Dreigh, Rondon - Duke Soult's Duchy Territory

A few days prior to the departure of the Rondi forces, good news, though disguised as bad news, had come to the Duke and his army. His former fiefdom in Gauldin had fallen, overrun by barbarians in spite of the valiant defense by the Gauldish men-at-arms and their tribal Orcish allies. The survivors, led by his younger twin brothers Jean and Jacques, had set sail to join the Duke in his new lands. They had been joined by the tribal survivors, now led by Chief Uluru, who had previously been bested in single combat by the Duke, securing an alliance between their two peoples. Over a thousand survivors had come to his new Rondi lands, many of them now marched with him. Chief Uluru rode by his side, as did his brothers, leading the remnants of the Army of Arcoux.

Duke Soult had decided to leave a Knight behind to guard and oversee the Contested territories, assisted by Gauldish forces who were relatively neutral in the Rondi-Zephyr disagreements.

This display though...was sickening. Even the orcs, barbaric in their own way, were disgusted at the sight of such senseless slaughter. Although less at the moral implication, and more about the waste of perfectly good men. The soldiers of Arcoux were possibly the worst effected, forewarned about the rivalry but unprepared for such behavior.

"Women and children man the walls? Those cowards..." he said vehemently. The leadership of this land would not be granted the same mercy as those in the Contested territories, such depraved acts that they had committed.

"We have little choice then but to commit atrocities of our own. They have made their decision to fight very clear. General, any of your men who cannot fight today, murdering those who should not fight, are to be granted a reprieve, I will not force any man to kill women and children."

Another also marched for Rondon, though his convictions for the cause were much weaker than most, though he did share his reasoning with a few. With the outbreak of war in Rondon the opportunity for money to be made was seen by many and of course, a large influx of mercenaries had entered the country. Zavius was one of these many mercenaries, and if Zephyr had paid better he would have most likely been on the other side of this battle. 

He knew little about the country he was in or about the specifics of the war and why it was being fought, an entirely selfish soul he was, he came here to kill for himself, for wealth. The smell is what first hit Zavius' nose then, a putrid and disgusting scent to him, as soon the source of such smells would reveal itself to him, and he got a clear view of it since he had marched in the front with the rest of the mercenaries, the Rondi generals much less worried about their lives than their own countrymen, which was understandable. 

"What a putrid scent this is," he said with a bit of distaste, the horror meant to be instilled in him by such a scene seemingly absent. After a certain point, nothing could shock a man, not even such a grizzly display as this one. 

Zavius did not wear the standard issued armor of the Rondi soldiers, opting to wear his own and frankly higher quality armor, a jet black scaled armor and chain mail affair. He preferred flexibility while fighting after all, and he carried at his belt a longsword. Over this, he wore a tabard given to him with the Rondi colors so he wouldn't be mistaken for an enemy of course. 

When the call came out that they were given the option to not fight, Zavius could not help but laugh out loud at the madness of it. Sure, he had seen the men and women manning the walls but not for a second did he think that would change anything - he was paid to fight, and if those women and children were who he had to fight then so be it. His second thought was if he would still get paid if he chose to sit this one out.

Eventually, he opted to fight, as if Rondon lost then he probably wouldn't get paid. He volunteered as the others did presumably, by stepping forward. 

The mercenary band would advance, Zavius was near the front of the formation of the group. Soon the first volley of arrows from the wall would come, zipping into the lines of men and starting a chorus of screamed pain and agony along with the wet thump of arrows embedding themselves in flesh that would last the rest of the battle.

Zavius advanced forward confidently, the arrows whizzing past him close enough to hit the man next to him. Even without a shield, he was more confident than the other men, because unlike them he could see the arrows coming... he could track them with his eyes. Casually he picked up a coil of rope and grappling hook from the poor sod next to him who took a crossbow bolt to the neck, the man still gurgling blood as Zavius took it from his ever loosening grip.

Grappling hook in hand, he drew his sword in the other and began his advance at a brisk run, finding the slow advance of his comrades to be tiresome. Immediately, he drew the attention of more than a few sharpshooters upon the wall as he ran out ahead. A hail of arrows would begin to fly towards Zavius as he ran forward, but with a flash of his blade, he cut the arrows out of the air, the projectiles falling uselessly at his feet. The archers would have no time to shoot another volley before he was at the foot of the palisade, having circumvented the lit fires to reach it.

His fellow mercenaries were emboldened by Zavius' daring move and also quickened their advance, shields raised as they charged towards the walls, a thunderous cry of war rumbling throughout, though they were slowed down a bit by the walls of fire, forcing them to funnel in through a few points where the fires did not yet rage.

Meanwhile, Zavius threw his grappling hook up, quickly finding purchase between one of the wooden stakes that made up the palisade. With a strong tug, the grappling hook's spikes were thoroughly embedded in the wood and he began to climb up, the speed at which the man scaled the wall unnatural.

Soon the dark warrior made it up and over the wall, sword in hand and staring down several children and six Zephyr men on what was now his section of the wall. The children hesitated, but the soldiers quickly charged him, hoping to overwhelm him since he had made it up the wall much sooner than his comrades.

