And the bodies before him lay scattered;
beaten, broken, all but obliterated. The village
now nothing more than a graveyard of what
once was. But nothing lasts forever, and the
world will move on caring little if they survived
or not. The world truly is a cruel place live.
The festering sussurus lingers ’pon the barest edges of perception, the yawning maw of death hovering thereupon yonder village, a macabre shroud. Continuing her search ceaselessly, there’s naught but sanguine stains and the reek of slaughter to meet her shielded gaze. Repugnant, ’tis beheld, scorn marking her visage thenceforth, lips curled and umber brows forming a mask for starless eyne. None had survived, save for the lone figure to which virulent steps make their approach, blade drawn from its scabbard with a hiss of metal. Erelong, footfalls draw to a close, a reproachful gaze focuses on HIM; and, were it to heal the damage dealt, her sword would have been swung true and justice would be wrought, but the mercenary stays her hand, if but so this wretch can behold her fury.