Heroes of Yore
It is in times of need that heroes are born. What need have we of them when there is no danger, no threat, no evil; to confront? And so we revere the heroes of the past, having none among us who fit that same romantic image of one figure standing against an encroaching darkness. No revolutionary, fighting to uplift their people out from a demon's shadow. No Arthurs, no Joan of Arks, no Hercules.
But now is a time when such heroes must return, for we have need of them. Dark and shadowy creatures, numerous and various in their shape and size, roam the land having poured out of the little wilderness still left on the Earth. With no opposition they overran most of our towns and cities, flinching little when faced with modern weaponry. Organised armies, trained to fight against their fellow humans, scattered to the wind in fear as their weapons did nothing to slow the onslaught; tanks ripped apart or crushed by the largest of the creatures while the small feral ones hunted down the skirmishing infantry. Aircraft strafed the enemy horde to no avail until they were forced to return home, having accomplished nothing, or else were plucked from the sky when straying too close to a giant.
Humanity has retreated to its final bastions, its greatest cities, and there built walls that put all former defences to shame in both scale and complexity. There, they have explored their final hope, a return of heroes to our land. Not the heroes of today but the heroes of yore, reborn in avatars possessing their power and their tenacity, who will lead humanity in their struggle against complete annihilation.
A year has passed and an uneasy status quo has taken root, the creatures roam the world at will and the only safe methods of transport are by sea and air. The military has been reformed, the former soldiers now acting as policing forces, with the task of the army now to protect against the creatures. Some attempts at pushing them back were made but failed disastrously, with catastrophic casualties for precious little gain.
You are a citizen of Carcassonne in South-West France, a city that still possessed medieval walls and managed to survive the initial wave of attacks. Whether you were from the region before, a tourist at the time or a refugee who had managed to find safety within the city walls, it no longer matters.
The city is under attack, the creatures are inside the walls and chaos reigns. In these moments, with your life reaching its certain end, you hear someone reach out to you, promising you the strength to make it through if you have the courage to fight. Dead soldiers, having given their life to protect the city, lie nearby and you find a weapon amongst the corpses.
You can fight. You must, to survive.
Eleanor Greene
Why me, why me, why me!
Her feet pounded the old, faded cobbled road as she ran from the screams and howls behind her. Power had gone out some time ago, when the fighting had started, and the streets were bathed in an eerie moonlight. Flames from buildings set alight near to the city wall cast long shadows but the further she got away from the walls, the darker it got. Still, she couldn't distance herself from the howls which chased her, penetrating deep into the streets filled with panicked civilians, all rushing towards the keep, the one place that might offer safety.
As dusk had fallen scouts on the walls had spotted tall figures in the distance with dark masses below them. An hour later and they could make out the horde approaching with several towering Titan-class amongst the far more numerous Hunter-class. Troops all rushed to the walls and began to evacuate the buildings closest to the gates, just in case. They were too slow, the Titan-class rushing the gates en masse and crushing through them with contemptuous ease. Then followed the flood, overwhelming the garrison as they scrambled to block the wrecked gatehouse.
Eleanor and her family worked close to the gate, that was where the poorest were forced to stay; closest to the danger. She had stayed later than the others, doing a stock count of their rapidly dwindling medicines and food supplies, and had been so caught up in her work that the first she heard of the imminent attack was when the gate fell. Now she was one of the most in danger, stuck at the back of a crowd trying to force its way to safety but all the while blocking the path for those arriving late.
She climbed up onto the bonnet of an abandoned car to look over the crowd, finding herself unable to see to the front such was the press of people before her. More howls sounded behind, much closer now, and when she turned she could see the forerunners of the horde arriving onto the street. They crashed around the corner, mauling at the unfortunates who had been too slow to flee.
These were the Hunter-class, small by comparison to many of the other creatures which had forced humanity to near extinction, but these four legged creatures still stood the height of a stallion and were much bulkier with the muscles of a predator pulsing beneath their skin. They were pitch-black, from their fur to their claws, with only their eyes showing any colour and even then it was an impossible red-purple glare; they were like a bland evil that a child would draw straight from their youthful nightmares. Which made them all the more terrifying, their simple ferocity and bloodlust going against all adult reasoning as they slaughtered without apparent care or cause.
The crowd, until now barely maintaining some sense of order, dissolved into a panicked mob and pressed forward even though there was no room. From her vantage point Eleanor could see people being crushed as their fellows around them ignored all but themselves, pushing towards a vague hope of safety as death came from behind. All around there were howls and screams as the Hunter-class spread through the city, finding victims in every street and exulting in the death they inflicted.
The car shifted beneath her feet and she whipped around to stare into the red eyes of a Hunter-class, its back legs scrabbling as it struggled to gain purchase on the metal surface. Eventually its claws penetrated the thin bodywork and it lunged across the onto the roof, within biting distance of Eleanor who was not stepping back, edging away from the creature. Her body was shaking as she stared into the eyes of certain death, seeing the hunger there. And hate.
"No..." She whispered, taking another step back. Her foot slid on the curved edge of the bonnet and she felt just as the Hunter-class lunged forwards, its claw raking the air mere inches from her face. She fell with a thud onto the ground, air rushing out of her lungs with the impact, and lay stunned. Then the creature was on her, launching off the roof of the car and descending onto her with teeth bared.
Fight! Do you not call yourself an Englishwoman!
Strength flooded her veins and with it, urgency. She rolled away, pushing herself to her feet as she did so with the momentum propelling her awkwardly to her feet. But she was up and she could see the Hunter-class, its head whipping around as its certain prize escaped. Eleanor could feel a new energy filling her body, not just the determination to fight and live, but a strength that felt beyond her. She began to circle the creature, moving away to its side so that it would have to move away from the car and so that she was between it and the back of the crowd. No one was watching, they were too busy forcing their way forwards with the occasional panicked glance back at the young woman facing down a creature with surely not a single hope of surviving.
But she had more than hope. As she moved there was the soft clink of metal chain moving, a comfortable weight settled across her shoulders and pressed around her chest, a glance down and she saw the shine of a chainmail shirt. Her hand closed around the hilt of a broadsword, appearing there as she willed it to. It felt comfortable, it felt right for it to be there, familiar. On her left arm a shield came into being, straps fitting tightly around her forearm. There was no time to question this miraculous turn of events, the voice that had given her the strength to move was sounding in her head, urging her on.
A knight indeed! Show this cur what it means to face a warrior bearing St George's Cross!
She did not question it and lunged forwards, bashing the shield into the Hunter-class's head, an otherwise sickening crunch the result as the reinforced metal kite shield hit with shocking force. With satisfaction she saw the creature stumble away, head turned from the force of the blow and its neck open and inviting. The broadsword swung down in a vicious arc, honed edge slicing through bunched muscle and spilling blood onto the cobbled stones. Stumbling and struggled to carry on standing, the creature began to turn towards her, still alive but stunned and weakened. Another bash of the shield and it fell, dazed, and the sword came down again, this time severing the head completely.
There was no time to celebrate, or question how the weapons had appeared in her hands nor how knew how to wield them, as more Hunter-class spilled into the street. The night was far from over.
