As soon as the decision was made, the party went to their respective tasks. Sol, Cristal, and Hellas went westward whilst the stubborn grand duke was finally convinced to also travel westward. However instead of risking his life chasing soldiers who abandoned their honor and dignity, the noble and his two assigned party members were to travel to Outragjas, another town closer to the destination of Wra'thez. The capital of the grand duchy which they would have to enter to remain on the main road.
It's a long journey and crossing the forests which now house plenty of deserters and bandits did not seem to be an appealing option for the party.
***
A woman with her short brown hair runs through the forest. She breathes shaky and fast as leaves and twigs are crunched with each quick step she makes. Her empty scabbard dangles uncontrollably as she continues to run.
'It's near… It has to be near… Please let it be near.' She begs no one specifically, just with the idle hope of making her mental prayers come true. Rushing through another bush, it scratches her hands as she tears it to pieces as he runs past. A few more cuts for the near hundred she had already gathered during this escape. The familiar faces of the camp are now in sight, the hideout they made as she was sent to scout ahead.
"Help! For fuck's sake! Help!" The woman screams as her legs give out the woman crashes to the floor. Now she feels all the pain her body had ignored, her right hand making its way to the left side of her stomach. Her leather armor was stained there with a fervent red color. She puts pressure on the wound, cold shivers dancing over her body.
Quickly some others wearing similar leather armor and wielding crudely made weapons come and grab her off the ground. Yelling as they hurriedly carry her to one of the tents. Laying her on top of the bed as they rush out. They scream pleas for help which luckily do not fall on deaf ears. An elder weathered man arrives in the tent, immediately the man goes to check the wound. His eyes widen as he grabs a small concoction and feeds the woman it. Her consciousness fades, comfortable darkness wrapping her in its arms.
***
A man in the middle of his forties sits uncomfortably on the ground. Not necessarily the ground but the situation making him uneasy. One of the scouts had returned screaming for help before losing consciousness, a very worrying sign. Especially for people like them, unwanted anywhere.
At first, he had high hopes for the cause. To overthrow the nobles that grew fat on their subject's tears. To stop those so despicable just because they were born "higher and mightier" than someone could imagine. He hated it, that mentality to serve.
That mentality broke apart his family as his father found more interest in serving the army than doing his duty as a father. Then one day an envoy of the rebels came, explaining their goals and their search for soldiers. It was very tempting, it promised riches and perhaps the spark to change the world. A world where not only those of noble born or innate arcane ability would be the sole voice.
That was all he wished for, and he was not alone. Nearly all his friends in the village joined him and soon he and his own son crossed the border to join the cause. How could he have known that what he was promised was nothing like what they said? Instead of justice and honor in battle, he found himself simply staining his weapon red with all those not radical enough. Nobles that wanted to negotiate were killed if not prepared to give way everything they had. Villagers not willing to fight were considered traitors and would either be punished or simply murdered.
The message of hope and prosperity they tried to bring alive via dread and violence.
Perhaps he should have listened to his father. Blind loyalty to a corrupt noble is maybe better than a revolutionist who can truly see what he has become. One sleeps better at night after all.
So they deserted, they left behind the cause. The villagers with hopes and dreams left the battlefield as thugs and murderers. Redemption and a place past the bright gate long gone.
The leader of the group of deserters holds his hands in his head. It feels heavy, the guilt seemingly pounding his skull. 'Perhaps, it's judgement. For all our crimes. Those ordered and not.' Unable to sit any longer, the leader stand up. Pacing in front of the tent where the wounded scout is getting treated.
Thirty minutes pass as the leader continues to walk around. Finally coming to a halt as the assigned soldier finally comes from the tent. Fraed, a man that used to be a soldier in service to the confederacy. Someone that even fought against some Sytrichian slave raids.
"Stop pacing about will you Salex? I don't have the stamina anymore to treat multiple patients." Fraed says as he walks past. Wiping his hand with some cloth before he throws it away in some nearby bushes.
"How is she and what happened?" The leader asks keeping pace with the more experienced soldier that has acted as a surgeon.
"I gave her some Shifsen before the treatment. The wound was… Infected or at least something acting like it."
"Acting like it?"
"The cut was strange, it was definitely one cut, yet it seemed like many. Besides the surrounding skin was pitch black."
"When will she wake up?"
"I don't know. Can't you gather that I've got no idea what's actually going on? Now stop stressing me out before I fall ill. Last time I checked none of these idiots know how to use their knifes without actually killing someone." The older soldier that also acted as a surgeon responds harshly, holding one of his wrinkled hand to block out Salex's face.
Salex lets Fraed walk away, as he begins to pace around again.