Torack — Roleplayer Guild

Screams rose out from the ruins of the hamlet. The wails of those who lost loved ones mixed with the cries and moans of the dying. It was by some blessing it was muffled by the dark, heavy smoke and ash that engulfed the entire place. And yet, despite it he could see the bodies beyond the shifting veil, countless innocents that had no part in this wretched war but caught within its midst nonetheless. It was unfair; these people had nothing to defend themselves with save a few pickaxes and hammers but what good were they against seasoned cultists?

He sat on a ruined carriage a few meters from the center of the hamlet, where the smoke was thickest and the remaining few fires still being put out. He sat there with a blank face. Before him was an semicircle of cultist corpses and beyond them the body of a human girl no older than six, face down in the mud with an arrow jutting out between her shoulder blades. The girl's brother cried freely next him face-in-hand and Eovaine could do nothing to comfort him for his own soul wailed at the horrors before him. 

Did this mark the end of all the good races in the world? When many of their own kind would give in to the darkness of their souls and serve someone like the Mad King for nothing more than a taste of temporary power to feed on the weak? These cultists before him were elves, one of them he had known through simple passing and a few conversations before this mess began. Humans, he could understand why humans would flock to the Mad King and his mad power; short lived and inherently weak, they would willingly seek anything that would give them power and longevity. But elves? He certainly didn't believe his race better, but their longer years gave them greater wisdom. He was sickened, but moreso distraught at the girl.

He had come to learn that it wasn't the cultists that had killed her, but a passing hunter who leaned on a ruined wall nearby closing in on death, his face a ruined mess, the facial bones shattered, one side of his jaw hanging limply, held only by the skin as bloody drool fell to the ashen earth between his legs. And what great excuse had the bastard given to killing an innocent child, robbing her of her parents and siblings? 

"Our world doesn't deserve one as pure as her."

It had been almost fifty years since he'd felt a rage similar to the one felt at hearing those words. The fucking bastard. He should've killed him, and yet he stayed his hand for whatever reason. His gut perhaps. Or something. 

He was about to stand when he heard multiple footsteps approaching from behind. Turning, he saw a squad of Firen Shock Troopers making their way into the village, their faces hard as stone from the scene before them. The squad sergeant caught his eye, removed his helmet and walked towards him. A young man, Eovaine noted, with hard and hollowed eyes that had seen too much.

Eovaine stood once the sergeant was close enough, noting how he looked at the bodies then back at him. 

"I assume this was the work of the dead cultists?" He asked gesturing to the hamlet 

Eovaine gave a nod.

The sergeant regarded him and gave him quick look over. "And I assume you're one of those adventurers?" He asked.

"Indeed," Eovaine said, looking hard into his eyes.

The sergeant grunted. "Then do us a favour, adventurer, stay out of our way. You and your kind are more likely to do us more harm than any sort of good. You want to help? Join the fucking coalition and use your skills on the battlefield. Less soldiers die that way." He then spit in front of his feet and shoved past him, walking into the city. The remaining soldiers followed, save for one who stopped and regarded him for a moment and nodded in the direction of the sergeant.

"Don't mind him," he said. "Sergeant's in a pissed off mood. We've been chasing a small company of these cultists when news came to us that Firen had been sacked. He's been sour ever since. We all have."

Eovaine could understand that sentiment. He nodded at the corpses. "Those part of the company you were looking for?"

"Aye, could be. A small squad left behind to send word of potential pursuits. If they were, you may have helped us a great deal, despite our sergeants words."

"I was passing by when I heard the screams," Eovaine said, shrugging. "I figured it was cultists but... bastards destroyed this place before I arrived."

The soldier grunted, baring his teeth. "Expect to find more of this. But if you truly want to help, there's some insane wizard gathering adventurers in Firen for, I suspect, an insanely dangerous mission. I'd advise against it, but you adventurers are madder than the Mad King, so." He shrugged and clapped him on the shoulder then walked past him to the girl, stepped on her corpse and pulled the arrow out of her and put it into his quiver and moved on.

Eovaine looked over at the boy. The crying had stopped replaced with a hollow mask. A mask he'd seen too many times. Steeling himself, he walked over and crouched in front of him, placing his hands on either side of his arms with a soft but firm grip. "Where are your ma and pa, little one?" He asked.

The boy pointed. 

Eovaine turned towards the ruined building he was pointing at, still burning with the roof caved in, billowing dark smoke. 

Well shit.

He turned back to the boy. "Do you have any remaining family? Some uncles or aunts perhaps."

The boy nodded.

"Can they take care of you?"

The boy stared at him blankly, giving no answer.

Eovaine sighed. "Alright well, how about you go to them? They'll take care of you, okay? Tell them to, shit, tell them to go to Lebethron. Might be the only safe place left in this world. Can you do that?"

The boy nodded.

"Good. Be off with you then."

The boy then looked towards the body as if questioning. 

Eovaine closed his eyes, looking down as he sighed. After a moment, "I'll take care of her," he said looking back up at the boy. "She's happy. Just know that. Wherever she is, she's far better off than the rest of us."

It wasn't the most comforting words, but he sucked at this sort of shit. Eovaine stood and watched as the boy walked off as though he were a corpse and prayed silently that the boy would forget this day if they survived the Mad King. Then, with a sigh he went into the smoking city where he found a spade and started digging until his arms were numb, then walked back, picked up the girl and put her inside and began filling the grave.

Once he was done, his face dripping with sweat and covered in soot, he looked down at the unmarked grave for a long moment. There would be none to remember her save for her brother and whatever few family members she had left. Poor thing died alone, at the hands of a cruel, misguided man. He had no words to give and so he turned and walked away from that fell hamlet.  Several days on the road had finally led him to what remained of the walls of Firen. Beyond, he could see buildings in ruins and bodies heaped on the ground in piles on the sides of the road. Near the walls, many of the bodies were soldiers and the deeper he walked more and more civilians replaced the soldiers until it was only a heap of men, women, and children, shocked and twisted faces looking in all directions.

He had become almost numb to the sights he was seeing and this was a subject of concern, but one that he had no mental capacity to tackle. Keep everything out. That's what he'd told himself over and over as he passed destroyed town after destroyed town. Death clung to him like a curse, or so it seemed, for no matter where he went he saw it. And the pain of doing nothing stabbed at him with every corpse he passed by until he learned to stop looking, to stop caring. It was the only way he could live with himself without going insane. Either kill his own soul and free himself from seeing all the destruction around him or end up killing himself.

Eovaine knew many who had to face such decisions in their lives, and until this moment he never really understood why they had gone so far as to place a wall between themselves and the world. Most of them opting for a wall of grim and sordid humour, each quip and joke as though to blunt the shock of what they had to see. And now he would follow in their footsteps.

It wasn't long until he walked into the Six Corners and found a ruined tavern and made his way inside, the smell of death and burnt wood strong enough to cause him to hesitate for a moment before walking over to the bar and grinning at the sordid figure behind it, wiping the counter despite the state of the place. 

"So. You got any pie back there?"
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