“Muahuahahahahahahhahauahauuahh” The Dark Lord laughed aloud, standing atop a rocky outcrop and looking at the decaying wooden fortress that stood between him and freedom. Today would finally be the day the stupid little girl scouts that called themselves the Rovaldan Lancers would fall. Bloody idiots couldn't even sell cookies right.

His army stood around him, twenty-nine of The Ruined Lands “finest soldiers”.

In reality, they were a scruffy looking sort, thin and unhealthy. They looked like they’d rather be somewhere else, like climbing over the 1-meter high wall that surrounded the ruin lands. It wasn’t manned after all.

The men had no idea why this man, who insisted he be referred to as The Dark Lord, was so set on passing through this small passageway into Rovaldan, the only part of the border which was guarded.

The Dark Lord himself wasn’t entirely happy with his “army”. It didn’t hold a candle to the great hordes he had massed in the past when the war against the Rovaldan Lancers was still fresh. Mass Immigration and his constant recruitment of fresh meat had led to the depletion of the population of The Ruined Lands, it was a serious issue and platform on which their politicians argued and debated over. Most roles were now filled by women, as their numbers dwarfed those of males. It was truly a social crisis, so bad that a small group of men had founded a movement, describing themselves as being supporters of Masculism and complaining their rights had been infringed due to there now minority status.

The Dark Lord refused to even approach the three-member movement, and offer them a place in his grand army. Screw their complaints of the gender wage gap, none of the sods were even employed so of course the women will be paid more!

The Dark Lord turned to face his scruffy rabble.

“Today, we make history. Today we escape the rule of those who oppress us. We shall take the freedom we are owed, we shall take fertile lands and farm them. We shall carve out a life, a future for our families. Today, we are going to what is ours!”

The response The Dark Lord got surprised him. He honestly didn’t expect much of a reaction from his group of homeless people he had convinced to join him, but an epic speech was necessary when going into battle. They surprised him, however, shouting and screaming.

It was only when they started running he turned back towards The bastion, the dreaded home of his archenemies, The Rovaldan Lancers. They were riding out on donkeys, at a speed that was not significant, yet it had somehow struck fear in the hearts of these cowards who had already begun to turn tail and flee. The Lancers were still at a distance of five hundred meters away, and with their mount’s would not be upon them immediately.

The Dark Lord eyed the approaching enemy, searching for his current rival: High Paladin Waltz Vonstein. He was easy to spot, riding pantless into battle. He wondered what sort of excuse Vonstein would come up with this time. Would the washing machine be broken again, or had someone supposedly stolen his underwear. The Dark Lord didn’t know but if he was asked to guess, he’d say the current High Paladin was quite the exhibitionist, who enjoyed exposing the small dangling shriveled sausage between his legs.

The Dark Lord glanced at his retreating men then back at Waltz Vonstein briefly before joining his men and fleeing back into the depths of The Ruined Lands. There was always next year after all, and in the meantime, he could probably become quite famous by appearing on talk shows and destroying Masculists and their views.