Orders (Closed Fic) [Complete]

The World outside the Grey Tower is a vast place.
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Locke
"The Path of Daggers"
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PC: Terric of the Salt Flat Sept of the Nakai Aiel
SC: Alric Aurella
TC: Nasrin Naceri

Orders (Closed Fic) [Complete]

Post by Locke » August 30th, 2016, 4:32 am

Cpt. Alric Aurella (Ridgecat Company)
Four years before coming to the Tower The square was empty. So was the rest of the village. Eerily so. It wasn’t silent though, as one would expect. The screams saw to that. So, many screams.

With torch in hand, Alric stared at the inn filled with screaming villagers. His stomach roiled at what he was about to do.

“Don’t bloody give me that look,” Alric snapped at the ash colored mare by his side.

The mare wickeder.

“No, I don’t need to be accused by a horse. I have to do it.” Striding purposely forward he raised the torch. The screams grew louder, more frantic. He could hear people beating on the walls and doors. It was no use. They were locked in. It didn’t matter though, they pounded their fists raw, desperate to escape their fate.

Tears streamed from his eyes as he touched the flame to one of the oil soaked piles of hey. “I’m sorry,” he tried to yell. It came out more like a piteous squeak. He continued is circuit around the inn, lighting each pile of kindling. He hated Lord Mindellin for this. More so, he hated himself.

The smoke intensified as the building caught fire. Alric watched alone, save for an accusatory horse. For the rest of the day, and into the evening, Alric stood, staring at the flames screams haunting him long after the last ember died out.
Last edited by Locke on October 5th, 2016, 8:58 pm, edited 4 times in total.
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Locke
"The Path of Daggers"
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Joined: April 13th, 2016, 5:21 pm
PC: Terric of the Salt Flat Sept of the Nakai Aiel
SC: Alric Aurella
TC: Nasrin Naceri

Re: Orders (Closed Fic)

Post by Locke » August 30th, 2016, 4:33 am

Earlier that morning. Alric sat awkwardly perched on the back of a grey mare. Her name was Nightwind or some such nonsense. He’d have marched along with his men, but Lord Mindellin had special orders. Alric road in a knot with the Lord, his attendants and aids, and another company officer, Lord Delwind, a landless noble. Their infantry companies marching along behind them, pikes and halberds held high. Delwind was a fine enough sort, for a landless noble, but Mindelline and his hangers on were human refuse. Alric still wondered why High Lord Damodred let them stay around. Maybe that was why they were off on this mission so far from the main action.


Turning his attention back to his Commanding Officer, he didn’t know whether to laugh or gag at the title, Alric caught the end of one of Mindelline’s famed tirades. Tantrums seemed more accurate though. “The Tairens come here for leave,” he was saying in a petulant wine, “The people here give them succor and the whores hear spread their legs for the High Lords and their men. These Tairen dogs need to be taught a lesson.”

Alric didn’t like where this was going. He’d heard Mindelline angry before, but he’d never seen this level of venom. The target of the Lord’s ire was a small village near the border of Tear. Too far off the beaten path to be a supply depot, according to spies, it had become a favored location for soldiers on leave thanks to its proximity to the front. His misgivings intensified as they drew nearer to the village. It was a flyspeck town without even a wall. Coming here had no strategic advantage.


Halted on a rise to the north east of the town, Mindelline began ordering his captains, “You two, Delwin, Aurella. Take your men and force all the villagers into the inn,” he concluded, voice a petulant snap.

“Yessir,” Delwin said, suppressing a frown and wheeling his horse around to meet with his men.

“Understood,” Alric said before turning his horse away in a much clumsier manner.
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Locke
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PC: Terric of the Salt Flat Sept of the Nakai Aiel
SC: Alric Aurella
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Re: Orders (Closed Fic) In progress

Post by Locke » September 9th, 2016, 4:38 am

The village was taken with very little resistance. A handful of the men of the village attempted resisting, but were promptly clubbed down with halberd butts. Alric watched in grim silence as Sergeant Demoux bandaged Howie Piet’s shoulder, making sport of the young man all the while. A farmwife had apparently ambushed him with a kitchen knife while he cleared the house. Apart from a few bruises from scuffles with locals, Piet’s shoulder was the most serious injury among the two companies.

Normally this would have been cause to celebrate, but Alric knew the orders he had to give would quickly put a damper on the soldiers’ ebullient mood. Ridgecat Company and Delwin’s Blackhawk Company stood guard over the villagers as they huddled in the village green. A look of fear or anger was painted on each face. Mothers clutched their children to their skirts. Somewhere, a baby was crying.

Alric and Delwin leaned against the side of a horseless cart, surveying their soldiers’ work. They turned in unison at the thunder of hooves. It was bloody Lord Mindelline. With a contemptuous curl to his lip, he looked down at the two men and said, “Once these peasants are in the inn, put it to the torch.” Pressing a scent box to his nose, he wheeled his mount about and rode off to rejoin his guards and aids. Alric entertained a brief fantasy of knocking the box away from his face with a well-placed slap.