The Zephyr men knew naught what they were dealing with, however, for as fast as they came Zavius cut them down, his longsword slicing through their flesh and bone as easily as a knife through butter. The first man's lunge - sidestepped, before his sword arm was severed at the elbow and he was finished off via decapitation. The next man - stabbed through the heart, Zavius' longsword puncturing his gambeson easily. 

Every man that stepped up to Zavius soon thereafter was dead in an instant until only the last of the six stood there, and then he began to run away further down the platform before also falling to a crossbow bolt through the neck, the shot being fired from a crossbow Zavius picked up from one of the slain Zephyr men. With no soldiers left on that section, the children and their mothers didn't try and fight Zavius as they had just witnessed him effortlessly kill six men by himself, their blood coloring his blade and armor a crimson red. 

Crossbow in one hand, longsword in the other, Zavius would begin walking down the length of the palisade platform towards the gate under a constant hail of arrows while being continuously assailed by various Zephyr troops trying to stop him. Their efforts were in vain as no matter how many attacked Zavius at once still they could not overwhelm him.

Blade in hand, he began slicing through the Zephyr men in a blur of flashing steel, blood, and severed limbs, his longsword akin to a scythe cutting through a ripe harvest. The casual air with which Zavius cut down these men could be likened to such a menial task easily as the Zephyr men might as well have been fields of wheat with how helpless they were before the onslaught of Zavius and his blade.

Twenty or so enemies later, now having caused quite a bit of havoc on the wall Zavius would find a brief respite. He would take this brief opportunity to grab several left over pots of oil and throw them down at a group of Zephyr men below crowding close together down below climb up the ladders and onto the platform where Zavius stood, dousing them in oil. Ducking to avoid a crossbow bolt shot from the men below, he loaded his crossbow with a flame-tipped bolt before aiming it downwards. Many of the men had already begun to try and retreat once they were doused in oil, yet it was too late. Their screams of agony filled the air as they burned no doubt a rallying cry for the Rondi men.

Zavius would jump down a bit further down the defenses now amidst the chaos of many men who were burning alive running around like headless chickens trying to douse the flames. He killed a few who ran into his path before prowling towards the gate, his goal being to open it from the inside.

The mercenary band that Zavius had been with were just now climbing up onto the mostly cleared section of the defenses, the whole sequence Zavius had completed only taking about a minute.

The banging on the door had woken Conrad up from his comfortable slumber. Wine - and the company of the fine lady he was staying with tonight - had meant he was sleeping late today. It had been like a restless dreams him hearing the shouting and yelling outside accompanied by many hard steps. But this time it was right outside the apartment he was staying in - and those knocks sounded more like they were going bang the door in than asking for sugar.

"Heey Monik... Ehhr... Franceska baby, I'm trying to sleep get them to go away!" Conrad complained but heard no answer and reluctantly got up and put on his underwear and a pair of slippers. To the sound of the knocking he then lazily dragged himself to the door leading to the living room seeing his girl from last night flat against the wall with a frying pan in her hands and a look of dread. Her lips mimicking 'Rondí' without a sound. At the same time a final kick blasted the door open and Conrad quickly snapped back behind the wall. A quick scream was stifled by a sound akin to a bag of potatoes hitting them floor and Conrad was suddenly wide awake - his heart pounding wildly.

'I don't want to die, I don't want to die' were the thoughts that went through his head as his hand nervously found his jacket draped over the dresser to his left. He heard steps outside - two legs - coming closer to his room. 'If they killed her, then they'll kill me! Oh my god what am I going to do?!?' Conrad thought. His fingers touched the the hilt of the dagger he was always carrying. It was never meant as a weapon and had never cut anything but apples - but was a good prop for a quick story of adventure at the local tavern.

Conrad awaited the demon sticking his murderous face inside - surely there was no chance he could survive against some trained soldier? Conrad clenched his dagger harder his knuckles turning white and heart beating furiously as he pressed himself closer towards the wall. 'There!' his mind screamed as the the soldier's visage just beside him were no longer a mere shadow. But Conrad couldn't move as fear had taken hold of him - but the soldier didn't look around the room. Rather he took two steps towards the double bed Conrad had just gotten out of a minute ago and leaned over supporting his hands on the mattress. A few moments passed and a gulping sound came from the soldier - 'why is he puking?' Conrad asked himself confused about what was happening right now.

A few seconds felt like ages as the soldier breathed heavily before straightening up again - but as he turned back Conrad's body had already moved and with both hands tightly clenching the hilt he had plunged his dagger in between the soldier's breast armor and helmet, the shocked soldier tumbling down on the ground beside the bed along with Conrad pressed on top of him. It was quick and violently - and he had no words for what he had just done. Killing another person - even if he was a killer himself was as far form Conrad's personality as it could be.

