Blood and Winter

The harsh winter winds could drive any good man to his knees, but not these men. They stood their ground because they knew that if they fell, so would their families in the villages beyond. Tough, strong men they were, but nothing can break a strong man more than the fear of losing his family. The man standing tallest above all, seemingly unaffected by the bite and chill, was Lon. Nearly forced into command, he did not know much about tactics, but he did know that the lives of these men were his responsibility.

The men were uneasy as the night rolled on and the light began to fade. Some were eager for the fight, some dreaded it. All wanted to be home deep down in their souls. All of them missed the smell of their wife’s hair, the sound of their children playing.  They knew that they only had so long before an attack would come, and men would be lost.

A scout returned and quickly made his way to the company commander. He worked his way through the ranks of men, out of breath and running out of time. He did not enjoy how the commander was never at the back of the army like he should be. It put him at risk, and made him hard to find. At the same time however, he respected him for it. Not many men of that position would charge into battle with his men, be standing among the as the enemy approached. With these thoughts in mind, he continued looking until he found his target. A tall, built man stood among the soldiers joking with them as the huddled around a fire. His only distinguishing part from the other men was   the red star sewn onto his shirt. The scout approached, and all humor left the commanders eyes. Wearily, Commander Lon asked the scout for news. The scout, short on breath from his search and run, only replied, “They come”.

At once, hearing these words Lon yelled out to his under-officers to get their men prepared. “Cover the flanks, and raise the battlements”, he yelled.

The only response was the sound of scared, yet well trained men doing the things that they knew they could, doing the things that could save their lives. Their defenses were as well made as could be expected of men who only had a weeks’ knowledge of the enemy’s approach. The line was strong, long, yet not too thin, a position well picked by Lon and his engineers. A trench had been dug  along the line’s entirety,  and wooden spikes in front of it made for hard access when the enemy came.

They laid in wait for their enemy, the foul creatures that could only be conjured in the dark corners of a madman’s mind. They were the Krog, the foulest of these lands creatures.  They stood tall, and proud, with large horns growing from their skulls. The older they got, the longer they grew. Physically superior to humans in every way, they prided themselves in hunting men. They did nothing to sustain themselves besides kill, raid and pillage. They did not farm, or raise livestock. They just wandered, and killed in a blood thirsty fashion. Killing was the one thing they were good at, and the one thing they did often.

There was no respect for the dead among the Krog. Small caravans or a moving family caught by them would be unrecognizable to anyone that found their remains. The Krog knew that the people of the Southern Villager had enough food put in storage to keep them full all winter, and the screams of the woman and children would keep them full also, but in a far more dark and dreary way.

When the Krog were first sighted by the line, Lon was not in his commanding position. A young man, no older than fifteen, had gotten his leg trapped in the spokes of a supply wagon when it had suddenly slipped in the wet snow. When asked why he was there, the boy replied “I have a family to protect too! I have no brothers and my father was killed last winter. It is my right to be here!  My age makes no difference”. Lon stared deep into the boy’s eyes, and was lost; it seemed, in his past. He then ruffled the boy’s hair, and helped carry him to the healers’ tent. At that moment Lon’s second in command, Peter, approached and told him of the Krogs proximity.