Good day everyone,
After a long time of viewing the source materials, storyboarding, writing, and rewriting the next chapter, I've decided to scrap the main plot and rewrite the story from the beginning starting with its characters. While Kuroinu is easily one of my favorite H-Animes, the anime's short runtime meant that characters and its story were (in my opinion) often lazily and sloppily written with virtually no time to develop (understandable considering its pornography). I also wanted to write a story that wasn't a simple revenge/power fantasy as I had written before. I want to read about the main character who starts small and over a long and treacherous road filled with dangers and difficult decisions to grow into a character I can root for. I hope with this painstakingly reimagined and rewritten take on my original story that you all can feel the same as I do. Without further ado, I present Oathbreaker: Rebirth.
Oathbreaker: Rebirth
Prologue Part One
"We thought we could save him," A cloaked man soaked by blood and rain thought solemnly as he and another cloaked figure pressed open the wooden door. "How wrong we turned out to be...". Quietly leaving the ruined castle keep, the two silently carried the bundled form of a corpse out to a shaded area within the courtyard. Awaiting them were two other figures clad in rain-soaked robes, a massive unlit fire sat adjacent to them. As the two men gently set the corpse down atop the piled logs, another produced a hunk of flint and steel. Holding it close to some of the kindling they placed, the woman looked up to her superior who only silently nodded in agreement.
Striking the piece of metal and rock over the kindling, the woman could feel her heart sink as a flame soon formed from the spark. The tiny flame danced and leaped as it soon spread to other pieces of fuel and then the wood itself. Within a few short minutes, the fire grew in size and strength to where its lengths reached the covered corpse. Starting first with the bottom, the fire licked at and seared the cloth, turning the covering into a dark black color as it eroded from the flames. Beneath hoods, faces sat blank and devoid of emotion as the cremation continued.
As the fire continued to eat at the body's cloth covering, a single ember climbed onto the deceased's chest and soon tore through the covering present. As cloth burnt away, the faded and blood-stained form of a red diamond appeared. Though a slew of thoughts ran through the minds of the undertakers, none moved to speak and they only continued to silently stare as the corpse burned.
"Goodbye, brother."
Elsewhere atop a series of grass-covered hills, a land scarred by war silently wept as blood was poised to spill upon it once more. A massive city built of stone and brick sat atop one of its grassy hills, its aged and cracked ramparts, and towers held by a garrison of nervous human men and women. The defenders stood clad in a mixed hodgepodge of armors of varying quality and materials from cloth gambesons to suits of chainmail, the latter of which appeared largely damaged and dirtied from recent combat. Through difficult, but enthusiastic efforts, small, smooth boulders were rolled to the tops of watchtowers. There, the stones were loaded into the waiting arms of catapults. Nervously clutching release levers and spare boulders, the weapon crews awaited their enemies.
At the top of an overlooking castle balcony, a pale, blond elf garbed a set of pure and lavish white robes stood. In the streets below, a layered defense of the city was underway with mobs of citizens blocking off gates with wooden wagons, furniture, and whatever else they could scrounge up. Blacksmiths and their apprentices were hard at work forging arrows and bolts with runners constantly to and fro, delivering the vitally needed ammunition. A chapel built near the base of the northern walls was repurposed into an improvised field hospital with nuns and volunteers clearing space for the expected casualties of the battle and preparing bandages.
Watching her people scramble to prepare themselves for their judgment, the queen nervously twirled strands of her hair with one finger. A soft creak of the balcony door behind her caused her ears to twitch softly. A clinking of metal boots indicated the arrival of a balding man clad in exquisite plate armor.
"Your grace," the balding man spoke, bowing before the elven maiden, "I've received word from Count Morell, his relief forces should be here by within the day."
"How many troops have we deployed down there, Grave?" Celestine asked in concern.
"Roughly five thousand city guards, levies, and surviving troops combined," the aging general answered. "Adding in volunteers and veterans, I'd add another two thousand, but I can't be certain."
"And they face?"
"Our scout reports indicate at least ten thousand strong, possibly more but we can't be sure." The old general answered, "By the looks of that siege tower, I'd wager they're gambling on an all-out assault."
"Mobilize the Templars, I want them on those walls coordinating and leading the defense." The queen ordered.
"But your grace," Grave argued in defiance, "If the walls are taken, there will be no one to defend your palace or you."
