Monsterous creatures towered over the battlefield, easily clutching black clouds filled with fire like toys. Rock and metal blocked the little glimmer of light that eeked through the cracks in the dark overworld, colossal creatures made from the earth, made to destroy a world that wanted only peace.

Brown eyes watched from a cliff overlooking the battle as the creatures crashed down upon the two clashing armies, their massive figures the image of demented humans with twisting plate armor and hands large enough to smother a small town. Screams echoed through the ears of Gary, a young boy of about fifteen, far too young to be watching such bloodshed but too lost to find another way. No, Gary knew this was his destiny, to watch a world be torn apart and be unable to do anything about it.

Two armies, one comprised of men clad in silver plate and chainmail, their shields reflecting what light shined through the black clouds and their swords stinging true. Another made up of monsters attaired in anything from black leather to shredded armor that had once been on an honest back. These monsters, these Cloaken were creatures of the shadow, their skin dark green, almost an olive color in the shadow of the Golems. 

 The massive golems were indiscriminate in their destruction, stomping on Humans and Cloaken alike, watching their blood fill the valley like a never ending river. The cliff faces were covered in the nails of thoughs who tried to climb their way out only to be pulled back to the destruction.

Tears streamed down Gary's fair cheeks as he realized what he had to do. And so he rose to his feet, dirt drifting from his peasant brown pants and green tunic. He wielded no weapon, no sword or spear to pierce the enemies heart. He was no battle commander, able to take control of an army and lead it to victory without drawing his own weapon even once.

 He was just a brown haired, brown eyed, fresh faced boy with slightly chubby cheeks and a nose just a bit too long. How he had gotten himself into this situation was beyond him. But all of those thoughts drifted from his mind as he began his run. A run to save himself. A run to save the men and women who fought for their lives down in that valley. And so he leapt from the cliff, his arms and legs flailing as memories rushed him like a tidal wave.

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"Wake up Gary!" A voice echoed through his ears, the voice of his mother Elenda. She poked her head through the door to his modest room, her chubby cheeks and homely face a welcome sight every morning. Her long brown hair bounced as she chuckled at the sight of her sun sprawled across his bed, arms and legs all over the place.

"Wake up sleepy head. Your father needs you out in the field." She spoke with a giggle in her voice. Gary groaned the same groan he gave every morning, slowly rising to his feet. His mother slipped back out the door, allowing him to pull on a pair of brown pants and a green tunic in privacy. Slipping on a pair of brown shoes he had been wearing for far too long, Gary made his way down the steps of his wooden home, a house his father had made with his bare hands.

It wasn't spectacular, but it got the job done. "Cya mom!" Gary exclaimed in passing as the small kitchen and living room slipped from the corner of his eye and the only thing that filled his view was the rather large farm that stretched on and on. Anything from corn to wheat could be found on his father's farm, and he had helped with all of it. Just outside the front door stood his father, a man who happened to be named Marcus. A tough name for a tough man.

 As soon as his father turned around he revealed a stubble filled face with hard black eyes and short curly black hair. His attaire was almost identical to Gary's, except his shirt was white and his face was grim. "We have alot of work to do today son."

 Gary sighed, his voice filled the same teenage annoyance that came with every kind of work. "Alright. Lets go." He slowly followed his father, never getting too close or too far. Before he knew it he was in the wheatfields plowing, sweat covering his body like a fresh coat of paint on an old house.

"Dad." Gary spoke as his father worked near by. "What is it son?" His father's voice was so gruff it was like talking to a soldier. But then again, his father had been a soldier in the army once.

"What was it like to be in the army?" He asked for the millionth time. His father sighed the same sigh he always gave. "I've already told you far too often son. There is no point in talking about it. Your place is here on the farm, not off fighting. Soldiers don't do anything but destroy, and thats not the life I want for you." His father gave the same speech, but this time Gary's response was different.

"For the last time. I don't want to work on this farm! I want to be a knight!" Gary's tone was far too loud for his father's liking. Marcus rose to his feet so quickly and terribly that Gary soon found himself sitting on his butt looking up at this intimidating figure. "You'll do as I say boy. You will not, I repeat not, be joining the military. You will stay on this farm and do as you're told." And with that the conversation was over. However, even though his father had won the battle, he had lost the war.

 When Marcus woke up the next morning he would find his son gone, and a note on the bed that read :

Sorry dad but I can't stay at the farm any longer. I can't take it. I just need to explore a little bit. Thats all. I'll be back before you know it! 

Love,

Gary

The least that could be said was that Marcus was angry.