Nightmare Crusade

Chapter 1 - The Nightmare Begins

The fires from the remnants of Kalicruss illuminate the starless black sky. Charred and butchered bodies line the dirt pathways as swirling smoke pools into the dark infinite above. Not a single structure had been untainted by the storm of devastation brought upon the village. The few survivors left were lined up for slaughter; peasants, children, and guards still wearing their signature green armor with wooden antlers arching out of their helmets.

Fenter Darkmire stares down at the remaining villagers kneeling before him. Only his unblinking eyes can be seen through slits in his bright-red, pointed hood. On the front of his robe, he bears a symbol feared by the unfortunate few who know of him and his followers; a simple, crooked oval with a vertical dash through it. This is the mark of the Dissenters Legion.

Fenter's underlings wait anxiously for his next command while aiming their tightly-clutched crossbows into the backs of the villagers' heads. They wear similar robes and hoods as their leader's, only theirs are light grey with red triangular markings, which protrude out from under their chins and point toward their hungry eyes.

The stillness is broken when Fenter's right-hand man walks up to him. His eyes are slightly misaligned due to deformity and he wears similar grey robes but with distinct red sleeves, recognizing his rank in the group.

"Fenter," the Grand Marshal says, "we tore apart this entire village. The only remaining survivors are what you see in front of you."

Fenter glances over his shoulder at him. Then, he points his gaze to the ones kneeling and shivering with fear before him. He steps closer to them and takes a deep breath, then exhales sharply. The entire world around him almost seems to hold its breath, as if in preparation for something catastrophic.

"Okay," Fenter says. "Let's get down to business." His eyes scroll from one end of the line-up to the other. "Which one of you is the village elder?"

"I am," calls a raspy voice at one end of the lineup.

The voice had come from an old man in tattered, green robes who looks as if he had not slept in days. Fenter steps over to him, with his slight, but noticeable limp.

Fenter clears his throat. "Hi," he says to the old man, "My name's Fenter. You seem a little shaken up. Which is perfectly understandable. I mean, look at this place. It's a disaster!"

"I don't fear you," the elder says to him.

"Really? You don't fear me?" Fenter moves his face closer to the elder's, "Well you should." He does his best to sound intimidating, daring the withered man to talk back to him again.

Then, from the right corner of his eye, Fenter catches one of the Kalicrussian guards staring at him head-on. He quickly shoots a glance back at her and she immediately readjusts her gaze back to the ground.

Fenter laughs. "You know what the funny thing is?" he remarks snidely, "This all could've been prevented. Seriously. All of it. Your... village would be intact. Your loyal people would be alive. Your wife and child would not have been sliced up and set on fire."

The elder's expression sinks further into despair.

"I, would not have had to come all the way out here and miss dinnertime!" Fenter shouts. Then his voice calms, "All you had to do was donate a few weapons--a few weapons... to our worthy cause. But no! You just had to be a stingy old fart and that's why I had to come here and make everybody not alive." Fenter sighs and regains his composure without breaking his focus. The stench of the lingering smoke helps calm his mood. "So, now that you've hopefully gained a bigger understanding of how badly we needed these weapons, perhaps now we can work something out." He points upward. "And I promise, if you're a good boy this time, I'll let everyone keep their kidneys... Maybe."