"If the walls are taken, the city will fall regardless," Celestine answered, gathering her courage. "If I am to fall, I won't be remembered as the queen who abandoned her people and I don't intend to let Olga take this city without a price."
"Yes, your grace." The marshall nodded in compliance, "I'll have the knights mount up immediately."
A short distance from the city, a sizable host of beasts and demons gathered, preparing themselves for their planned assault of the fort. Just like the human forces, the troopers of the Covenant of Garen sported a mixed hodgepodge of armors of varying qualities, albeit more wild and rudimentary. The small goblins, imps, and bullywugs wore little aside from their clothing and bronze heart plates if one was lucky, bronze skullcaps if one was luckier. Their larger and more intimidating goblin and hobgoblin cousins however were better equipped, utilizing larger, circular chest plates of bronze with the occasional shirt of mail. Behind the horde lay a terrifying scene of wanton destruction and atrocity. Villages sat quiet and dormant, say for the scores of dead and the horrified cries for help from the helpless captives. Utilizing the combined might of hobgoblins and trolls, a wooden siege tower was rolled to the front of the invading force. At its flanks, detachments of smaller beasts formed up, long wooden ladders and battering rams in hand.
Perched atop a neighboring hilltop in a fortified encampment, an olive-skinned elf garbed in a revealing purple corset and black cloak watched as her army formed up. Shifting her cognac eyes over the enemy-held city, she perceptively noted every feature of the defensive structure. Taking mental note of the static positions of their catapults and numbers deployed, she scratched her chin in thought. Looking to the rearguard of her army, she happily noted her reserves had been filled with a sizable detachment of her kinsman. Compared to the underfinanced and largely undisciplined bulk of the army, her Queensguard provided a sharp contrast with their uniformity and coordination. Suits of well-oiled chainmail and plumed iron helmets provided the marksmen solid protection, while their longbows and wooden mantlets allowed a deadly balance of accurate missile fire and mobile cover.
Grinning, Olga gave a silent nod to her awaiting lieutenant, a massive, brown-furred minotaur. Tapping one of his hooves impatiently, the furred brute saluted in respect to his liege, the horned monstrosity then turned around to face the waiting horde. After a quick suck of fresh air into his lungs, his lips parted once more.
"Advance!" His voice boomed with dread and authority.
Following the word of their respected commander, the army began its ascent up the winding hills of Ken. Utilizing what cover they could, assault troops at the front pushed their siege tower from the protection offered by the tower's rear. As the horde drew closer to the city walls, the loud clamoring of weapons and shields grew, drawing both hatred and dread from the human defenders. As their bloodthirsty and lustful voices reached the ears of the city guard, several began to lose faith and sulk. However, as one fell back in an attempt of desertion, a steel-plated gauntlet yanked the young soldier back to his position.
"Back to your post, soldier!" A female knight ordered, unfazed by the terror tactic. "You swore an oath to defend this city, same as I!"
"Lady Claudia! We have no chance!" A broken levy argued, "We're too few in numbers! We can't possibly hold this mile a' walls against those fuckers!"
"He's right, milady!" A terrified soldier furthered, "They destroyed us in the field and hunted us like animals as we fled! What chance have we got against them?!"
"I got a wife and kids… I can't leave em' like this!" Another guard added. "We gotta get offa these walls while we still can and-"
"And then what?" She questioned, stoically. "Hide as the beasts slaughter your fathers and brothers, pillage and rape your wives, your daughters, and sisters?! We are soldiers of the Seven Shields Alliance, we have not given up any of our cities in four hundred years! We won't start now! Stand by the man or woman next to you and they will stand by you!"
Hearing the brunette's encouragement, many, albeit uneasily soon returned to their positions. The few who remained were soon ushered back with the support of their comrades.
When their enemies reached the middle of the hill, crossbows and short bows were raised, the hands of their operators twitching nervously.
"Hold your fire!" Claudia ordered with other officers following and echoing the command.
Reluctantly following the command of the knight, the defenders held their fire. When the beasts and their siege weapons crossed a series of red flags planted roughly three hundred yards from the walls, the brown-haired knight grinned.
"Fire at will!" She cried out, drawing her arming sword.
