they come," his father said to Faron and Geth. Even his voice was strong.

Geth drew his sword slowly and said perhaps too calm, "Let them come. We've taken three charges already tonight, what's another?"

Faron nodded smiling and repeated eagerly, "Let them come."

The charge came up out of the darkness and over the broken stones. It was a sea of black and green; Helmoor's colors. It was by far the largest charge Helmoor had sent since the fighting had started and suddenly, Faron felt doubt creeping into his mind. He turned to his father to see what he was thinking but he gave no hint of any fear or doubt. He stood there rock solid in his fight stance, sword held straight forward.

"Aim!" He yelled without talking his eyes from the onslaught. A clatter of archers loading their bows sounds from the broken and shattered walls all around and behind them. "Fire Volley!" A storm of arrows shot up into the black night sky, not to be seen again until they rained down upon the coming enemy tide. They did not even slow.

"Draw swords, spears ready!" The earth beneath their feet began to shake as they drew closer. Faron turned his sword and little and held the sword like his father. He could feel his palms sweating inside his gloves. He inhaled deeply and let out a monstrous yell that every other warrior echoed.

"Spears forward!" his father commanded as the first line of the soldiers neared them. From the line behind Faron came spears that stuck up between the men and above their heads. Not seeing this coming, the first line of that charge impaled themselves on the spears and that was when the fighting began.

Getting separated in the fray, Faron fought his why to find his father and his uncle. He was a good swordsman but nothing like his father or some of these enemy soldiers. Picking his fights carefully, Faron managed to take down three men at in the first few moments of the battle and receive no wounds. Seeing his uncle in a gap between a pair of fighting men, he quickly ran to where he saw him. Tackling the green and black clad man and thrusting his sword in his chest. Saluting Faron, the rebel man smiled and ran off to find some one else to fight.

Seeing more and more of the red clad rebel soldiers, Faron knew that they were pushing forward. They were beating this desperate charge of Helmoor's, which meant that he was weakening. Dodging countless swords, axes, and spears in the short distance to his uncle Faron finally reached him.

"Where have you been?" His uncle asked sarcastically over the din of yells and ringing of steel. He was fighting a fully armored behemoth of a man who was holding a large many-notched double bladed axe. The massive axe wielding man had the insignia, a snake, of the Lord Hugo's royal guard embedded on the shoulder of his armor and on the blade of his axe. Faron knew that if the royal guard was out here, it meant that Lord Hugo Helmoor himself was out in all of this as well.

Quickly aiding his uncle in taking the axe man down by bull rushing him with his sword forward, he ran the entire length of the blade to the hilt through the man's gut. He let out a grunt and fell backwards hitting the ground so hard it was like an earthquake. Ripping his sword out, Faron suddenly realized that the fighting had stopped. Everyone was still and silent, friend and foe. Faron's stomach lurched.

"Father…?" he whispered. A shadow past over him then, he was certain this silence had something to do with his father, something bad. "Father!" he yelled as he ran the way every head was turned. Pushing past stunned soldiers both green and red, he stopped abruptly. He saw what they were all looking at. Lord Hugo sat on horse back with his guard of seven men, minus one, about him surveying the scene that was a black clad from head to toe man holding two short, bloody knives standing over Garon Tildeth. Faron's father was face down in the rocky rubble bleeding from the two stab wounds in his left side. Faron let his sword arm drop but his grip on the hilt tightened.

"Finally," Lord Hugo said from his steed, "I thought he'd never die." Faron stared at the man. He had long blonde hair and a short beard that was darker than his hair but still blonde. He wore a tight green shirt with a black snake across the front and one on each sleeve from his broad shoulders down to his wrists, green stripped black pants, a long curved sword on his right hip, and fine black boots. He clapped his green gloved hands together. "Fine work, Dread. I am impressed."

"I aim to please, my lord," the black clad man said, sliding the knives up his sleeves after bending over to wipe the blood on Garon's body. Faron's attention turned to him. He was tall and lanky and wore black. He had no visible weapon on him and had no detail that stood out. The only parts of his skin that showed were his hands and a small gap across his face where his eyes were. They were crystal blue.

Lord Hugo spoke, addressing the whole army, "Your leader is dead thanks to my friend here," he nodded toward the man he had called Dread and Dread nodded back. "I suggest you all stop this foolishness now and get back to your pathetic lives where you left off. Don't think you won't be punished, though!" he held a finger out and pointed accusingly at the red clad soldiers. "After you rebuild your homes and businesses," he continued, "I will think of an appropriate punishment for all of you."

Faron began to quiver. His face turned red and every muscle in his body contracted as anger built up inside of him. His father lying dead on the ground, his people scared out of their minds, and Hugo Helmoor sat there on his horse giving them orders caused his short tempered, hotheaded mind to snap then and there. "You… You…monster!" he spat, "How dare you kill such a man! How dare you kill my Father!" He held his sword up in the stance his father had taught him.

Lord Hugo shook his head, "So, you're his son?" He pursed his lips in thought and spoke to the assassin, "If he is his father's son he is a danger to me. I'm willing to pay you more if… Well, take care of him for me." He ended that with an evil smile that only a devil could give.

Dread nodded and drew two slim bladed swords that Faron had never seen before from his back. "I will do, my lord," he said coldly.

Faron snarled and charged at the man sword first. Dread simply sidestepped and slashed Faron across the back. The assassin was quick but Faron's building rage gave him more strength. Faron spun and began to slash and stab wildly at the man but he merely blocked or dodged, and then delivered a counter attack that put Faron on his guard. Faron blocked well enough that he did not receive any killing blows but the constant onslaught was wearing on him. His anger started to turn to despair while he was on the defensive and soon it seemed like every attack came closer to killing him. Faron found the chance to give a thrust and Dread missed the block. The blade struck through his upper left arm and that sword fell from his hand and landed to the ground with a clatter.

All the red clad soldiers began to cheer then, Faron realized. He gave the soldiers strength, fighting as he was, which caused them to fight with him and the din of battle sounded again. Obviously shocked, Dread pulled himself off the sword and tried to find a way to kill Faron quickly and end this before it got out of hand but before he did, Uncle Geth's sword found its way into the assassin's cold heart. Faron turned to Lord Hugo and bull rushed him. Not getting the chance to draw his own sword, Hugo Helmoor's eye's widened as his attacker became nothing but a red streak, who's sword cleaved him, and his horse, in two.