|
The small village looks like so many in the Dukes land.
On and two story buildings circling a commen square.
Here a blacksmiths shop, there and inn.
At one time it was a prosperous place with a clean comfortable feeling.
Now the windows are all nailed shut, there is a sense of fear and desperation to the place.
Drawing to the center of the village where the smoke is rising the party stares in horror.
In the commens at the center of the village is a large pyre. The smell is a cross between a weekend barbeque and rotting flesh.
The flames do little to hide the bodies that have been piled on the fire.
There are a dozen villagers all armed with an assortment of field tools as weapons.
From the inn a young woman in torn, blood spattered clothes uses ropes to drag the headless form of a large man.
Slowly she pulls the dead body across the square, waving off any offer of help.
With strength beyond her looks she rolls the body into the fire.
|