Snippet #1478623

As the sun rose on this particular day, Duran felt a renewal in his confidence, every day since assignment to the Black Guard, Duran was trying hard not only to set a standard, but to exceed it. He had been practicing with his arms and armor training, as well as his magical potency and accuracy. He was a new person for all intent and purpose regarding the end to the Dragons and their reign of terror. This particular morning, he awoke with a great hunger shaking his stomach. He left his tent in order to take advantage of the new "rations" that he got with his promotion.

On the way, he heard screaming that seemed largely out of place in the camp. Upon investigation, Duran found Gilleas being torn apart; The penalty for his desertion was clear. It appeared as though The Legion had gone out of their way not only to find him, but to execute him in the camp where his former legion was staying. It was a grim message to everybody who was there. Duran winced at the sickening sound of his lower half being torn away, as his innards became quite the opposite. Duran tried to at least look Gilleas' remains over, if not to just be ready for what the coming battles would bring.

Duran thought it seemed like a waste, even if he was a coward. The dragons were intent on killing every other race, and here they were doing it for them. He could have at least been sold into slavery, or left out in the middle of nowhere to try and survive.

Suddenly a thought occurred. The dragons didn't just kill, they exterminated. They committed genocide with their magic. Dots were connected by lines, as the big picture came into view. He walked from the deserter, doing nothing but thinking.

"The first race killed by the Slaying Spell was the Dwarves...Or was it?"

---

Sarish was already awake. It was a habit of his to be up early; or at least earlier than the other person in the bed. As he slithered innocently towards the Mess Hall, he heard the screams of a man. He was very familiar with that sound, though he wouldn't be the first to admit such a thing. As he investigated the sounds, he only caught the last half of the execution, just in time to hear the executioner talking to Commander Grimsmirk.

"Captain. This man is a deserter. As you know, the punishment is death."

Sarish held back a smirk. It served him right. A man lived by his word, and if he could not keep his promises. or at least talk his way out of them, he deserved whatever fate he was dealt.

"What a waste of good blood," Sarish said quietly to himself as he made his way once more to the Mess Hall. The gore of the execution only served to make him hungrier. Suddenly, the rain began to fall, and Sarish gave a low hiss of disapproval, speeding up his pace.

---

Duran sat inside his tent after his meal, going through his things for something to write in. He successfully found a journal, and had to think for a moment about whether or not his ideas were worth the destruction of a tree. He decided that these were "Extenuating Circumstances," as he started to write his theories in Druidic, a language known only to druids. He was going to make sure that nobody but him would be able to read what he was writing, for better or for worse.