Following the officer's command, arrows and bolts rained down upon the advancing horde. Those caught out in the open received the brunt of the attack with many killed or injured while the luckier scrambled to respond. Joining in, the few catapults in service opened fire, causing noticeable casualties amidst the tightly packed enemy units. Hugging onto their tower, the assault troops continued their advance at a somewhat slower rate. Within moments, several groups formed into ad-hoc shield walls at which they could advance largely unmolested. To counter the defenders' missile fire, small formations of dark elven marksmen moved under shield walls to return fire when possible.
Now engaged in return by their enemies, the humans were forced to take cover as they reacted to their enemies' counterattack. Though most managed to duck behind crenellations and under walls, the potent arrow fire produced several casualties amongst the human defenders. To add to the enemy's suppressing fire, concealed siege weapons mounted atop the siege towers opened up on the walls, indirectly injuring many as sections of the walls began to crumble. Despite this, the desperate human troops soon responded, randomly popping out of cover to surprise an unfortunate enemy with an arrow or bolt while the wounded were quickly pulled off the walls and into a commandeered inn at the base of the walls.
Continuing to trade blows for several more minutes, the improvised field hospital would soon be packed with wounded men and women of varying injuries as the horde finally reached the walls. The floors soon began to crumple and part slightly with the sheer amount of foot traffic from the nuns and volunteer healers moving in and out of the structure. Replacing the dead and wounded were armed volunteers and conscripts amongst the local citizenry who often were forced to reuse arms and armor left by fallen and injured soldiers.
Outside the walls, the scene proved far more gruesome and desperate. At the bases of ladders, piles of fallen attackers lay, their small frames either filled with bolts or torn open by the head of a spear. The detachments bearing battering rams proved worse with most not even reaching the gate, the two who managed to reach the entrance lay limp, their bodies broken by rocks or scorched by boiling oil and sand. With his courage undaunted by the determination of his enemies, a single goblin bravely made the climb up a siege ladder. However, as he reached halfway up the enemy wall, a crossbowman hidden behind an arrowslit spotted him first. Falling back down the ladder, the dead beast rolled over, his heart pierced by a barbed crossbow bolt. Another pair of goblins fell soon after, their ladder pushed off the wall while they were nearly halfway up. Abandoning the suicidal attack, the bloodied beasts of the horde funneled themselves into the two siege towers, creating a massive target for human crossbowmen and their defensive artillery.
Climbing to the top of the protective structure, the bloodthirsty beasts prepared themselves for well-desired retribution for their foes. As the wooden ramp came crashing down atop the walls of Ken, the assault troops and stampeding enemies charged the defenders. Adding to the devastating assault, the Dark Elves on the ground intensified their fire on the breach, killing many who dared to stand up to the assault troops. Jumping off the tower's ramp, a frenzied orc swung his axe downward, splitting a human levy nearly in half. Punching a hole in Ken's defenses, the assault troops followed in his bloody wake. Taking the fight to his enemies, he managed to slay several more before a spear punched into his leg. Snarling, the beast turned to face his fearful attacker. Before the orc could retaliate, however, a well-timed sword slash cleaved off the orc's head and sent it rolling off the battlements.
Grabbing the headless corpse, Claudia used the dead body as an improvised shield, allowing her to weather the storm of arrows and spearpoints as she led the counterattack. Recognizing the weak point in their defenses, she grabbed a goat's horn off her belt. A powerful blare later and two squads of ten men answered her call, appearing from two other sections of the walls.
"Hold this position!" She commanded as the mass of reinforcing infantry moved to recapture the section of the wall.
With their position soon strengthened, the gap was soon filled. Joining in, onagers and friendly saboteurs began targeting the tower, pelting its foundation with massive stones and throwing rocks covered in pitch. Catching onto the structure, a dark grey column of smoke formed and began to fill the air. Minutes later, the tower came crashing down in a wild frenzy of blood-curdling screams from the unfortunate caught inside or at its base. Seeing the destruction of their main thrust, the Dark Elves and surviving assault troops began a largely uncoordinated retreat. Archers and crossbowmen rose from their positions and opened up on the wavering attackers, inflicting further casualties.
Though the Covenant's assault had failed, fierce fighting continued on the city's northern walls with the defenders massing to the breach site to fully contain the few remaining enemies. Aware of their situation, the few orcs fought to the death, throwing themselves at the humans and killing many before being brutally slain. Heads and limbs were sent flying along with gallons of blood and entrails, crowding the battlements and rivaling the city's cemetery. After several more minutes of brutal close-quarter combat, the remaining attacker fell before a skull-splitting slash courtesy of Claudia. With the walls recaptured, the defenders stood bewildered, unsure of their next action. After a few more awkward moments, the survivors went about removing corpses and reoccupying their original positions.
