https://www.deviantart.com/razwit/art/Fire-Knight-533785461

Set at the base of the hill with few others surrounding it, Myrissa had stitched the thing together using blankets, clothes, and an assortment of different cloths. The tent itself a great monstrosity of different shades and colors that stood well above everything else, while off to the side was a small duck pond. The couple dozen or so legionaries that sat on guard duty beside the water, playing dice on a tree stump, and sharpening shortswords as they joked with each other.

Brows furrowed as he wondered if they were mocking him? He considered throwing them into the pond if only to see the two dwarves flail about, when he felt the pitter-patter of raindrops, his gaze immediately shooting up to the sky and seeing gathering rain clouds. Filled with a sudden pounding fear that something bad was about to happen, he ran the last few yards, and ducked his head inside the tent, startling both Lytan who had been practicing the sword forms, and Sara who sat on Myrissa's lap reading a book in the corner. The light that shone in through the walls, a dizzying array of colors that forced Gregor to pause in the doorway.

Head spinning as he tried to think on what to do, he realized that the innkeeper had furnished the place with pallets made up on one side, a wooden chest that he had stolen from some guards, and a thick brown bear rug that Myrissa sat upon.

Plump, and with a gentle motherly face that reminded him of his own parents, Myrissa glared up at him. "Has no one ever taught you manners?!" Her expression a thundercloud of anger, when Lytan squealed with delight, and rushed over towards him. "I know how to do gentle cloud now! I can show you if you like?" His face ecstatic and covered in a thin sheen of sweat that reminded Gregor of the starving child, caked in dirt beside the road, now replaced by this solid young man with clear blue eyes. Sara, who had also recovered as well, looking up at him with a faint smile as Gregor snapped, "pack your things!"

Expressions quickly turned to shocked dismay, he watched their faces become pale, their eyes widening with fear, but there was no time for tact. Even now, he could feel danger pressing in on them.

Entering from behind him with the cool composure that spoke of years of experience, Serela whispered, "perhaps, a few words to calm them down would be better." Her gentle rebuke, and soothing tone, making Gregor realize just how much he was on edge. Especially given that Myrissa’s eyes were boreing holes into him with a stern look that said she would like nothing better than to beat him senseless.

(Explain what was happening.)

Calming himself down visibly, he started again, "we have to leave this place right now, it is no longer safe for us to be here." And quickly explained what was happening.

But whether it was his much calmer demeanor or the words he used, they finally listened to him, and began to pack.

+1 Morale.

(Lie to them.)

Calming himself down visibly, he started again, "the camp is getting too overcrowded, it would be safer for us if we left."

But whether it was his much calmer demeanor or the words that he used, they finally listened to him, and began to pack.

+2 Morale.

(Ignore her advice.)

Refusing to be cowed, Gregor barked angrily, "Just do what I say! I can explain everything once we leave this place far behind!"

And for a wonder they finally listened to him, and began to pack up, with Sara crying softly into Myrissa's dress. The former innkeeper, all but glaring at Gregor with murderous intent, before she went over to help Lytan with his clothes.

With nothing else for him to do in here, he retreated back out of the tent, when he thought he heard Serela calling him a big buffoon, causing gales of laughter.

Cheeks reddening with anger as he felt the urge to go back in, he wanted to ask her who she was calling a buffoon, when he noticed several women in plain brown clothes pass him by. Born of orcish stock, they had the pale green skin, tusks that protruded from mouths, and slim hips that pointed to their gender. Not that he could ever really tell the difference once they put on armor.

Lips twisted into a nasty smile as he remembered a time Siwen had walked into a bordello, he thought the elf would die of shock, when he drew aside a good-looking orc into a corner, and realized it was a man. It was a moment that the poor fool had never lived down, and yet it reminded Gregor again that he was gone.

Head tilted to the side to watch them glide past, he heard them whisper to each other about the bodies found in the trees, and how the forest must be haunted by hungry spirits. But Gregor had a dark feeling that the story was far from the real truth.

True, spirits existed in the world, but he knew enough about them to know they would never come here. As to why? He had no idea. Enough mages, scholars, and witches had wasted their whole lives on such foolish endeavors. Time, he did not have.

Thunder booming again like the Lords of War were beating hammers to anvil, he felt that sudden urge again to flee, when a brilliant flash of white light enveloped him. His body consumed by a terrible heat.

