[Calaethis Dragonsbane]

Rivet smirked to himself. Today was turning out to be a good day. The bounty had been less plentiful than the last, but he had acquired something far more valuable then mere silver. Perhaps not as valuable as gold, but definitely worth the cost of silver - silver he would have spent on whoring or wine anyway.
The potter's daughter shied back; he smiled. He liked that. Not the most buxom of wenches, but she was young. Not so young she couldn't be considered a woman, but she had been inexperienced. Was inexperienced. Her old man shrank back into the corner after steel had been drawn, after he had burst into their house, and faced with the offer of losing his life, his home and his daughter, or simply his daughter... her pleas to spare her father's life won over any fatherly attention. After all, the old man could do little anyway. And so, he had stayed, hidden away, while the rest of the village burned - those that resisted, at least, and he, Rivet, had his first woman of the war. She would remain with him until he tired of her, or someone else took him. No one was likely to mess with him; he had a mean reputation after all. She was a pretty enough thing; dark hair, dark eyes... slight. She'd been too scared even to scream. He might have liked a little resistance, but submission held its own allure. He might even spare her old man for it. Licking his maws, he turned back to his prize.
Pulling the woollen blanket to her chin, she pressed back against the stone hut. The hunger in his eyes only increased as he reached for her. As he raised his hand, the scream died before it could begin. His smile widened, and he seized her.


Outside, the lieutenant shook his head. What a wasteful day. They had lost more men than they should have, and had only inflicted near equal damage. They would win, eventually, but his squad had taken serious causalities and claimed few heads for their own. Still, they obeyed, and as long as they did, they were spared the Commander's wrath. No one in their right mind would challenge him, or his elite guard. He had the most vicious, brutal thugs in the entire army. Worse than even the mercenaries he had been forced to associate with. Still, at least the men were loyal... until the fear, gold or plunder ran out. At least now they had women. He might have pitied the villagers, once. Once. That was before he himself had seen war reach his own town. After being recruited, everything changed. The strong ruled the weak. That was the way of the world. Wheeling his steed, he nudged it across the broken cobblestones of the square towards the tavern. His men would be have their fun, and he was expected to join them - or join the other officers. There would be time for both. He heard that the men had saved a comely wench for him. If he didn't like her, or grew tired of her, he would hand them over to them - as they hoped. He had taught them it was best to tithe the cream of the spoils. After all, that was his due - and his men knew to appease him. As long as he was happy, he would ensure they were happy. A mirthless smile touched his lips. Despite the recent setbacks, the war was going well. The men had not grown fat on the spoils yet - and as long as he kept their appetite wet, they would not.
His horse neighed its agreement. It too, desired only the best. Tonight, it would have oats. Oats and barley mead alike. He would drink wine. Absently, he wondered if the mayor's daughter was the beauty the men claimed. If she was, he may just keep her; trophies always inspired his followers. Trophies and glory. He would add this town's banner to their collection. Huzzah for the Commander.