Thread: Ritual (xanaphia & CharmSnake)

They had come upon them quickly that afternoon but someone had seen them in the woods and roused the militia. Ragged they were with pitchforks, sticks, stones and determination, yet were no match for the invaders. The cavalry cut them down and captured the village within minutes, but victory did not come without a price. Jarren knelt at his comrade's side. Ragnar lay gasping erratic breaths as red blood soaked the dirt beneath him. He had taken a fork to his flank. Speak to me, he grabbed the injured man's jaw and demanded. Ragnar did not respond. Jarren stood and issued his orders. Save this man! Find him shelter and patch him up! Two soldiers picked the fallen warrior up by the arms. Aye, captain, said one of the men. You will not die here. Not here this way, Ragnar, he told his comrade solemnly as the soldiers held him up. I promise this. He was carried off into the nearest house. A few of the villagers had been able to flee. Those who had not were gathered in the square, encircled by armored mounts. Mostly mothers, children an elderly, as many of the young men had been slaughtered in the fight, the rabble clung to each other in tearful fear. Cavalry men in chain mail held their blades and bows at the ready, some eying the maidens deviously. Jarren approached to issue more orders. Odon, he called to his first sergeant, a man with long dirty hair from a receding hairline and a wispy beard to match. Odon was an ox of a man. Bring all provisions and booty that you can find out into the square. Aye, captain. Jax, he turned to one of his other sergeants, young and tall with a few days stubble. Aye? Find numbers to cook and mend for us. Lock the rest into houses until we know what to do with them. Jax nodded and set off to the task. The villagers whimpered and cried as they saw all of their possessions dragged out into the square, pottery, jewellery, clothes, blankets, furniture, musical instruments, talismans, then sacks of flour, jars of preserves, eggs and cream urns. The whimpers then became wails as the invading soldiers shouting and jostling at Jax's command roped the villagers together, right arm to right arm in lines of five or six and ushered them into selected ransacked houses. Jarren entered the hut where Ragnar was laid to be tended. The wounded man was unconscious, sweaty and his pulse raced. The dressings on his wounds were already soaked red. He may have punctured his bowel, perhaps even a kidney, and probably infected, said Karsin, the designated troop medic. Jarren stroked the unkempt strands of his once well-trimmed dark beard in contemplation. What will we do for him? the captain asked. There is nothing we can do, the medic responded. Nothing? What do you mean nothing? Jarren burst. This man led the charge at the battle of Vassa and raised the flag at Kai. We stood shoulder to shoulder at the siege of Bardacchia and did not fall! With an iron scowl he stared down the medic. He will live ! M'Lord, even with all the comforts and amenities of Valtarra, he would be lucky to last the night, Karsin explained. Only magic would be left for him. Then magic he will have! Jarren pounded his thick fist against the wall. This village has a shaman. Fetch him!