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Any communication between the circle of men was silent, as they watched the plate wearing man in the circle’s centre. They shifted in their stances, betraying their tension, as they maintained their battle ready scrutiny. Muted moaning from their fallen comrade-in-arms had been ignored since he had unceremonially dragged out of the circle and dumped out of the way so he didn’t impede them when they attacked again. They were uniformly dressed, heavy chain covered their bodies and the top half of both their arms and legs, partially hidden from view by their red tabards, a screaming darker red dragon’s head emblazoned on their chests.

The man in the centre seemed both to be ignoring them, yet aware of the exact position of each of the men. Unlike those that formed the circle trapping him he was dressed in age darkened plate, the clothes visible under it was a uniform black, the only colour the red strip of fabric tied round his right arm. In this arm he carried a large single handed axe, his left arm hidden behind the massive wall shield he carried.

“Again.” The man’s voice was deep and gruff.

Two of the men launched forward simultaneously, while the others didn’t react at all. The two attackers launched themselves at both sides of the waiting man. He stepped left, ramming his shield into the charging attacker, forcing the man back stumbling, trying to keep his footing. The plate armoured man’s attention, however, was on the other attacker, who launched a sweeping attack with his sword. The defender raised his axe to parry the blow, only to see the sword shift in its path avoiding his attempt, forcing the defender to step back to avoid the blade.

The defender grunted in appreciation of the attack, realising he needed to press his own attack to stop his foe before the other attacker rejoined the fray. Raising his axe he stepped forward watching the other man’s eyes track the swing of his weapon, but he did not attack with the axe instead his booted foot smashed into the man’s midriff. The sword wielder folded, the air escaping his mouth as a gasp. The defender turned attacker did not wait, smashing the butt of his axe handle into the back of the man’s head. The winded man collapsed silently to the ground, unconscious before he hit the ground.

The plated man spun his axe sweeping out catching the second attacker by surprise, his eyes going wide as the blade came to rest on his neck, and the metal’s kiss left a line of blood that began to run down the man’s throat.

“Enough!” The shouted command came from outside the circle. Immediately the circle of warriors came to attention, the attacker who remained conscious returned to his earlier position, ignoring the wound he now wore. The circle spilt as an older warrior dressed in plate, but wearing the dragon-headed tabard, walked up to the defender, his cold grey eyes staring into the other man’s.

“Impressive Bruder Wen,” the man pronouncing the name Brooder Ven, before he back handed Bruder across the face, the metal gauntlet scoring his skin. Bruder’s head snapped round from the force of the blow but he stolidly ignored the split skin and blood, his eyes returning to the officer’s.

“Bruder Wen you are dismissed from the Red Dragon Army.” As the older man spoke he ripped the red arm band from Bruder. “Now hunt down Tilsburg, you know what to do.”

Bruder Wen rode through the last village under the Red Dragon Army domination, as in all the other holdings he had passed through as soon as the adult population realised he had been stripped of his colours they ignored, some even turning their backs.

Few knew the reason that the General had banished Bruder from the Army, all they saw was a man who had lost his place within Vortan society. Any man outside the ranks was hardly a man at all, just barely above a Kaldron.

Only the children and the Kaldron thralls deigned to notice him, gawping in confusion at this strange sight. Bruder could easily understand their childish wonder, they lacked the means to understand the simplicities of Vortan society. For the Vortan children this naivety would grow with maturity into understanding, Bruder knew well that you could not expect such emotional growth from a thrall. It was not their fault it was simply the way things were.

Bruder let at an unconscious sigh as he left the village, feeling the tightness of his shoulders lessen. Part of him wished he could have explained to his brethren why he had volunteered to be stripped of his colours, the great work ahead of him, and his undying duty to the Vortan cause. To do so would betray that very duty he would die to uphold, only if he succeeded would those of the Red Dragon be told of his willing sacrifice, until then he would need to accept their scorn.

The scorn was easy to bear, the thoughts of others didn’t matter compared to honour and duty. He had his final orders and knew that these orders took him to the man called Tilsburg. Tilsburg was his destiny now.