Have You Ever Killed?

Peace

The fire crackled, a log split and fell among the embers. It was a well of life, this fire. Darkness, miles upon miles in every direction in the forest, and in this clearing.

Just as well.

There were people seated around it. Swaddled in clothes to ward off the cold wind from their backs. Horses snorted a little ways off from the fire, tethered beneath half a dozen trees.

Moths danced around the fire, never drawing too close, yet never going too far.

"Bloody cold," one of the men muttered.

Calling him a man was an overstatement, since the lad was barely of age.

"Aye." Another replied. "Makes a man ache for a warm room and naked flesh swaddled next to 'em." He was the oldest one.

The woman on guard duty snorted. "Old man, yer always achin'." Her back was turned to the others, away from the fire, so she could preserve her night vision. "An' I suspect even a cow's naked flesh wouldn't cure that."

The others—the ones who had not dozed off-laughed. It was a quiet, malicious sound, that laughter. As if the open clearing drowned the sound, knowing for it an intrusion.

Of men. Unlawful, ruthless, murdering men.

"How about a tale, eh, old man?" The youngster spoke again.

"Call me old again and I'll show you I've still got some vigour left in these bones," he retorted, but without threat in his tone. 

"Oh c'mon!" He sat forward, his face lit golden by the fire. "Tell us about The Ravager," he said, his tone quiet, as if saying something secret.

The entire group reacted in unison, the ones awake, anyway.

The old man hissed like a snake pressed against an ember. The guard cursed like a sailor in a storm. A few even woke up at hearing the name uttered, some praying and others swearing.

The old man produced a knife and pressed it against his young companion's cheek, all in an instant.

"Say that again, ya fool, say it and I'll cut yer tongue and choke it down yer throat!"

The woman swung around, hearing the commotion. She saw the rattled young man, the furious older companion, even if the fire was blinding her night vision, she saw one thing clear and that was... Fear.

"Calm down, you two," she said, her voice carrying an edge she hoped to cut through the two men's fear. "And you, Kival." She swung to the knife bearing man. "Just tell us any old tale."

Kival grumbled. He Shoved the long bladed knife into its scabbard.

"Hm..." Kival said after a little while. "How about Mansye Pride? Her tale is fraught with love, betrayal, death and revenge an' redemption..."

So Kival began the tale of Mansye Pride. How a weakling underling had come to power in her weak clan. How the warrior had found love in a scribe's form, and the ultimate betrayal at the bearer of pen and paper scrolls. A woman who had the strength to take the life of her son's father. A leader who'd risen from the ranks to rid the corrupt.

She had become the Pride of her tribe, transforming it into a powerful clan, which spanned an entire kingdom one day.

By the time Kival finished his tale, the stars had disappeared, there was a purple bruising light at the horizon, yet darkness still reigned outside the bubble of the campfire.

Kival cleared his throat, hawked a wad of phlegm, and nudged is young companion. "Now there's a tale, Birr."

Birr, having fallen asleep just before the climax, shot straight up.

"What? Mansye killed everyone? Who? Oh..."

Kival starred at Birr for a long tense moment, before he turned to the watch guard. "Really, Tashi? I spoke myself dry and he'd been dozing off? Should strangle the ungrateful cunt."

Tashi, knowing full well the intended audience for the story had fallen asleep, burst out laughing. 

Seeing their most optimistic, and enthusiastic companion laugh, the other two joined in.

Birr with a sheepish grin, and Kival with a somewhat self-satisfied smirk leaned back in their bedrolls.

This was a moment of quiet joy. Warmth shared of not just the fire, yet of the companionship too. Brotherhood was not just found in compassion, peace, and justice, but also in murder, rape and slaughter of innocents for paltry materials and coins.

When the dawn was birthed, there came a moment of twilight, and in that short passage of time, a being escaped from its prison...

A sudden gust of cold wind stirred the fire, sending embers aglow. A wind so icy the party of men and women started to freeze.

The chests of those still asleep stopped moving, their bodies stopped stirring beneath the layers of blankets and furs. If one were to pry open the frozen layers of fabric and animal skin, they'd find frost covered bodies.

"Kiivaaal.... W-what's happenin'," Birr pleaded to the older companion, hoping for some respite against the biting cold. Whom everyone in the party had come to regard as a mentor and guide over the years.

Kival, a steadfast leader and a straightforward man, understood they were dying. 

And he knew why...

In the freezing, killing wave of cold he felt something akin to warmth. And slowly realized The Ravager had come.

"Oh... B-boy why'd you go and... Say that name?"

He did not wait for an answer, since he realized Birr had died moments before, after uttering his last words.

Tears welled in Kival's eyes, yet they did not fall but froze in his eyes.

Years. Of plundering, looting, raping and murdering. Countless victims. Faces all blurring together. Voices melding all around Kival. Finally come to reap their vengeful reward. Every man, woman, and child they'd killed or ruined over the years had come for them. All those gathered souls around the bandit's camp had finally come for vengeance.

In the midst of those desperate, sorrowful souls stood the Ravager.