The smell of war was always a bitter tang in the air.
The scent of iron and fear lingered in the chill bite of the winter breeze, and the undercurrent of smoke only grew stronger as fires began to flare.
By Aric's command, the Byzeth soldiers marched into the settlements, dragging families from their homes before promptly setting the houses ablaze. Men pleaded for their families, women pleaded for their children, and the little ones could only cry and scream, adding to the symphony of disaster as their homes crackled in flames.
The dark winter night was painted orange by fire, and as Aric gazed upon the chaos he had wrought, his dark mask glowed gold with the flames reflected upon it.
He could hear the screams of the community and their desperate pleas, but he remained indifferent, his heart and mind as cold as the winter wind that bit through the steel of his armor.
