Private Tales Bloody Fork

[Ademar Acero]

The Spine

Endless raids ranged across the Spine under the banner of Ademar and his tribe of Siruk. They were conducted indifferently whether to human or otherwise as glory was sought out by these warriors.

Today their aim was to a group of settlements near a fork by the Wda River, diverse towns that were more progressive in contrast the declining city of Belgrath whose stones crumbled being a hollow shell of its former self. These towns whether small in comparison to the great Dwarven metropolis had better luck and persevered, though they had no great walls to prevent insurgents from entering.

The first of these settlements was a port town established by the river, strategic in providing a flow of expedited trade along the river, and capturing fish and using the bountiful river as a means of irrigation to other means of agriculture.

The violent war cries of the Siruk could be heard with the loud clomping of hooves from afar, allowing a small window of time for the villagers to prepare themselves.

Within mere minutes the warband of Siruk arrived, coming out of the thick woods and into the urban town…

 

[Iffi Vellane]

I stood at the edge of the forest, watching the sun's waning light disappearing inch by inch behind a rippling horizon of mountains and grasslands. In the half darkness, the in-between state between day and night, the shadows of the warriors riding from the forest rippled over the grounds like silk caught in a breeze. Every passing second they stretched. Further and further until the tips of them joined the forest where they were lost to the shadow of the canopy. Until their eerie shapes twisted and mutated, making monsters of the men that cast them. The horse beneath me shuffled, shifting its weight from one hoof to the other. I reached out, patting its mane idly. It nickered, and I blinked the imprint of twilight from my eyes as I fixed them instead on the backs of the charging Siruk.

Though the day had been bright and warm, and the earth beneath me still clung desperately to the heat it had soaked, there was a chill in the air. An icy presence had joined the scene playing out before me, lingering in the wake of the Siruk where the darkness was thickest. It took refuge in the cloak of their shadows, in their ragged breaths and hungry eyes. Though it could not easily disguise itself from me. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, where it twisted and writhed with adrenaline-filled anticipation. I could taste its coppery tang in the air as though swords had already been swung. I could hear it in the steady beat the warband drummed out as it pounded over the dew-soaked grass.

As always, death was eager.

I, like many others, had bowed and been bent to its might and power many times before. No stranger to the sword, I had wielded it too. With the same ruthless fervour that now guided my people towards the sleepy village resting peacefully by the Wda River. But as a healer, I had mastered it. I knew it like the back of my hand. Ever present in the eyes of the sick and the injured, in the rattle of life's last desperate breaths, I had fought with it many times. I had won lots and lost far more. So much had I stared it boldly in the face that it had become familiar. Like the warmth of a friend I had known for years, or the pages of a well-used book. I had once feared it and the consequences that inevitably followed, but now? I loved to watch it work.

My thighs ached as I pressed them tightly into my mare, cooing her forward with a trilling note. The moon's pure light was beginning to bathe the path before me in shades of dusky blue and white. Illuminating my every step towards the village. Towards death. Towards my old friend.

 

[Ademar Acero]

Whatever bystanders remained in the paved streets were trampled by the horde of Siruk, indifferent to what age or sex they were. Only the glory to be attain for themselves and offered for their gods was paramount. They drove deeper and deeper into the heart of the town, slaughtering whatever stood in their path until they finally met resistance within the town square; it was natural for the few brave to organize a militia against the horde.

And it would be entertaining for Ademar and his warriors.

What was a raid without the ringing of iron and the shattering of bones?

An arrow struck the warlord’s horse, the beast collapsing with Ademar rolling out of its saddle facing an incoming wave of milia and what appeared to be hired mercenaries. With his war club he, too, charged and swung with great strength against a young man, cracking skull leaving the militiaman dead upon the stone pavement. His lungs let out a war cry before it was deafened by the crowded bodies raging against one another.

 

[Iffi Vellane]

I was not far behind the warband, yet by the time I reached the village devastation and destruction had already carved its way through the sleeping hovels of peasant men and their families. The walls were painted a sticky red that rolled in thick globules down wattle and daub walls, sinking into cracks and filling gaps with its distinctive sour taste. I rolled my tongue across the roof of my mouth, clicking it as I passed a home with its front door clinging on for dear life to one single hinge. Inside I could hear the chaos of a warrior as he ransacked both the people and their belongings. Though my horse continued on, I craned my neck to watch as a youthful but slightly plump young woman came rushing out of the door.

It splintered, finally, beneath the impact of her weight. Clearly having expected something solid, I watched her trip over the filth-crusted hem of her dress to land painfully on the cobblestoned floor below. I did not stay to watch what would happen when the warrior caught up with her but turned instead once more to my path. Despite my desire to mull through the streets slowly, enjoying the scene as much as death was enjoying the dance, I was looking for someone. I knew where he had been when the advancing warband had first charged, but in the middle of the noise and clamour and felling, I was now wondering through, all the Siruk looked very similar. I made my way to the only place I thought he would be. In the middle of it all. The heart of the chaos. Where everything was thickest.

My mare knackered, sidestepping to avoid a spray of warm blood as we entered what I assumed was meant to be a town square. It wasn't much really. A circle of cobblestone surrounded by a few worthless shops. What was more interesting was the gathering that stood defiantly in the middle of it. The sight of them made my lips crack into a grin that could not be disguised as anything but eager, and was dominated with an obvious excitement. A resistance. It was better when they fought back. Better when they decided they were worth more than lambs being led to a slaughter. I cared little for their perceived notion of a "good death" and far more for the chase that the warriors around me would now get. This was sport, they would say with wide grins when they returned to our camp.

I cast my gaze quickly around the edge of the village square and landed finally on the man I had been searching for. Ademar. The young warlord, for he was very young, had such firey passion in battle that I loved to watch him work almost as much as I loved to watch death. He wielded it with such fury that I lived for the terror and realisation that dawned in the eyes of the people he was going to kill. I leaned back, soothing my mare by twisting my fingers into its dirty white hair, and watched.

The first crack was a glorious sound. The sound of metal and wood crunching through bone as a warclub found its mark. A polka dot pattern of red and burgundy patterned the white coat of my horse and the bare flesh of my thigh as it kept me tightly saddled. I leant forward, baring my teeth, revelling in a deep throaty war cry that filled the village square and vibrated through my ribcage. "Finish him, Ademar..." I urged in whispers so quiet none but the wind heard me.