part 12: Trustworthy souls

Part 12: Trustworthy souls

It was early in the morning when the row of soldiers came in, a few women and old men shielded between them. The column of men moved slowly. Several of them were wounded, their arms, legs, heads bandaged with field dressings. There were distressingly few of them. Gerrig stood on the roof of the keep, and watched a few dozen of his men ride out towards the soldiers coming from Lieutenant Smith’s farm. His farm. News had come to him in the middle of the night. Farm and barracks razed, burning. Attack by Blackrock Orcs. Many men slain, the rest had fled over the empty fields, making for the castle. Lieutenant Joseph Smith was taking up the rear, sword in hand, surrounded by the last pikemen who weren’t hurt. A cart pulled by two horses rattled over the drawbridge, going out to fetch the wounded. Gerrig drew a breath, bowed his head, and went down to his workroom. Here we go again.

It seems the chickens have come home to roost. Damn it. If you can’t trust a butler who turns into a monster, or your friendly local Orcs, who can you trust?

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