The first he realized he was hurt, was that he was lying there in the grass staring up into a sunless sky, his eyes following the drifting coils of black smoke that gathered together…

-8 HP.

... Standing there alone on the empty streets of Harthorn, he could again feel the urgency to be away from here, when a voice spoke to him. "You are asleep, my sweet Gregor, wake up." But even as he tried to obey her, he knew he could not. He was trapped in a vast ocean of darkness watching his entire life flash past, and wanted to see her again.

Lights spinning across the back of his mind as images flickered into view, he saw his little Kira. His surroundings shifting and changing this time to the blasted red rocks of the wasteland where he had first found her, curled up outside an abandoned village, her body covered in fang marks that had long since healed, and passed out from hunger.

Blade dripping wet with the blood of a man he had just killed, he could recall staring down at her, while those from his company ransacked homes and pillaged the place, and wondered what to do with her.

Having never come across anyone that had survived long enough in the hands of infected vampires, he had thought about giving her a merciful end, when she looked up at him. Her silver-colored eyes so resigned and empty of hope, that it had tugged at something within him, forced him to reach out a hand to her...

...trumpets blaring inside of his mind, he blinked his eyes open, and it took him a moment to realize that he was still alive. Not that being alive looked much better to him.

Head turned unwillingly at the sounds of steel ringing against steel, he took in the sight of goblins running around in nothing but their bare green skins, armies of undead with flesh peeling off their bones, and grey-skinned ogres that wielded warhammers the size of dragon teeth, charging out of the forest. A battle had begun, and now he had awoken in the middle of it.

Fingers clenched into fists as he wondered what he should do now, he couldn't help but notice that most of the legionaries had fallen back past the ditches, leaving him very much alone. The yellow-hearted mudsaps retreating up the slope in orderly ranks to create a ring of shields with several gaps in between to allow terrified orcs through, with lightning forking down from the sky. The chaotic mess, a desperate battle as legion forces tried to hold their ground, but in the end, he feared that they were far too few.

Teeth gritted together as he let out a snarl at the thought of having to wade through so many enemies, he felt his skin stretch and pull together like it was some bad tapestry, and had to bite down on his tongue. The pain almost unbearable like hot needles digging in along his spine.

Shocked, and more than a little annoyed at being so badly hurt, he tried to remember what had happened to him, when he lifted up his arm, and let out a low whistle. Skin burned away to expose a bloody red ruin, he could see the muscle, sinew, and bone that made up his arm, and knew his question had been answered. He had been struck by lightning.

Baffled, and not a little touch amazed that he was still alive, he made another half-hearted attempt to sit up, if only to get a better view of the battlefield, and saw a trio of goblins chasing after a bleeding orc. Tall, with stocky shoulders, and a face sheeted with blood, he ran in between the tents carrying something in his arms.

Cursing the dumb mudsap for not dropping whatever it was he was carrying, and running for his dear life, he caught a glimpse of dark brown hair, and felt his chest stop. It was a child. And it was like everything had slowed down.

(Help him.)

And it was Kira crying out to him, crying out for him to save her, and without a thought for his wounds, he was on his feet, and running, when the orc stumbled and fell.

+1 Morale.

-1 HP.

(Stay down.)

And it was Kira crying out to him, crying out for him to save her, but he couldn't move, his body a mass of aches and pains as he watched in horror as the orc tripped and fell.

The spears that stabbed into him, spurting bloody tears into the air, while Gregor could do nothing, his cheeks wet with rain that streamed down his broken body, and onto blackened flesh that had fused with his armor, and felt that same dark emptiness that had nearly killed him so long ago. A time when he had been nothing but an animal.

Eyes snapped shut as he tried to force back the tidepool of despair, he thought he could hear the screams of all the people he had killed, when he looked up to see the orc thrashing on the ground, his muscles expanding in a way that seemed all too familiar.

Arms bulging with strength that should not have been possible, the orc's skin began to change and darken, and before Gregor even knew what was going on, the orc was a towering giant of enraged fury with frothing white lips, and bloodshot red eyes that swept forward to kill everything in its path. Its transformation not the only one as dozens more orc berserkers hungrily rampaged across the battlefield like gods of blood and war, tearing limb from limb, and shattering bone. But all Gregor could think about was the child. If it was dead...Well, he did not know what he would do, but he could not do nothing.

