[ WP ] He drew his sword silently

-007 
 
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 He drew his sword silently, not because he wanted to, but because duty and honor forced his hand. The fate of his kingdom rested on his shoulders, and the truth was that he did not feel ready. His brother was the one who was always the swordsman, but he had died years ago. Now he was the only son to avenge his brother, and restore his family's honor. 
 
 He held his hand in his left hand, it would be his only hope of survival. His sword, and his men. He was unsure of his army's experience, and to make matters worse, his army was out numbered, there were three men for every one of his own, his scouts had told him, if not greater. 
 
 When his men had asked him what to do, he had answered them with a heavy heart, `` We will fight, we can not disgrace the gods of old, or anger of our ancestors. This will be a terrible fight, but we can not back down. We have this chance to restore balance and truth to the kingdom, so we must strike down the coward on throne, who wrongfully stole it.'' 
 
 His men answered him with a roar. He surveyed the crowd of men, they were hungry and weary from the long time they had been at war. Yet even still, as exhausted and worn as they were, they would fight along side him, they all had high spirits, and hoped for glory. They were loyal to him, as they had been to his brother before the gods had taken him away, and loyal still now. All of them knew how much was ridding on this battle. 
 
 He knew that if he lost he had little chance of surviving, even if he was n't killed in battle, a death of glory, and one he would still be honoured for, he would surely be executed for some false treason. That was the way the kingdom was now, corrupt, and filled with liars. There had been no peace for two decades now, since his brother had passed in battle. His mother had birthed him, the second son with five older sisters, three years beforehand. 
 
 He had witnessed the betrayal of two of his sisters at eight, and when he was nine, he had woke to find his parents murdered in his bed. All his life he had known war, and fleeing from his uncle who had seated himself on the throne wrongfully, killing anyone who dared to disagree. 
 
 He traveled with what had remained left of the guards in his families palace, those that remained loyal, at least. He had watched helplessly as their party had slowly dwindled from the once great formidable force to an amount that was plagued by bandits on the streets, as each man sacrificed himself for the good of the group. 
 
 He had made it across the land, and sea, and had found a great many people willing to join his fight for justice. They had traveled back, in great secrecy, keeping the presence of an army under strict orders to keep all actions quiet until they were fully assembled. 
 
 Now they were, and it was time to attack.
