Snippet #1610617

He'd been enjoying a good meal in his tent when his Orcish advisor, Brulan walked in.

"Sir," the burly orc bowed.

Jager took a deep drink from his flagon of ale. "What news do you have, Brulan?"

"You may want to finish your meal first, sir." Even though Brulan had a reputation for being stoic, he looked uncomfortable. That was what worried Jager.

"No, deliver the news to me now. I won't mind."

"Very well, sir." The orc took out a canvas sack that was dripping ... blood? Jager instantly regretted not finishing his meal, but he had no appetite now anyway.

Brulan opened the bag and Jager motioned for him to come closer. The orc held the bag open.

A severed head was inside. Or at least, Jager thought it was a head, because its face had been so horribly mutilated that its features were almost completely unrecognizable.

"Who ... Brulan, who is that?" Jager asked, forcing back bile.

Brulan took a look at the head, frowning. "I think ... I think it's Fiorin. Or Rhurin. No, it's Fiorin. The remaining ear looks pointed."

"How did this happen? How ...?" the mercenary commander was unable to speak, and managed to gesture weakly at the head. Fiorin. He knew that boy, young for an elf and eager to join the Silverhawkes three years ago. The elf told him he'd been working to feed his younger sister; they'd been in poverty since their parents died.

"A courier came by, bearing the King's seal. Fiorin was sent on a scouting mission in the forests about two weeks ago, to check if there were bandits. He never came back."

Jager was quiet for a moment. "The King's seal, you say?"

"Yes sir. I've ... heard news that the King has been ... intolerant of non-humans."

"I see." Jager nodded slowly, like an old man. "You're dismissed, Brulan. Come by later and we'll talk. And give Fiorin ... what's left of him, a proper burial." Brulan bowed and left the tent, taking the severed, brutalized head of young Fiorin with him.

Even after he left, Jager kept seeing Fiorin's severed head, dripping blood, the remaining eye slack and blind, his face barely recognizable.

"What do you say, Jager?" he murmured to himself, swilling a bit of the ale. "Do you have the stones to rebel against the king?"