Forcing himself to weave his way through fields of broken bodies, he hoped she was still alive, while a part of him knew that it was a foolish dream to hope for. People died, and many more would die this very day, but he couldn't bear the thought of another dying so young, and so he stumbled onward, praying and hoping that he was wrong, when he was knocked over from behind.

Body bouncing hard against the muddy soil, he tried not to scream at the pain that flared through his insides, when wild yellow eyes stared down at him with a savage smile, snarled, and lunged for Gregor's throat.

(Cry out for help.)

And like the blasted fool that he was, he tried to call out for help, but it was as though his tongue was locked in ice. His attempts to wave his arms in the air, more of swaying motion that had the creature cackling in his delight, before its teeth found his throat...

Death.

(Fight.)

But this was not the way Gregor would die! He could never die like this! And as the blood-fuelled rage suddenly came over him, his lips cracked into a snarl, and threw himself forward, catching the wiry goblin by surprise with a left hook that left it sprawling on the ground.

(Crawl away.)

And like some blasted fool that dreamed of hope, he tried to crawl away on hands and knees, when the creature lunged for him, tripped on the corpse of a dead woman. Before Gregor with a cry of desperation, twisted aside, and caught the wiry goblin with a left hook that left it sprawling on the ground.

Chest heaving with the effort of moving, he wanted to just lie there in the muddy grass and let it be all over, but that part of him that had refused to die so long ago pushed him back up to his feet again. His skin almost alive with excruciating pain, when dark blue smoke writhed around him, oozed from his skin, and filled him with incredible strength. The familiar voice that always seemed to be there at the back of his mind, crooning, "rise, my sweet champion, rise." Her voice like nectar as a fire raged through his body, erasing all pain, until he was consumed by rolling waves of blue fire.

Her voice, unable to mask her delight as she urged him on, "yes, my sweet, yes! Become the warrior you were born to be!"

The tidal wave of fury that enveloped him like a chaotic storm of energy that burned through him, made Gregor want to lash out at the rest of the world, when his gaze rested on the goblin.

Skin, a pallid green, and golden eyes widened into shock, he could smell its fear, see the bubbles of magic that flowed throughout the fabric of the world, and smiled a toothy grin. (Unlocked Power of Demons.)

+20 HP.

+ 200 Mana.

(Allow it to flee.)

Before shaking his head from side to side at the image of himself ripping out the goblin's throat with his teeth, wondering what in the abyss was happening to him? When the creature scrambled away, wild yellow eyes darting back towards him before it fell, got up, and kept running.

(End its life.)

Before he released a primal roar, and leaped forward to sink his teeth into its leathery neck. The metallic taste of warm blood that flooded his mouth, sweet as honey as the goblin tried to claw at his arms, his teeth sinking deeper, and tearing out a piece of its flesh as it reeled away.

Gregor who had never felt more alive than he did now, snarling like an animal and spitting the gobbet of flesh out, before he watched it slowly die. Its jaws gaping open and lips trying to speak as it fell backward with blood spurting out of its torn jugular.

-3 Morale.

+10 HP.

+20 Mana.

The thunderous crash of lightning that boomed in the sky, jerking Gregor's head upward to see a row upon row of centaurs in bronze armored steel pound over the crest of the hill. Brightly colored pennants that streamed in the chill air, attached to lances as they charged home with a roar that shook the heavens, their steel-shod hooves trampling over hundreds in their path as they tried to rescue a besieged company of minotaurs. The huge bloodstained horn warriors, hammering greatswords into waves of undead skeletons that looked out from hollow eyes, and savage goblins covered in tattoos that hit them with spears.

The whole world had gone mad, and Gregor along with it as he realized that his flesh had been healed, his body consumed by blue flames that licked his skin, before dying away to leave unmarked skin. But that was nothing compared to the blackened ground where he had stood mere seconds ago, his longsword melted to a grey sludge.

Head shaking at the grim realization of what he had become, he let his gaze drift over the hills, gulleys, and valleys where humans, orcs, elves, dwarves, and minotaurs lay dying in the mud, hunted through the ruins of the encampment, while he stood there and did nothing.

What do you do?

Choice 1. Time to leave?

Choice 2. Search for the children?

Choice 3. Join the fight?