Now again he heard it. The heavy steps, the yelling, the screaming... And it was coming closer no doubt, the other apartments had been broken into too. Conrad looked at the dead Rondí soldier. 'You've worn a mask before, why not an armor. You can be a soldier, Conrad. It's the only way.' were the words in his mind. Not words that that seemingly came from himself - they seemed foreign yet unmistakingly clear. He had been wearing an armor before when he was fifteen. A school play where his uncle lend him a real armor so he knew how to get it on and off. The dead soldier was like a mattress to him. A thing that was no longer a human being. They were about the same height though the armor was definitely made for someone bulkier than himself and the sword for someone with a stronger arm - this were no huge problem though. But he could never have imagined the terrible stench of blood when he put on the helmet which caused him to almost puke too.

"I can... If I can just get outside, I can slip unseen through the main gate..!" he said to himself - a blissfully naive thought but having a plan it kept Conrad from succumbing to fear. Just some plan. Conrad froze though before he made it to the door seeing his lover the last night laying there in a pool of blood. Conrad forced his gaze towards the door and took one step at a time before he was outside the apartment. Several other soldiers had been breaking into the nearby apartments, but Conrad had only one thing in his mind. 'Get out!' there was the voice again. He made it down the stairs passing a few Rondí soldier but his helmet protecting him from instant recognition. He was visibly a touch paler then the average Rondí guy and the blue eyes didn't help either.

On step more and he was outside! Conrad got out into the noise and shouting but didn't even get to gaze towards the gate before a group of rushing men came towards him. He had no chance but to press on further into the city for now - deeper into the mayhem and chaos. It was now that Conrad noticed the bodies all over the place. So many dead, so awfully many dead. If only he had left a night before.

Zavius had decided to continue on into the city on his own. As the orcs broke through the gates, charging into the city with a thunderous cry Zavius slipped away, slipping between two buildings into a nearby street as the defenders preoccupied themselves with the main force. As he did so, the sound of the fighting dimmed almost as if he had slipped underwater, the dark alleyway giving him a momentary reprieve.

Even in this rather calm alley-way, however, bodies still littered the cobbled street in varying states of decay. The scent was so strong it was almost palpable and flies swarmed in hordes, their constant buzzing maddening.

It was then that he heard it, the hushed voices in a building nearby...

Zavius turned to face the building, the dark warrior a picture of death - the blood of Zephyy men, women, and children staining the proud symbol of honor and chivalry that was Rondon's emblem. There was a flicker of movement in the window, a flash of white as a curtain quickly closed, and that was all Zavius needed.

He raised his bloodstained blade slightly, approaching front door of the apartment-like building nestled in that alleyway, the sound of hushed voices growing more desperate and crying falling upon his ears soon.

The door creaked open then, and a woman stepped out. She wore a plain white dress, her skin light, and her eyes a light blue. Her hair, long and chestnut brown quivered as did her body in fear, her trembling hands clenching a clay pot. She said nothing as she stared at Zavius, her eyes wide and filled with fear. Slowly, she raised the clay pot and Zavius raised his crossbow wordlessly, pointing it at the woman. 

In that moment she suddenly sprung into action, crying fiercely as she steeled herself... yet before the clay pot left her hand a crossbow bolt sprouted from her chest, right over her heart. Zavius fired without remorse his aim as steady as it would be shooting at a straw filled target. The woman's trembling stopped, as she slowly sank to her knees, blood staining her pure white dress as it flowed. She seemed to try to say something as she died, sputtering as blood filled her lungs, "Please..." she uttered at last, her grip loosening on the clay pot now as she fell to the ground. 

The clay pot rolled to a stop just outside the door, still hanging open. As Zavius lowered his crossbow a fierce shout could be heard from within, charging out of the darkness a boy, no older than eleven or twelve. Filled with rage at seeing the death of his mother he charged, making a break for the clay pot to throw it at Zavius. Yet even he would find no mercy, as the dark warrior drew a dagger and threw it, the blade embedding itself in the young boys' neck. The boy fell as the blade hit him in the neck, hitting the ground with a thud as he fell next to his dead mother. He managed to turn over, gurgling on his own blood as his hands feebly reached for the dagger in his neck before they fell to his side and he made no sound, his eyes, the same color as his mother's losing their light as he joined her staring upwards towards the sky lifelessly for eternity.

All fell silent then... except for a sound from the darkness within the house - the sound of a little voice sobbing. Wordlessly, Zavius walked closer crouching down and peering into the darkened room. He knew he should have felt something, yet even then he felt nothing - but he remembered a time when he could.

(Music)

He pulled the blade from the boy's throat, cleaning off the blade before replacing it in its sheath and before continuing on. 

The Duke stood in the center of the church, still full of the bodies of those too young to be useful. His emotions ranged from anger to sorrow and back again as the day's events continued to replay in his mind. He had held one of his knights as they breathed their last, struck down by that vile poison. Two other knights had perished while clearing the city, cowardly tactics inflicting more damage than any of the Zephyy weapons had.

"Get our men out of this damnable city, along with any surviving children. Then burn this fucking place to the ground. There is nothing of value here. I need also expect a report from each as to the fighting status of your units." Nicolas said to the officers gathered around him, voice seething with anger.

The Gauldish officers and orc leaders immediately went to work on his instructions, the orcs relatively unscathed thanks to far hardier constitutions than the humans they fought alongside.