Days To Remember

[Bruzog]

The day had been uneventful for the three De Jardin scouts as they spied upon the lands of House Royce. Carefully they’d made their discreet foray into enemy territory, taking notes on patrols, towns, civilian populations and potential targets for the coming conflicts. A man named André was the head of their group, stout but swift. He was accompanied by a man called Charles and a woman named Elise.

The sun began to set on them as they traveled a ways off the trail, never close but never far from it should the opportunity to sow discord arrive with passersby. But for now it was time to make camp. They ventured deeper into the wilds, finding a small bluff to shelter them against the wind and prying eyes.

“Elise, get a fire started no?” André said to her, then turning to Charles spoke “And you see about some food, my belly aches!” he said with a chuckle before he started getting their bedrolls readied.

The evening faded into night as the trio sat around the fire, Elise warming her hands while Charles finished his third bowl of stew.

“Leave some for the rest of us” Elise said, smacking Charles as he stood up, the both of them chuckling as André inhaled deeply from his short stem pipe.

“I’ve had my fill, for now though I must relieve myself of my troubles” he said, the other two knowing he was heading off to piss. Elise rolled her eyes and stood, heading in the opposite direction.

“Where are you off to then?” André said with a small cough from the smoke he was exhaling.

“To get more wood for the fire, unless you wish to spend the rest of tonight in the dark” Elise said, André nodded and took another drag from his pipe.

The night was cooler but somehow still humid, the ground damp under Charles feet as he wandered further from the campsite. He staggered slightly here and there, having partook too heavily in the comfort of his wineskin during supper, squinting as he sought a private place to go. After a short walk further he found a broad old tree to offer him some discretion. He planted his feet wide and sighed as he reached for his belt, but he never got that far. From behind him a hand grabbed his jaw firmly, smothering the screams that could not escape his mouth, but those too fell short as a sharp pain was drawn across his throat. The hands that so harshly took hold of him now gently laid him out on the forest floor like one would lay their sleeping child down to rest. As his vision faded, the last thing he saw was a hint of reddened steel gripped in a clawed fist.

André let out a long torrent of smoke, a faint uh uh uh sound emanating from his lips as he tried to blow out rings. He’d never been able to master it. He sighed and looked out into the forest across from him, watching the stars through a gap in the trees. For a moment, just one faint moment, he thought the stars disappeared and the sky was a bit lighter of a blue, but in the time it took to blink and refocus everything was as it should be. ‘Strange’ he thought to himself.

Elise had compiled a modest bundle of sticks, good kindling but nothing robust enough to feed the coal bed overnight. She looked a little further but found only a few spindly branches broken off by the recent storms. The earth squelched with each step, laden with rainwater, but soon in the moonlight she spotted a sizable chunk of wood. She chuckled triumphantly as she reached down and seized it, but to her surprise it felt… angled? She looked at it with confusion, but as she realized it was a cut piece of firewood that shouldn’t be out here she also noticed the faint squelching sound of foot steps behind her. She turned too late and was met with a sharp pain that took her breath, she gasped but couldn’t breath and fell silent to the muddy earth.

André wondered to himself what was taking Charles so long, he hoped he hadn’t passed out from the wine like last week. As he carefully reloaded his pipe to continue his after dinner leisure, he heard a swampy plap far off to his left in the woods. That’s where Elise had gone to, he desperately hoped she dropped something into the waterlogged ground, but that sounded like a greater sound than a piece of wood would make. He stood slowly, reaching slowly to his belt until he grasped his swords grip. He spun and drew his blade when a branch creaked behind him, something rustling the underbrush as it ran past.

“Show yourself, you cur!” he cursed out, but there was no response.

“Elise!” he yelled out, but again silence.

“Charles, come quickly!” he cried out, but there was nothing once more.

Across from him in the edge of the woodline, where the firelight barely touched the darkness he saw them. Two eyes glowing like a beasts but at the height of a man, he stammered as he struggled to speak but went silent as the sweat rolled down his brow and the light caught the pointed teeth of the creature as it let out a low growl. Without realizing it, he had started to back away slowly, and he realized so too did the other being as it slipped back into the shadows.

He ran, his breaths ragged as he tried to lose whatever was here pursuing him. Branches bashed and battered as thorns cut at him as he went, stumbling he barely caught himself against a wide old tree.

André turned this way and that, the darkness spiraling around him as he searched for his comrades. His chest felt heavy and tense and the sweat permeated his tunic and dampened his palms making his grip uneasy. He shuddered in short succession following the snap of a twig, staggering backwards. He cried out as he suddenly found himself falling backwards as he tripped far outside of the fire’s light. He rolled over and furrowed his brow as his eyes tried to focus in the dark. Whatever he tripped on was pale, near the top, and… hairy? He had reached out and touched it, details slowly coming into shape, he recoiled with the horrifying realization that what had felled him was once his friend Charles.

