Kris and Marek

Smoke hung in the air like thick black fog, swirling and spreading across the dense forest the small village was nestled in. A young girl sat curled up in the corner of the ashy burnt planks that were what remained of her home. Through tears and ash caked eye lashes she could make out the shapes of men working in the street. Some hauled bodies out of the way of carts and carriages while others rummaged through the few houses still standing.

They would be coming for her soon, she knew this, but fear and anguish locked her in place like some sort of spell. She pulled at her mind with all the will she could muster, but she was so small and so weak, so insignificant to these monsters. A wave of emotion crashed over her as the smell of burning herbs washed down the street and over the smoking houses. It was a familiar scent that would typically bring the young girl joy, but today only brought more anguish. Images of burning gardens flashed through her mind as a sharp pain stung her head.

What must have been only a few moments later she opened her eyes not realizing they had been closed. A strange aura hung in the air around her, the black and gray armored warriors in the street apparently oblivious to it. Quiet sniffling was all she could hear, the sound of crackling fires and men shouting fading away to nothing more than a whisper around her. The sniffling began to subside as the girl realized she had stopped crying; the tension came out of her chest and her legs straightened a bit as her body began to respond to the aura that hung much heavier around her now.

Footsteps sounded close by; a panic spiked in her chest as she whipped around to look through the burnt-out wall a few paces behind her. It was a man in dark tattered armor, dented and carved away nearly past the point of usefulness. He carried a heavy blacksmith hammer in one hand and a light chain in the other, like that of a necklace. She could see a small unrecognizable pendant attached to the end catching the light with small flashes as it swung back and forth lightly. The small girl stood up, she was not sure why, this man looked scarier than any she'd seen yet today and yet she was not afraid of him.

His boot thudded softly as he stepped into the shell of her home, ducking slightly to clear the new entrance. She could see him better now, there were sigils on his armor that the girl did not recognize, and he bled from several wounds including a deep cut on the right side of his forehead. He looked down at her with hard eyes, his face was handsome yet rough, a medium length beard covering a good portion of it. He gave a grunt before striding past her without saying a word, directly towards the warriors working just outside her home now.

"What's this" one of the men growled as he looked up.

"Quite a mess you've made" the newcomer said in a low tone "I am Marek, of the Iron Order."

There was a loud crack a moment later as Mareks hammer contacted the warrior’s head, followed by the loud clatter of armor on cobble stones. There were a few gasps of surprise but for the most part the warriors reacted well, taking up arms and charging in from several directions. He spun around to meet the first enemy, a lean man with a gray cloak trailing behind him and a chopping axe raised up high.

"Poor form" Marek said as he caught the haft with one hand and gave the man an overhead swing with the other.

The man's spine made a wet crunch as it shattered to pieces, another loud clatter and Marek was spinning again. The next man was battered to death without a word his blood running down the road from a shattered face. Marek gathered himself and wound up, throwing the hammer down the street into the next charging man. It took him in the throat immediately putting him on his back, with a disturbing gurgle the man kicked and flailed about, clutching at his crushed windpipe.

A sword found its way into Mareks scarred and weathered hand a moment later, taken off one of the many corpses that surrounded him. There were no more warriors charging now, either dead or too afraid to attack him, the charge held no more momentum. Something was happening though, a large man approaching from the end of the street, clad in much heavier armor and wielding a long maul.

"You don't look much like one of the mighty Iron order" the man boomed in an almost inhuman tone "I've taken enough of your heads to know" he went on, chuckling afterwards.

"Would that be why you command such a small unit lord of lies, a man of such statutory should lead armies" Marek stated, calling his bluff and noticing the remaining warriors placing themselves around him.

"DIE!" The man screamed, simultaneously taking several massive steps in Mareks direction.

Two of the warriors sneaking up on him were dead before they had a chance to raise their weapons. The sword whipped out, taking one in the throat and the other deep across the side of his bare head. Only a handful remained now, running head long into the meat grinder that was Marek, now that he had a proper weapon in hand. Four more bodies lay at his feet missing arms and heads with an assortment of deep cuts.

The leader halted, gazing around in astonishment at the carnage one man was able to generate in such a short time. Marek did not halt, ramming the sword through the man's armored chest was difficult but possible with enough force. A loud grunt sounded from both men, one of extreme exertion, the other the last breath of a dying man.

With a loud screech the sword was ripped clean from the armor before the massive man had hit the ground. Marek looked down at the body, how many warriors had he slain, never to know their names or their stories. He wondered if there had ever been a time he cared too, many decades of battle had left his earlier days fuzzy and unremembered. He grunted again, dismissing the thought and turning back down the street, best to leave such thoughts to priests and philosophers.

"You monster.... you didn't have to kill them" a shaky voice sounded from behind him.

It was the little girl; he had forgotten about her. Standing in the doorway of her destroyed home.

"What is your name little one" he grumbled.

"Kris" she croaked out, still staring down at the bodies.

"Well Kris, don't talk to me of morality or act as if you understand killing" he said in a slightly raised voice " if I hadn't then who would have? Now come there's work to do."

Kris gathered up a bag she had dropped at the sight of the carnage and began after him. Mareks heart grew heavy for a moment, no little girl deserves to see such horrors and lose so much.