Leaning against the cracked wall of a tower, Claudia attempted to sheath her sword when a noticeable pain gripped her sword arm. A refined glance revealed a break in her chainmail and a splotch of blood around her forearm. Sighing in minor frustration, she reached up to her head with her uninjured arm. After uneasily lifting her blood-splattered Great helm off her head, she used her off-hand to wipe off small amounts of brain matter that managed to fall in between her helmet's eye slits.
"The tower's down!" Grave cheered, "We've got the bastards on the run!
A sudden rumbling of earth and stone, however, made the Queen and her Marshall reconsider their position. A large sect of the wall in the city's eastern holding began to suddenly shake and rumble to its foundation. Before the few guards posted there could move off the unstable structure, the wall and numerous close buildings abruptly gave way, collapsing and sinking to the ground. The screams of men and women alike reverberated back to Celestine's palace as soldiers and civilians alike disappeared with the fallen wall.
As if planned by the Dark Queen of Garan, a sizable detachment of her army suddenly appeared on the lip of a nearby hill. Raising their blades, the beasts roared as they charged to take advantage of the fallen wall. Stunned by this sudden development, panic soon set in with mobs and surviving soldiers scrambling to reform their battlelines in response.
"Grave?!" The young queen questioned in bewilderment.
"Fuck!" Grave cursed, recognizing the sudden disaster. "The bastards must've built a sapper's tunnel beneath the wall and collapsed it! I'll have to take command down there myself before the fuckers gain any more ground!"
Turning, the marshall found his path blocked by the worried queen.
"Grave…"
Despite their clear difference in rank and importance, the woman still displayed a genuine kindness and innocence uncommon among the ruling class. Gently removing the elf's thin fingers from his bulky arm, he sighed, seeing her as a sort of child in his care.
"There's no time, you're grace..." The aging soldier spoke, "If I don't take command of the rabble defending their homes this won't be a city worth saving…"
Grabbing his discarded helmet off a nearby table, the balding warrior quickly darted back inside, leaving the goddess reborn to sit and watch the unfolding chaos alone.
Minutes later, the old general reached the new battleline just in the nick of time. The uncoordinated, underequipped and largely untrained peasant militias proved no more useful in holding back the horde than tissue paper at holding back a monsoon. The hobgoblins and orcs serving in the enemy vanguard tore through the peasant mobs like rabid dogs to rabbits. Men and women alike flew through the air and fell dead, slaughtered in pairs as the mobs fought a losing battle over the neighborhood. Those too young or too frail to take part in the brutal melee aided where they could, climbing to neighboring rooftops and acting as skirmishers. Utilizing bricks, bottles, rocks, and broken furniture, they hurled the improvised projectiles to a surprisingly deadly effect. Despite this commendable effort, the enemy push showed no signs of stalling and continued to gruesome results.
Entering combat with the support of ten knights, Grave immediately sought to relieve the suffering militias. Arriving at the top of an overlooking neighborhood, he noticed the enemy vanguard utilized the majority of its larger beasts in the front. Its flanks and center were largely comprised of smaller imps and goblins tightly packed together in a dense formation. Sensing a possible weak spot, he immediately organized his tiny cavalry section into a pointed, wedge-like formation.
As the militias continued to steadily retreat further into the city, the enemy showed no sign of slowing and pursued them recklessly. Nodding to the knights at his side, the general lowered the visor to his bascinet.
"Charge!" The aging warrior commanded, bravely taking the lead.
Following the old general's command, the knights followed the commander's lead and swiftly charged into the enemy's flank.
Forsaking long lances in favor of their personal weapons, the knights proved a potent force to the tightly-packed Covenant troops, cutting down and trampling numerous enemies in their attack. With their thrust now flanked by the cavalrymen, the assaulting force soon buckled with numerous turning tails and fled back through the breached wall. Lacking centralized leadership, numerous orcs and hobgoblins soon stopped and turned in an attempt to fend off the flanking horsemen. Doing so, however, was just what the peasant mobs needed.
