It had taken over a month to reach Thater. Careful talk, careful movement. Rask wasn’t sure what to do after The Incident, and after a few days of aimless wandering, Thater seemed like the right place to go.

Thater was gone. Rask had barely been able to cobble together a lean to with his tarp and the poles he was able to salvage from the old stable. Practice kept him warm more than the fire. Rask tried to remember what had happened to Yon and Brude, Sten and Myrsky. There had been goblins and orcs with deep red scars on their faces. Three red stripes. Then so many goblins. Thater survived that onslaught, but not this one.

Two nights ago, or was it three? No, it had been a week or maybe fortnight since the road wardens had told Rask that Thater had been overrun, destroyed roughly a year ago, a full turn of the seasons and then some. Rask vaguely recalled the rumors, savage creatures from the Horde. According to the road wardens, there were some refugees from Thater at the Copper Hills Fort, others had been with the army closer to Middlebar, and some of the survivors had been taken by slavers, the Dark Hand.

Rask had wandered through the ruins of Thater, of his childhood home. Joining the Raidensblud, Aedelfrid’s Army, Aegir’s Army, Raiden’s Army, had seemed like the right thing to do after the goblin attack. The best way to protect Thater, his mother, Papa Fellmar, and the other from the savage beasts of the Horde. Myrsky had his… forest connections, and Rask had his connections in the army. It may have technically have been re-joining, but the commitment was more… real. More solid. It wasn’t about his father, it was about his family. His homeland. Thater had been attacked, and there would be payment in kind for the transgression.

Rask practiced his forms in the old militia gathering space. In the yard where he and Sten used to practice together. Ursill, the First Eye, had given Rask the Blade of the Betrayers, an honor and priceless gift from the Greatest Warrior of Aegir, and leader of Aedelfrid’s most powerful army. Rask had become one of Aegir’s finest weapons. One hundred enemies of Aegir had fallen to his blade. How many hundreds more had fallen since? Thousands?

When Ursill bestowed the ancient elven blade upon on Rask, the First Eye had Intoned that Rask, the soldier, the death commando, could wield the terrible relic against the enemies of humankind who had forged it. Enemies fell to the blade, that was certain, hundreds more, perhaps even thousands. But no elves.

The Fire set Rask free. It had been easy to take orders, easier than thinking about who’s brother, who’s son, who’s lover was on the other end of his sword, dying. It had been easy to to enjoy the challenge of the fight, the thrill of winning. Accepting the accolades was easier than thinking about the humanity of his victims.

Rask couldn’t really remember what happened. He didn’t want to. There had been flames, but nothing actually burned. There was fighting. He had taken a blow to the head, and some minor cuts. In the end, the officers, his handlers, in their small encampment were all dead and Rask was done fighting for Aedelfrid. Done killing because someone ordered him to. Everything had changed, it was not longer easy not to think about It.

It had taken over a month to reach Thater. Careful talk, careful movement. Rask wasn’t sure what to do after The Incident, and after a few days of aimless wandering, Thater seemed like the right place to go. Thater was gone. Its people taken by the Dark Hand.