Compromised

Okiee!!! this is a new story of mine that I just started, though I have been thinking about it for a long time now. This is the prologue. I want some opinions about it, and wether or not I should continue writing it.

Thanks!!!!!

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General Hanson shuffled through the papers littering his desk and let out a defeated sigh. So many forms to fill, so many deaths to report. It seemed that every time he managed to finish a form, two more would appear to take its place.

Treating himself to a much needed break, he got up from the hand carved chair and strode over to the large window that took up most of the left wall.

Hanson took solace in the view of the city stretched out beneath him. From an astonishing twenty stories in the air, the city of Neranal seemed to go on forever, a never ending array of brick and wooden buildings, lined up to form the streets and alleyways the wagons and carriages traveled on. Save the small towns and villages scattered throughout the land, it was the only Ruliar city in the landlocked country of Arlor.

A sudden knock at the door interrupted the General's thoughts, and his head snapped to the door. "Lieutenant," he breathed. "What is it now?"

The lieutenant pulled out a thick stack of papers. "You requested the files of every Ruliar child from the ages of twelve to seventeen?"

"Put them on my desk." The lieutenant did as he was told and was halfway to the door before General Hanson spoke again. "How much longer must this war go on?"

The man stopped in his tracks and turned to face his superior. "Sir?"

"You heard me. How many more of our people must die before one side comes up victorious?"

The lieutenant hesitated before delivering his answer, weighing how dangerous his words would be. "A war that has lasted over a hundred years isn't likely to end any time soon, sir." Then with a nod, he left the room, leaving Hanson alone with nothing but the stack of paper on his desk.

The elder man remembered the tales his grandfather, Jacob Ruliar, used to tell him when he was a small child. He had made a life without war sound like the best thing imaginable, despite the fact that Jacob had been the one to start it. Hanson even remembered the time when his grandfather spoke of the start of the war, something he had rarely done.

There used to be a King that ruled the country of Arlor, according to his grandfather. But his only son had died a year earlier from a horrible illness, and there was no one to claim the throne when the King died. The Addan and Ruliar families scrambled for the crown, and civil war broke out as the people of the country started taking sides.

The war was still raging, even after all this time, and Hanson hated the Addans, as their group was now called. In the most recent years, there had been nothing but small skirmishes between the two factions. That was, until yesterday.

The Ruliars had tried to claim the swamp, a useless piece of land at the base of the northern mountains where the Impartials lived, the small group of people who never took a side in the war. But of course, the Addans had met them there. Their pride and ego would not let the Ruliars take the land, which neither side really cared about.

But there had been deaths, many deaths. Those who didn't fall into the swamp's perilous mud, which sucked you down until your lungs burst, fell to the arrows and swords of the Addans. Very few made it out alive.

So much death.

This war had to end, before the two sides wiped each other out completely. And if this war wouldn't end on its own, Hanson would have to make it end. There was no way he would ever surrender to those people, not until every soldier of his lied dead on the ground. And at the current rate, that possibility started to look more likely with every passing day. The Addans had better soldiers, more soldiers.

Hanson picked up a single paper at random off his desk. Telen Klark, age fourteen. Perhaps Hanson could end this war. But it would require days of searching through the files the lieutenant had brought him, many nights without precious sleep, and hours of reading names and records.

With a sigh, the General returned to filling out the death reports, which would be sent out to the praying families the next morning.

Tonight was going to be a long night.