With the attention of the enemy's finest diverted, the militia boldly pushed back against the massive beasts. This tactic, although bloody and casualty-producing soon began to bear fruits. Within a few gory, blood-soaked minutes even the mighty orcs began to fall one after another to the numerically and tactically superior humans. Emboldened, the ragtag militias pursued their enemies out of the city, killing many of the fleeing beasts.
Perched atop her fortified hilltop, the sorceress queen of Garan watched the unraveling disaster with growing discontent. Rising from her makeshift throne, the olive-skinned elf turned and walked past her fuming subordinate.
"... My liege if we-"
"Pull the reserves forward," She silently ordered, brushing her hair off her shoulders. "I want a covered retreat, save as many as we can."
"Yes, my queen." The horned man nodded reluctantly, reaching for his horn.
Watching from her castle, the golden-haired queen cheered giddily, a bright smile of relief on her supple lips.
"They're retreating!" Celestine cheered, "Perhaps if Count Morell was here-"
It appeared fortune would shine upon the disheveled human defenders once more when a loud blast of a horn indicated the arrival of a new force to the battlefield. Emerging from the concealment of dense treelines to the city and fort's north, a sizable cavalry contingent appeared. Leading this squadron was a tall and muscle-bound man clad in black brigandine armor. At his side rode a younger man bearing a red banner with the symbol of a black dog in the center.
Grinning confidently, he lowered the visor to his helmet.
"Follow me!" He ordered, lowering his long lance into position.
Leading his relief force from the front, Count Vroland caught the staging reserves largely by surprise, impaling two with a single thrust of his lance. Following his lead, his Black Dogs charged into the enemy's command camp. Though numerous, the reserve troops holding Olga's fort were scattered into smaller units defending varying points of the southern approach and were in no position to guard their northern flank. Attempting to reform and regroup, heavy fighting commenced with no clear winner. Soon, Ken's garrison joined the fray with several units abandoning the walls to attack the fort's southern defenses.
Knowing both the battle and her army were likely lost, the queen of Garan sought to flee herself. Before she could escape scotfree, however, a black stallion soon blocked her path. Standing before the hulking cavalry commander himself, the dark sorceress scowled.
"You…" She growled, her fist tightening in rage.
"Did you honestly think simply buying off a two-bit pack of Varvaro raiders would keep me away, Olga?" He scoffed in mild amusement.
"No, Vult," She shook her head. "I just hoped those hill-loving horsefuckers would stall you long enough to take your beloved capitol."
"Sure hope you didn't pay in advance, you're highness." He laughed, placing a comedic emphasis on the sorceress' title. "Otherwise I'd be looking to get my gold back."
"You'll pay… With your blood, insolent human!" She roared, opening her palm and casting a mighty lighting bolt at the warrior.
Diving out of the way, Count Vroland went for his weapon, a massive greatsword suspended from his back. Drawing it, he made a mad dash for the evil queen, dodging and ducking below lighting and ice spells all the while. Making contact with the slightly shorter woman, the towering warrior swung his massive blade down at her left shoulder. In response, the sorceress quickly cast a shield spell, allowing her to uneasily absorb the powerful blow. Utilizing her off-hand, she cast another spell that shot out and landed on the ground a few feet in front of her.
"Was that supposed to do something, slut?!" Vult taunted with a cocky grin.
Before he had too much time to gloat, a black mist emerged from the ground before engulfing the two. Using the cover of the dense fog, Olga disappeared with a shrill and creepy laugh. Forced to search for his opponent, Vult was forced to swing nearly wildly at areas where the dark elf could've disappeared to.
"I've got you now…" He whispered to himself as he spotted a dark form moving in his direction.
Aiming for a bisecting slash at the form's midsection, the man was shocked when his move was immediately detected and subsequently parried. Jumping back, Vult prepared for Olga to retaliate in turn.
"Huh?" He questioned in surprise.
Rechambering his greatsword, Vult's eyes narrowed in heightened alarm as a shadowy clone of himself appeared in the mist. Changing his stance, the Black Dog scowled as his doppelganger immediately reacted, adopting a counter stance.
"Clever," He commented. "Alright rook, let's see how well you know me!"
Charging into each other, the two traded several blows. Though many came close to one another, neither was able to score a hit, being blocked or parried just in time. Backing away, it didn't take long for Vult to realize that his opponent was merely miming defensive moves he knew. Coming up with a new idea, he charged once more. Using one hand, he hurled his sword like a makeshift javelin. Avoiding the greatsword, the clone was thrown off-balance when his prime closed in.
