Night Of Vengeance

In his tent sits Salex. Furs of multiple different animals decorate his temporary bedding with stolen tapestry covering the dirt. A stark difference between him and other deserters. A reward for when he led them out of peril.

"Do you know about the others that left?"

"No, you?

"I've heard some say they left to Shif. To become monks or some other spiritual nonsense."

"I always knew Tyr was more emotional than the normal man. But strangely him being a monk doesn't make sense. He's too... emotional?"

"Well, it's what Krystan said. Do with that what you will."

The two patrolling deserters continue to walk past Salex's tent. Now out of earshot, their clear words becoming intangible mutters in the distance. On the animal skin made bed, the leader takes out a small statue of a blinded woman. Flickers of flamer surrounding the body. Looking at the sky, he begins his prayer.

"Oh sun goddess, forgive me for my sin. Forgive my weakness and forgive me for straying from my path. May your light shine upon my dark future as I swear to you that I shall better my life." His head looks at the statue again before he puts it away. Hiding it beyond sight.

"May I enter?" The rough voice of Krystan asks as he already stepped inside the tent.

"What do you want?" Salex says as he stands up, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword. Keeping a distance between himself and the tent invader.

"I just wanted to say that I've taken care of the situation. The feared "judgement" will be dealt with." Krystan says before he walks closer, his eye's gaze on Salex's hand holding the sword.

"How?"

"That doesn't matter. However now that I've helped you. I can assume you to do the same?" Now standing next to Salex as he loosens his grip on the sword. "I need you to convince our men to attack Provokopjus soon."

"What? We have enough food. There is no need for such a thing." Salex says loudly without yelling, stammering backward as his heel hits the statue of Asariel. It falls past the rug, in clear sight. Krystan goes to pick up the statue, looking at it closely before looking at Salex again.

"I thought you didn't take anything. Since when did you start lying?"

"It wasn't important enough to mention." Salex replied as he reaches out the open palm of his hand. A grin appears on Krystan's face whilst he puts the statue in Salex's hand. Keeping a firm hold over the statue himself during this exchange.

"The gods are no longer here Salex. They don't give a shit about any of this." Krystan's grip tightens, his larger hand completely surrounding the small statue. "It's men like us that truly rule. The leaders, the strong. I want you to keep that in mind." Krystan lets go of Asariel's statue. Giving a smile before he leaves the tent. The slight swaying figure of Salex once again the only one in the tent. The man looks at the statue in his hand and walks outside. Trying to gaze at the night sky that's covered by the treeline. Only seeing a bit of it if he's lucky enough that both the clouds move aside and the trees have lost their hair. For a second Pyetar's purple light falls on him, for a second he could hear the voice of a man. In either the middle of a conversation or in the process of telling a story.

Salex reenters his tent and tosses the statue of Asariel aside. Still in armor, he drops onto the animal furs. Lying there unmoving, he finds on the gust of winds carrying thousands of fallen leaves distracting.

Ten gushes pass before he stands up, grabbing the nearest flask filled with something and pours it in his mouth. The cheap watery wine flowing through his throat. Emptying the flask in a few seconds. He tosses aside the flask and walks outside. Going toward the direction of the gamblers, ignoring the prayers and other sounds made in camp.

Muttering a mix of curses and prayer under his breath, he continues to walk. Finding only the sound of the crunching leaves that gather at his feet to accompany him.

'They were here right?' Salex asks himself as the noted silence takes him by surprise. The night had grown late, but the gambling deserters would more often than not continue even when the sun had long returned. Seeing the small campfire in the distance starting to lose its spark, Salex walks closer. Gulping often as his hearth beats like when he first entered battle. Awakened by that familiar smell that he often found on the battlefield. He reaches for the hilt of his sword, drawing it as he moves closer.

"Kraak!" Salex immediately swings his sword to the black feather bird that screeches. His sword not connecting as the crow flies of. Some other nearby following their fleeing companion that took to the sky. His eyes now scan the gambling pit. The remaining pieces of corpses are stacked upon each other, the bodies torn or beaten to a pulp. Salex lets the familiar stench of death enter his nostril as he continues to walk closer to the pile of corpses.

Behind him the bushes rustle, yet the wind stays quiet. Something large moved in the bushes. Salex turns around, looks at the sky, tosses aside his weapon and opens his arms to the sound closing in.

"I will follow your judgement, my holiness." He says still looking at the sky, Pyetar's purple light falling upon him. Playing the sound of iron clashing against each other as a large blue figure suddenly stands over him. A creature with six arms and blue skin. Roots and dirt a large extension of its body as nature weaves with flesh. The six arms grab him, 3 for each side as the creature tears him in half. Seemingly unable to stop, the creature continues to tear the body of Salex. Tearing the 2 large pieces into four, then, 8... Until it lost count. Having to satiate itself with the little it got.