His hand grasped at the oblong base of a young tree as he crawled along the inky expanse of the forest floor, but under his grip it shifted and he realized it was no trunk at all. He slowly rose his gaze from the boot under his hand and the last thing he saw illuminated by the distant campfire’s light were a pair of eyes burning with a hatred hotter than any flame and the gnashing, piercing teeth of a monster.

The sun began to rise on a new day and the town of Meadowmere began to stir. The well was cranked, a bucket dipped and brought back up. Rising early wasn’t unusual, but it had become more common with political climate in the land weighing on everyone’s minds of late. Bruzog stood alone in the dawn light, washing his hands in the bucket he’d placed atop a barrel.

“Morning!” a citizen said to him as they emerged from their dwelling.

“Good morning” he said in his low, gravely voice.

He dried his hands on his tunic and dumped the bucket on the ground. As he walked away, the water swirled with a tinge of red that was silently swept away by the absorbing earth. As if nothing ever happened.

[Bruzog]

Bruzog started his day as he normally did, making his rounds around Meadowmere to make sure everything was as it should be. He took count of everyone he saw, checking off a list he kept in his head of all the citizens. Anyone who he couldn’t account for he would ask around about and ascertain if they were about or had gone abroad(many of his constituents liked to wander and quest). After that he would take an early meal, frying up some beef he’d been saving with some sliced apple(for flavor, he was a consummate carnivore by nature), and some cheese he’d been given.

He sat in a chair under a tree, watching the goings on, occasionally answering a question from someone in passing. It was a good day, not as hot after the rain but complaints about the humidity were on the rise. He’d have to ask Raine if perhaps he could put his icy gifts to use to alleviate those woes, perhaps in the tavern. He finished his breakfast and set about his work.

He started with working towards the palisades he’d been wanting to erect around the town. He draped his his leather jerkin and robe over a low tree branch and took up his axe. He’d been gathering cut poles for some weeks now, and now it was time to ready them. He put them in a vice and then made four hacks each turning a dull end into a four sided point ready to be driven into the ground. He kept at this until noon and went to wait out the heat of the day indoors.

This is when he usually took complaints and concerns, someone tripped in a Johnny hole(some said it was a badger’s doing but Bruzog was convinced Johnny was still digging hither and thither), Aikenn had field dressed a deer and left the entrails by the path, some beast had made off with someone’s lunch and other such things. He took the time to hydrate and encourage others to do so as well, and then set about dealing with these issues. First he grabbed a shovel and filled the holes, then went about scooping up the guts with the aforementioned tool, and then gave the lunch thief forty wacks with it(a giant bug of some sort, he turned what was left of it over to Willow). As the heat began to wane and the sun began to lower, it was time for his other tasks.

Namely he would gather firewood, he liked to make sure there was a large and ready supply available for anyone to take from near the town’s center. He’d then go on to check his traps and forage for edible plants and fungi(he happened upon a great sum of blackberries and filled a bucket, and caught a young boar in a heavy neck snare). He felt if his people went to bed cold or hungry he wasn’t doing right by them. Afterwards he took a short leave to the creek to bathe. The water was cold but refreshing as he washed his face and hair. Once clean he sat on the bank for a time combing his hair and beard, thinking about the day and what should be done tomorrow and the next. He thought about the war and the ultimatum that was delivered to him by Jon Pierre. He wondered if he’d made the right decision choosing to stand against him. Things were different now, not everyone was a warrior and he was not a the leader of a warhost anymore. He was just a man trying to keep a community safe. And maybe that meant being ready to lead them away from war instead of into it.

He redressed and headed to the tavern as dusk began to settle as the day was coming to a close. It was good to spend the evenings with his friends and fellow citizens. Hearing their tales and troubles over food and drink was how he liked to end his day. Hearing them, that’s what was important to him. He stayed for several hours before bidding them all a good night. He took one last lap around the town before retiring for the night. Settling into bed he stared at the ceiling for a long time, rest had not come easy to him of late.

He read for some time, each page becoming harder than the next until finally the book slipped from his hand and sleep fell over him in a warm embrace.

[Bruzog]

Bruzog stalked through sporadic gouts of smoke, the ground beneath his feet crumbling ash. He watched ahead as an Imperial war dragon made a strafing run. It flew high overhead, wheeling around and swooping low as it unleashed a torrent of flame through the enemy legions. Each slow, powerful flap fueled the flames it spewed forth. The smell was overwhelming. Ash choked the scream filled air, bodies and armor smoldering in the indescribable heat of the beast’s hateful fires.

He watched as it careened upwards against its own weight as it reached ever higher elevations. As if it could not get worse, as it reached its desired altitude it turned in a wide arch back towards the survivors and those seeking to aid the wounded. As it soared overhead, the trio of riders worked to unlatch their quarrels. As they reached the drop point they let them fly.

Shrieking through the sky flechettes of iron rained down on those few remaining soldiers of the enemies forward assault. Those remaining were shredded and reduced to pieces strewn about a fresh hell of the making of men.