Grabbing at the shadow's midsection, Vult used all of his strength to pick up and slam his opponent onto the ground. Climbing onto the clone's torso, he soon ended the duel by drawing his dagger and aiming above the eyeslits of his duplicate's helmet.
"Can't beat the best," He grinned as he jabbed the small blade into his opponent's eyes.
Finished by the prime's blow, the shadow evaporated like a mass of boiling water. With the doppelganger defeated, the magical mist followed suit. Looking around, the count discovered his men to be mopping up the remainder of the enemy army.
"Damn…" Vult groaned as he noticed the troublesome Dark Elf had vanished from the battlefield.
Roughly thirty minutes later, the covenant's banner fell, the white elk replaced instead with the black dog. In the neighboring city of Ken, a heated debate was underway within the goddess' palace. In a small meeting hall, Vult stood before an assembled council containing the elven queen and her advisors.
"Absolutely not Count Vroland," Celestine spoke firmly. "I won't authorize a suicidal expedition to the north."
"But, your grace, the Covenant's army has been destroyed," Vult argued. "They're in no condition to put up any meaningful resistance."
"Neither can ours, Morell…" Grave pointed out in return. "Our field army was nearly destroyed at the Horevitz River, the remainder of our men are crowding up hospitals while we have untrained peasants manning our walls. The garrisons of Feoh and Ur are running on skeleton crews, all the while packs of bandits and Varvars prowl our roads and countrysides."
"So send me, your grace." The bold count volunteered. "Grant me the Templars, with their help the dogs and I can burn those northern rats out of their hole."
"We wouldn't be much use, Vult." Claudia shook her head. "The siege cost us dearly, I only have around fifty men in fighting condition."
"Then allow me to take out a loan, Duke Arcturus!" Vult spoke once more, turning his attention to an aging man in a blue cloak. "I can go to Rad and raise an army there in no time!"
"The royal coffers can't handle hiring any more mercenaries at the moment, Count Vroland." The old man politely refused, "The devastation in the north and around the capital will require a fortune to rebuild what was destroyed."
"Our depleted granaries and famine-stricken villages wouldn't be able to support the logistic feat." Another council member added, "We'd have to negotiate a trade deal with the Sjofolk Union for supplies."
"The last thing we need to be is indebted to those slaving pricks," Grave furthered.
"We have to do something!" Vult insisted, angrily slamming his fist on the table. "We can't simply sit here while they rally to kill us again!"
"I'm sorry, Vult." Celestine sighed, "But we simply can't afford anything other than a ceasefire."
Rising from his chair, the troubled general turned and promptly stormed out from the meeting hall. There he would go on a short walk around the queen's palace before being suddenly interrupted by one of his knights who quickly rushed to stop him.
"Milord!" The mustache-bearing knight gasped, "Commander Montfort and his scouts have come into contact with a group of greenskins a short way north."
"And?" Vult raised an eyebrow, "Can he not handle a few stragglers by himself?"
"The runner said that they seized a town and established a defensive perimeter," The Black Dog answered. "Commander Montfort is standing by and requesting reinforcements."
"I see…" Vult nodded, "Get word to Commander Curthose, have him link up with Montfort, and have them assault the settlement when possible."
"Yes milord," The knight nodded.
A short while later, the western knight and his retinue reached the external fields of a small town located at the top of a small bluff. As ordered, his levy had already begun the push to retake the town. Surrounding the town was a short earth wall that slowed down the advance and gave the occupiers a noticeable advantage. Though vastly outnumbered, the horde remnants fought desperately and inflicted noticeable casualties amongst the count's forces. The air whistled and shrieked as goblins and imps armed with slings rained surprisingly accurate fire. While not typically fatal against metal armor, the fast-flying stones sent at the lord's troops caused grievous and bone-breaking injuries.
Before long, however, the infantry reached the wall and another bloody struggle began. Dead and wounded fell on both sides of the wall as the exhausted human levies steadily pushed the smaller beasts off the walls. With their line breached, the remaining covenant troops began to break and flee back into the town. Soon, a unit of footmen captured one of the gatehouses and the wooden gates rumbled open.
"Follow me!" Vult commanded, taking the lead of his cavalry.
With one of the entrances captured, the lord's contingent surged forward along with those not already on the wall. Flooding through the gatehouse, they swept over and crushed the fleeing covenant troops like a tidal wave. Upon reaching the first set of buildings, Vult leaped off his black stallion and drew his greatsword.
