Desperation

The First Bulwark, a formidable outpost perched atop a rocky cliff, stood as the last line of defense against the relentless onslaught of undead hordes emerging from The Deadlands. Duke Rykard, gazed out across the desolate battlefield, his eyes weary from the ceaseless war. He was torn between his duty as a Duke, protecting his realm, and the agony of knowing that his own flesh and blood, Duke Johann, was wreaking havoc upon his lands.
As the sun began to set on the horizon, casting an eerie crimson glow over the battlefield, Duke Rykard stood upon the ramparts of The First Bulwark, watching the dance of death unfold below. The sound of clashing swords, the screams of soldiers, and the unnatural moans of the undead filled the air. His army fought valiantly, but the forces of darkness seemed inexhaustible.
"Your Grace," a trusted advisor approached, his face etched with concern. "News has arrived from your lands to the east. It appears Duke Johann has bacome enraged. He's increased the taxes on the peasantry yet again, famine has grown rampant, and the people cry out for their Duke's protection."
Rykard clenched his fists, the weight of this responsibility bearing down on him like a heavy yoke. "I know," he replied, his voice thick with sorrow. "But my duty here, protecting the realm from these undead horrors, cannot be forsaken."
He turned back to the battlefield, his eyes locking onto the distant figure of a colossal undead abomination, its grotesque form tearing through the ranks of his soldiers. His heart sank, knowing that every moment he spent at The First Bulwark allowed his brother's destruction to continue unchecked.
"Your Grace," the advisor spoke again, "we could send reinforcements to aid the people against Duke Johann. Our armies are stretched thin, but perhaps with enough support, he could be brought to reason."
Duke Rykard's face contorted with anguish. "No," he said firmly. "I can not endanger more lives by diverting our already taxed forces. We must hold The First Bulwark. It is the key to protecting our lands from the undead threat."
He knew the decision was a difficult one, but he had no other choice. Duty compelled him to stay and defend the realm, even if it meant allowing his brother's madness to continue unchecked. His heart ached at the thought of his brother's betrayal, but he could not abandon his post. If he could only spare five, maybe six of his best, they could discreetly harry Johann, force him to withdraw back into his keep, but he had no men to spare.
As the night descended, Duke Rykard's resolve only grew stronger. He would fight until the last breath to protect his people and his realm. The battlefield below him was a grim reminder of the sacrifices required of a leader. He had to bear the burden of his brother's actions, no matter how it pained him.
As the battle raged on, he steeled himself, knowing that his choices would shape the destiny of his land and the people he loved.