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The stars shone bright that night, the Moon at its fullest; not one cloud crossed the skies. The city streets laid bare for all eyes to see the horror, the devastation.. no, the massacre that had been left behind. On a hill nearby stood a lone man, surveying what lay before him. Looking over what remained of the place he called home, and the people that he loved. In the moonlight, one could see the outline of corpses - too many to count, women and children, elderly, and men alike. Their bodies littered the streets, no one was spared. Not far from the hill where the lone man stood, in a small alley way between the smith and warrior's guild laid a young boy. His face turned up towards the moon above, the last thing he would see in this life. Across his chest lay a large gash; one could clearly see the boy's terror and the anguish he felt in his last moments plainly on his face. It remained there, a reminder of the horrors that caused it. A little further down, along an adjacent road a young woman laid stretched out across the road. Blood smeared all over her skin; her clothes - what was left of them - lay in tattered shreds around her body. She clearly had been abused before being killed and left there. Forgotten. Earlier, the man walked through the streets of the city to try and get a better sense of what exactly had happened there. Body after body littered the streets. It had been only two days since the gates to Nagnang had been opened, yet the damage caused by this decision was astounding. Even he did not expect the Northerners to be so ruthless; so brutal and callous. He had not been surprised when he had received the first report of problems and fighting. He had not expected them to keep coming, and never would have believed it possible the utter chaos that ensued. Standing upon the hill, the man was able to get a better sense of the entirety of the damage from this vantage point. In his left hand he held a large axe, it was still covered in slowly crusting blood. His armour streaked with blood, some more recent than others. If one were close enough to him, they would have seen a small tear on his right cheekbone. His left sleeve a dark reddish hue, completely drenched in blood - mostly his own. From the cuff of his, blood slowly accumulated before falling to the ground below - forming a small pool in the time that he had spent standing on the hill. In the moonlight one could see the pensive look on his face, and the rage smouldering within his eyes at what lay before him. As the man stood there on the hill, another, younger man approached from the east. He didn't fare much better, but at least he was alive. He had clearly been fighting for his life earlier in the day. He now had with him a sword, and a battered helm. The sword was a finely crafted blade - but it hadn't belonged to him at the beginning of the day. In the hilt, the Buyan insignia and colour were plainly visible. The helm was of standard issue, nothing special about it - other than that the person wearing it was still breathing. He wore a traditional Nangen suit, though you wouldn't know from looking at what was left of it. As he reached the top of the hill, he said but one thing to the lone figure: "How can I be of help, Blight?" Written by: Dokyli | |