Utilizing his shoulder and pure momentum, Vult skewered an imp on his massive greatsword. Savagely roaring, the mercenary brought the blade down on another imp, nearly slicing it in half.
With the majority of their numbers dead or divided, the remaining greenskins retreated amongst the houses, the Black Dog infantry broke off into small groups.
"Let's clear this rabble out," He ordered. "Check those corners and hiding spaces."
Taking houses in groups of around three to four men each, the footmen steadily cleared the town neighborhood by neighborhood. Joining in the search, the Count of Brugia took a house with the aid of two of his cavalrymen. Planting a firm kick on the thin wooden door granted him easy entry to the captured home.
Stepping over the threshold of the destroyed house, Vult and his bodyguards proceeded carefully into the destroyed house. The house, like many of its neighboring structures, reflected the destitute poverty of the neighborhood. The home was small and claustrophobic, with a low-hanging roof nearly reaching down and touching his head. The building only sported three rooms, a sizable open area containing a single bed for the occupants and fireplace, a kitchen, and a larder combination. A separate ladder by the door leads down into a small and largely lightless cellar. After quickly clearing the main living area, the nobleman and one of his soldiers quietly tiptoed into the kitchen, his dagger in hand, while the other two struggled to light a nearby lantern.
Laying on the floor just beside an overturned table was the nude and lifeless form of a young bronze-haired woman. A brief glance over her mutilated remains provided testimony to the level of sadism and depravity found in her killers. Her originally blue dress now sat in tatters, covered in both her blood and in her violators' seed. A mere whiff of the foul odor made the Count and his bodyguard sick and pumped hateful fire into their veins. Without a second thought, he yanked the cloth of a nearby dining table before squatting down to the corpse.
"I'm sorry," He apologized as he covered her decency with the white cloth.
Rising to his feet, he turned towards the doorway. Before he could leave, however, a soft set of crying reached his ears. Turning around, he quickly dismissed the thought of it coming from the dead woman. Past her, he noticed a shaking basket located in a corner of her larder. Vult's bodyguard cautiously entered the tiny room and using one hand, slowly lifted the lid. Removing the basket's top, he recoiled in surprise as he found two children hiding in the basket. With one hand, the older boy shakily held a dagger up to the horseman's face while the other nursed a crying newborn baby wrapped in a blue blanket.
Stepping in front of his bodyguard, Vult calmly and slowly walked towards the boy.
"Easy lad," The general calmly insisted. "It's alright, we're here to help. What's you're name?"
Despite his kind and genuine words, the boy only continued to cry as his gaze now shifted to the dead woman lying behind them. Immediately, the baron's bodyguard moved to block his view.
Remembering the details of the woman's face, Vult frowned as he recognized the boy's golden-brown hair and similar features. Squatting down, he gently extended an open hand to the child.
"You're safe now," The Count assured warmly.
Dropping the dagger, the shaggy-haired boy slowly stepped out of the basket before cautiously approaching the tall man. With great hesitation, the orphan reluctantly accepted the lord's gauntleted hand. Vult then calmly and quietly led the boy and his newborn sibling out of the home.
A short while later, the young boy sat atop a small wooden bench in the town's center. There, the Count's levy gathered up and separated the dead. One pile, those of the townfolk were quietly carted off by weeping relatives and neighbors to be buried in a field just outside the walls. The bodies of the intruders, on the other hand, were thoroughly looted and stripped of any belongings and equipment before being piled high and cremated en masse.
Sitting a short distance from the fire, the boy with his now-sleeping sibling in tow watched silently as the pile of corpses was set ablaze. As the flames soon grew in height, its bright and hypnotic arms caught onto both bodies and the blue eyes of the orphaned child. A scornful frown captured his lips while his cracked hands balled up. Consumed by his grief-driven anger, he'd nearly failed to notice when the baron approached him. Taking a seat by the child's side, the man produced a small cup filled with water.
"Here lad, I know it isn't much," Vult spoke, handing the youth the cup. "But I'll do what I can for you two."
When the child failed to respond aside from a faint grunt, Vult sighed, understanding his hardened exterior. Rising to his feet, he'd turned to walk away when the child suddenly spoke.
"Hicks… My name is Hicks," The boy spoke gruffly. "My baby brother's name is Henry."