A series of harsh blasts cracked through the air, a succession of Dwarven Cannons firing one after the other. The dragon roared as its left wing was pierced. It wobbled off kilter, leading itself inadvertently into the rest of the cannon fire. No one would expect such a shrill sound to come from such a titanic monstrosity, shattered ribs and rent flesh watered the fields with blood as it plunged ever lower to its ultimate demise. The furrow it left in the earth was treacherously deep and filled with a carnage of its own, broken bodies were its herald.

The battle had gone on like this for two days, an open field of untold horrors. A month of attrition lead to these sorrowful days, erratic skirmishes and entrenched defenses against them waged back and worth for twenty-seven days prior to the bulk of the two forces arriving and engaging each other in open warfare. He knew he could not linger here any longer and set forth to regroup or seek shelter(whichever came first).

Each step he took compacted under his weight, the mail swinging on his arms as he stumbled down an incline. His hand recoiled as he caught himself, the ash was fresh and what lie beneath was naught but a bed of shallow coals eager to harm the unwary.

The smoke thickened and mingled with the dust from the great reptile’s landfall, stirring around everything in offset gusts. One moment you could see the next you were blocked off or enveloped. He staggered from one patch of clarity to the next, trying to differentiate the sounds from all directions. Screams echoed distantly, here and there all around the clattering of armor rang out, muffled by the raging flames bored into the ground or enshrouding the twisted hulls of wagons and once proud warriors.

Another cannon shot split the air, deafening his acute hearing. His equilibrium was thrown untoward as he stumbled to his knees. He slid in the settled ash, the silence was pierced by a dire ringing as he clutched his piked ears.

He struggled to regain his bearings as he staggered upwards to his feet, trying to navigate the unpredictable wafts of obscuring soot. As he lurched through one he was greeted with the full force of another person. So focused on fleeing was this individual he hardly had time to notice the Orc aimlessly staggering towards him.

Bruzog recoiled and caught himself against the battered wreckage of a catapult, shaking his head to fight the delirium he was ensnared by. His wits were returning in some semblance, a spike in adrenaline bringing focus to his reaching mind.

Eyes met and assessments were hastily doled out. A young man stood, frightened, sword in hand albeit shakily. He could be no more than twenty years, his hair hung in sweaty tendrils down to his shoulders. He looked half present as if there was a part of him that would never return after the things he’d seen on this cursed field of death.

Bruzog’s grip on his resting place slipped and the sudden movement instigated an unsteady response. The boy stabbed at him but fell far of a killing blow, the Orc falling backwards with an inappreciable gash to his side. Hand over hand he crawled back and away as fast as he could, the look of fear from his adversary now one of malicious intent. It was not a truly hateful intent, simply one’s misplaced anger protecting them from their own fear.

He’d lived through too much to let this be his demise, this day, the one before, and all the years that lead to this moment in time couldn’t end like this. He wouldn’t be another body laden with a thickening layer of ashfall. The lad raised his sword to strike downwards but was met with an expeditiously swiped handful of balled ash. The lump erupted into a great plume in the face of the man, Bruzog taking the opportunity to sweep his attacker’s legs out from under them.

It had quickly escalated to a deathly grapple as the two young soldiers clutched at each other. Hands turned merciless by desperate need clenched around the Orc’s neck, stifling his breath. Bruzog’s vision blurred from the pressure and the impactful reduction of his circulation, his hands urgently grasping for anything. His hand steadied at the touch of cold iron, then texture of wrapped leather, tightening his hand around the familiar grip of his belt knife.

His version was turning from a blur to encroaching blackness when he lashed out, awkwardly stabbing wherever he could until his lungs swelled with ragged intakes as breath returned to his body and clarity to his mind. He fell to one side as the man rolled away holding his bleeding arm. Bruzog coughed and choked, turning over to see his adversary scrambling towards their far flung sword. He reached out and dug his claws in deep, the nails biting into the flesh of their calves, pulling himself on top of his enemy. He pinned the humans reaching hand with his own and with his other plunged his knife deep, with a resignation he pushed deeper clenching his eyes whilst trying to block out the stifled sounds of pain that couldn’t truly escape the blood filled lungs of his foe, the quiet horror filled his ears and tore at his heart.

After a long moment silence settled.

[Bruzog]

Bruzog woke in a cold sweat, ragged breaths escaping parched lips as the dogged summer heat permeated the tepid night. Some small sum of moonlight crept through his window, shedding a small amount of light in a small room. He watched the dust filter through the silvery blue light. The book he had been reading lay open on the floor where it had fallen. His heart beat in his chest, rapid but steadily coming back to pace as his surroundings sank in.

Being plagued by unsavory dreams was nothing new to him, but his unconscious mind rarely recounted his younger days. His wife and children, his eldest brother’s death, those were normal for what hunted him in his restless sleep, but this time was different. It was a day he would never forget. The death, destruction, the dragon’s fire….

The day he saw war for what it really was.

[Author]

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