I, King Graveth, do declare that all able-bodied men gather in Jekala's center within the fortnight.
The once peaceful parties of Swadian troops have turned, vultures eager to feast on the wealth of our land.
Make haste, or you might very well be caught by the marauders themselves.
"You're going, aren't you?"
The man reading the missive on the desk paused, face hidden behind his turned back.
"What choice do I have, my love?"
"We could leave. There are other lands, Calradia is a large place... We don't have to stay."
The man rose out of the chair, turning to face his wife. She had been good to him for many years, a friend from childhood. When death claimed his family, she comforted him, many nights spent wiping tears from his eyes.
But he had to leave. There wasn't much choice.
"Then leave, and let me know when you are safe and hidden. I have to go, regardless."
The missive had been pinned to their home's door, miles away from the nearest village of Ibdeles.
King Graveth doesn't send personal missives.
A debt was owed, and it was to be paid.
"Infantry, form ranks!"
The clatter of armor and moving weapons sounded in the forests for a moment. It settled, and peace returned.
Minutes ticked by, the cool summer night of the region resting over the army. They waited, near silent aside from horse huffs and the occasional crinkle in the air.
A roar sounded, and the ground shook with the force of a thousand feet.
A knife sliced through the air, landing with a wet thunk in a Mercenary Swordsman's chest. He dropped, crushed under the feet of a thousand more men.
A spear thrusted, glancing off a Swadian shield; the owner recieved an axe to the head for his troubles. The axe was met with a sword to the face and a stab through the neck in return.
Blood began to pool, soaking the once verdant green fields of the Velucan countryside.
"I don't care for your pleas frankly. This is a job, and like all, a job must be completed, no?"
The town elder pleaded, begging the Count for mercy. The plea died in his throat, along with his life as the Count's horse trampled him to death. The wet squish and soft moans of agony were not enough, not for Count Devlian.
"Tear this place apart. I want them hung, they'll understand swinging bodies from the rafters."
The flood of men pushed through the village, Ibdeles torn asunder.
A woman ran, getting as far as the village gates before an arrow sank through her skull with a wet thunk. The arrow carried her forward for a few more steps, before she stumbled and dropped.
"I... I apologize, my dear lad. I... I know what you had fought for."
King Graveth was silent, the man on the opposite side of the table quiet as well.
"She's... She's dead, sir. Brutalized along with the rest of the village."
Graveth rested an armored hand on the man's shoulder. Loss was not uncommon, especially to a man like Graveth. But to see even his best warrior crumble... it tore something fierce inside his heart.
"I'll hang him, sir. I'll skin him, and hang him in his home."
The man turned, and shed his weapons. He walked away, and disappeared into the night.
A/N: This is gonna be a long ride. Buckle in.