Voice low, Alric turned to Delwin and said, “Have your men forage for supplies, and form up to the north of the town. My men will join you.”

The young nobleman gave Alric a stern look, “Don’t forget yourself, Aurella.”

“This is for your own good,” Alric said, stomach twisting. He’d known this was coming. He’d known since they’d seen the village over the horizon.

Delwin swallowed and gave an awkward bob of his head, “You don’t have to do this you know.”

“Yeah, I do. Mindelline will hang anybody who disobeys, and my men don’t need this on their conscious,” he held up a hand to forestall any argument, “Neither do yours. Get out of here, my company will join you.”

Relief battling concern on his face, Delwin turned to leave, shouting orders to Blackhawk Company.

Once Delwin’s men had withdrawn from the green, Alric leapt onto the back of the wagon and began to give orders, “Get them into the inn, all of them.” He could let the women and children go right? No. The children? He could couldn’t he? No, where would they go? If he didn’t carry Mideline’s orders out, word would get back. He’d hang. Nobody would believe that his men hadn’t been involved either. Keeping a quaver from his voice, he continued, “Pile wood and hay around the inn once you’ve barred the doors. Gather several barrels of lamp oil here on the green.” He could feel the bread and beans he’d eaten that morning fighting to come up. It had to be done. His men just didn’t have to be the ones to do it. “Then withdraw. Form up with Blackhawk Company and march back to camp.” He’d handle things here.
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Locke
"The Path of Daggers"
Posts: 906
Joined: April 13th, 2016, 5:21 pm
PC: Terric of the Salt Flat Sept of the Nakai Aiel
SC: Alric Aurella
TC: Nasrin Naceri

Re: Orders (Closed Fic) In progress

Post by Locke » October 5th, 2016, 6:14 pm

Alric stood torch held high, back straight. Don’t lose resolve now, he steeled himself to do what he needed to do. Somebody had managed to pry a window open. A woman reached her arm through. A child’s arm followed.

“Please, let my daughter go,” she shouted above the panicked screams.

Feet leaden, he stepped around to see the woman. Raising his torch, he could see a terrified woman, reaching out, pleading to him. Curly brown hair brushed the shoulders of her red dress. She clung to a small child, a girl of maybe five or six. Maybe, just maybe he’d be able to let them go. No. He already knew what would happen. She watched him with tragically beautiful brown eyes. He could feel her fear and regret. Her voice was growing weak, but he could read her lips, “My daughter please.”

Maybe if he was a better man. Maybe if he wasn’t such a coward. He was just a conscript. He could put his life on the line, free these Tairens. He’d hang. That hadn’t changed. Alric slowly lowered his torch to touch the kindling. He was a coward and he knew it. He slowly walked around the building, lighting fires.

He could just ride off. The job was done. Why did he stay? He watched as flames licked up the walls and smoke billowed from the roof. After an eternity of staring, the screams began to cut off. The lucky ones would succumb to the smoke. If it could be called luck.

He bent over in a violent coughing fit as the wind blew smoke his direction. He straightened tear making tracks down his cheeks. Tears continued to fall as the roof collapsed in with a crash and a wave of heat and ash. Nightwind whinnied and nickered until Alric absently reached up to lay a hand on her snout.

It was late in the afternoon and the last remnants of fire had begun to burn out. He didn’t know why, but he’d had to stay. He put one foot in front of the other in a daze and walked into the wreckage. Below the ever-present smell of charred wood, he could smell cooked meat and burned hair. The ground was still hot. He kicked is way through ash that had once been parts of the building. Blacked limbs stuck up from the ash, and bodies crowded together. At the sight of a tiny, charred forearm, he went to his knees heaving.

“Mindellin killed you,” he said in a ragged voice. He rolled over into a sitting position. “Bloody coward. If you want somebody dead, do it yourself!” he yelled at the sky.

Alric stood over the pitiful soldier, looking down at him in contempt. “Just following orders. You had a choice. You chose your own skin. You’re the Light forsaken cowered.”

He rolled onto his side in the ash and continued retching. Wiping his mouth Alric looked up at the immaculately dressed soldier and said, “If I didn’t he would have had somebody else do it.” He curled in upon himself as his body was wracked by dry heaves and sobs. “My men didn’t need to be involved.”

He huddled in the ashes for another hour until the sun was well and down. Staggering to his feet Alric pushed past the sharply dressed officer towards his horse. Awkwardly he clambered onto Nightwind’s back and began to ride. He could always ride off somewhere, anywhere. Maybe go back to Mayene. No, he was already a murderer. He wouldn’t also become a deserter. Alric set off back towards camp. His men still needed him.
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