06-25-2009, 05:41 AM
2)
Villages like these were a pestilence. They never amounted to anything and were always a drain on the people. They always needed protection, yet they never rendered anything in return. It was good that he rid the land of another breeding ground of such vermin.
Aric made his way through the dirt and filth of the main street as his soldiers went from hovel to hovel, setting fire to everything in sight. A purifying fire. Noble was his cause to weed out the weaker portion so that the strong would live. More so that he had the boon and gratitude of Lord Olan to supply him with whatever he desired. Money. Power. Women.
And all that was requested of him was to wipe this miserable, little borough off the map.
It struck him odd that Lord Olan only requested this village be struck down. More often, it was a land or county of a rival Duke that bore his enmity. So be it. If this stinking, rat-infested borough was to die, it was his pleasure.
Screams that were cut short by the knife or sword sounded amidst the chaos. A choir of finality and futility. After months of such cleansing as these, his men were experts. Not so much as a weak child will remain. It would be too cruel on the lord of this realm to waste his time on mere insignificant whelps as these.
"Boss!" A cutthroat in leather and chain approached, forcing a crying, young girl forward with the tip of his sword. In his grip, the reins of two horses he led towards his master. "Looks like we're not the only ones here, sir."
"Excellent," he replied. Studying the dirt covered girl with his eyes, his lips curled. "Excellent indeed." As quickly as any snake, he grasped the defenseless girl by the wrist and roughly pulled her away. She was barely in her teens, her dark straight hair was matted and disheveled, scarcely hiding her tear streaked face. Bending low, he greeted her with a leering grin. "Where are the newcomers, my dear?"
"You bastard!"
From years of being the town's blacksmith, Old Pete Shalow still cut an impressive figure. Even now, the man held onto the strength of his youth as he charged forward to rescue his Gloria. His precious daughter.
In a wide arc, he swung his long-handled sledgehammer around. Hitting home, the surprised leather and chain armored man was felled. His head, split open. Other men carrying torches and blades approached rapidly, as Aric wrenched the girl by the arm... tossing her into the dirt.
Spinning around as fast as he could, the blacksmith used his momentum to bring the heavy iron striker into his next target. But he was too late as a steel blade was thrust deep into his chest. Losing his grip, the hammer spun off and landed harmlessly yards away.
The girl cried out as she saw her father lying still in the dirt, his eyes wide and vacant.
Villages like these were a pestilence. They never amounted to anything and were always a drain on the people. They always needed protection, yet they never rendered anything in return. It was good that he rid the land of another breeding ground of such vermin.
Aric made his way through the dirt and filth of the main street as his soldiers went from hovel to hovel, setting fire to everything in sight. A purifying fire. Noble was his cause to weed out the weaker portion so that the strong would live. More so that he had the boon and gratitude of Lord Olan to supply him with whatever he desired. Money. Power. Women.
And all that was requested of him was to wipe this miserable, little borough off the map.
It struck him odd that Lord Olan only requested this village be struck down. More often, it was a land or county of a rival Duke that bore his enmity. So be it. If this stinking, rat-infested borough was to die, it was his pleasure.
Screams that were cut short by the knife or sword sounded amidst the chaos. A choir of finality and futility. After months of such cleansing as these, his men were experts. Not so much as a weak child will remain. It would be too cruel on the lord of this realm to waste his time on mere insignificant whelps as these.
"Boss!" A cutthroat in leather and chain approached, forcing a crying, young girl forward with the tip of his sword. In his grip, the reins of two horses he led towards his master. "Looks like we're not the only ones here, sir."
"Excellent," he replied. Studying the dirt covered girl with his eyes, his lips curled. "Excellent indeed." As quickly as any snake, he grasped the defenseless girl by the wrist and roughly pulled her away. She was barely in her teens, her dark straight hair was matted and disheveled, scarcely hiding her tear streaked face. Bending low, he greeted her with a leering grin. "Where are the newcomers, my dear?"
"You bastard!"
From years of being the town's blacksmith, Old Pete Shalow still cut an impressive figure. Even now, the man held onto the strength of his youth as he charged forward to rescue his Gloria. His precious daughter.
In a wide arc, he swung his long-handled sledgehammer around. Hitting home, the surprised leather and chain armored man was felled. His head, split open. Other men carrying torches and blades approached rapidly, as Aric wrenched the girl by the arm... tossing her into the dirt.
Spinning around as fast as he could, the blacksmith used his momentum to bring the heavy iron striker into his next target. But he was too late as a steel blade was thrust deep into his chest. Losing his grip, the hammer spun off and landed harmlessly yards away.
The girl cried out as she saw her father lying still in the dirt, his eyes wide and vacant.