Fantasy Writing- Chapter 1

[I have just finished reading a certain fantasy book whose predictibility annoyed me so very much that it...inspired this novice's attempt at mockery. It is being composed extemporaneously, with little editing, so please give it a break.]

The morning was clear and blue, not unlike that fateful morning when he was four years old when his entire family, including the pets, had been brutally massacred by the evil, eeeeevil soldiers of the evil, eeeevil Lord Morduke, who had finished the brutal massacre by loudly commenting much fun it had been, just in case anyone might have been suspecting that they were only moderately evil or something like that. (It had run like this: "Duhhh....that was fun." "Yrk. Yuh." "I...like killing." "...Yuh." "Huh, huh." "Snort." They may be evil, but they were not overly smart.)
As Captain Zerbu rose and began to dress, he cast his mind back to the way that he had escaped the massacre, spent years in the forest being brought up by mountain lions (geographically confused mountain lions) and discovering his uncanny magical abilities, before fleeing to the capital to offer his services to the new, extremely noble king in his fight against the evil, eeeeeevil Lord Morduke, following the massacre of the mountain lions.
"Urgent news, sir!" shouted his aide, running into the tent. "The evil ar-" "Evil, eeeeeevil armies, Ned. Always remember, two evils, the second one drawn out, like so: evil, eeeeeevil." "Yessir. The evil, eeeeeevil-" "Better." "-thank you, sir-armies of the enemy are quickly approaching. They outnumber us at least twenty to one and bear strange and fearsome weaponry." By then they could hear the first hissing of arrows around the command tent. "Don't despair, Ned." "Do you have a plan, sir?" "Well...yes, I do! Listen up..." But then an arrow slammed into his back, piercing a lung. He gasped and fought to maintain his balance. And then another one tore into his head and he died. Died. Not "badly wounded, but don't you worry, because he'll recover soon enough, with nothing more than a picturesque scar and a new-found determination." Not "And then he woke up in a clean white room with a beautiful nurse who will quickly become our love interest, since we have forgotten to give him one thus far, but hey, we didn't have all that much time, okay?" Not even "But not until he delivered some touching last words." Just died. And so did Ned, by the way. And everyone else in the camp, because frankly, that's what happens when you're massively outnumbered, out-gunned and led by people who think with the it's-crazy-but-it-might-just-work strategy. Which means that we will have to get a lot of new people if we ever decide to do a chapter two.