| |
As the Eye of Haugar watches over us
His heroes march into glory
Ever victorious we march in his honor.
We pay our tribute in the blood of our enemies.
The singing from the soldiers echoed into the night as they marched towards the villages and towns of quivering Sauranian families. Their song falling in step with their footfalls on the scorched fields of abandoned farms. The once fertile soil turning into nothing more than sterile mud as wagons filled with salt followed the army. White granules falling upon the ground instead of life-giving rain, bringing only the promise of death for the future. The rainy season would not come for another few moons, so the world would remain on fire a while longer. By that time, it would be too late. Half the population would have succumbed to disease, the other half starvation. Those were the rules of war and conquest. Weaken the people in order to keep them from rebelling after a year. Keep them living in fear by reminding them of what you can do. Every father not coming home, every harvest failing, and every child born because of rape and reminder of the day Saurania fell to the mighty claw of Haugar.
That day. In the final days of the invasion. When they quelled the final vestiges of resistance. When the border forts in the north fell. When he climbed to the top of Signal Hill, sword clasped firmly in his bloody hands, he made his decision. Several days had passed since the fall of the Sauranian capital and the invasion felt more like a formality.
“Stamp out the final pockets,” the King had commanded.
The small island kingdom had fulfilled its destiny in a haze of arrows, steel, and blood. They had orders to weed out the last remnants of the Saurainians hiding in various village areas. To pacify every last man, woman or child, no matter what race they might be. Luckily for the haugarians, the ancients rarely engaged in the matters of humans. They tolerated the silly notions of borders or empires as long as it did not interfere with their own constructs or conflicts. It made the invasion easier.
“So falls the great kingdom of Saurania,” [cousin] walked up to Prolur and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Haugar is truly with his people today. With his blessing we are unstoppable.”
Prolur stuck his sword into the muddy ground and leaned on it. Weary from the rigors of battle. His chest plate starting to feel uncomfortably tight, as if the neck hole was beginning to close in around his throat, making it difficult to breath. He removed his helemt and wiped the sweat from his brow, leaving a crimson handprint on his forehead. Blood and perspiration intermingled and ran down his face, through his facial hair and found its to his lips. He nearly gagged at the taste of salty copper.
His unit had swept in like a juggernaut, hitting the minor villages in the northern territories hard, burning and pillaging, torturing and raping. The northerners proved more resilient than the other Sauranians. They met his army head on, were beaten back by the superior force, then stood fast several miles later. Every single time, the same pattern, until they stood back at the border towers. The final stand. Prolur and the other generals ordered evry single home, farm and field ruined as they approached the four towers. The last stand became nothing more than a slaughter.
He stood watching thatched roofs burning amidst women weeping and children crying, allowing his sword a moment's respite as crimson liquid coagulated on the blade. As the sun set, coloring the sky red to match the ground, he saw people’s existence altered forever. In that moment he decided he needed to change as well. The general turned away from the chaos and walked away. The singing of soldiers still ringing in his ears.