Smoke filled the air like a thick, blanket of ash and fire as the village had been set ablaze, corpses littered the streets with melted meat hanging off their bones and slash marks that grinned across their throats. The deed had been done, well, all but one. Peace of mind.

A man, gritting his teeth so his agony wouldn't burst through his lips, to give his enemies the satisfaction of knowing their plan was working, his wrists bright red from the rope tightly knotted around then, and that was the pleasant part of the torture, for the other end of those ropes were tied to the saddles of horses and the joint of his left foot had been savagely pierced by a spear being held by a figure draped in furs and wearing a brown hood, his head bowed just enough to conceal his features.

"For the last time" snorted the figure, either oblivious or apathetic to the man's pain, "I know of your support of those who would open the gates, and I'm afraid I can't let that happen. You see my predicament. Now tell me..." he said, slowely twisting his spear to tear the tendens in the man's ankle. "Tell me who is helping them, and I'll make it stop."

The man eventually reached his limit and screamed all that he knew about the gates and where he may get answers. Through the shrewd gap in his hood, the figure smirked. "Then I shall make it stop. Pull!"

Within a split second, the man's face turned to a mixture of anger and fear, but a split second was all he had before the horses galloped and wrenched every limb from his body. Another figure came to the hooded man's side.

"You know, you went too lightly on him Barlara. If that were me, he would've spat that information an hour ago."

Barlara removed his hood from his head, showing his short, dark hair and a face adorned with blue, war paint (woad) and he smirked at his companion. "Well, what can I say, maybe I'm getting softer with age..."