Narsuun

We are the folk

• and we have the right...

  

  
  The village was buzzing with hushed tension as the contingent of King's Men made their way into the centre of town. Not since the civil war began had loyalists set foot inside the makeshift wooden palisade, watched over by those men too young, old, or lame to have been drafted into the war. The sight of so many armoured carnivores set the mostly herbivore population on edge. Where had their defenders gone?
  
  That question was soon answered, when one of the Ostrix carts was ordered empty. Out filed twenty men bearing the colours of the Raptor Knights, and the Hawkmage. The old and the new orders which had, until today, kept the King's Men from taxing the herbivores in the region. Gasps were muffled by shaking paws when their leader stepped out, last. His wings were strapped tightly against his back, his paws were shackled, his mouth gagged, and there was a collar around his neck that dug bloody lines into his throat. The powerful magus had to be kept under careful lock and supervision. The proud colours of his order were muddy and spattered with blood, no longer recognizable, turned into ripped rags that barely kept him warm. A great battle had been lost, and hope that had once soared in the villagers' hearts, as they watched King's Men cut down by Scarhawk riding Knights and Magi, was dwindling.
  
  It took the better part of the afternoon to set up the scaffold in the village square. The whole town was gathered by force. The captured men were kneeling in a circle around the scaffold, facing outward toward the crowd. Their faces were resolute, but desperation clung around their eyes. In the centre, held up only by the straps that secured his wings to scaffold posts, hung Narsuun. The slate blue fur was covered in muck and blood, he was barely recognizable. Two large men in executioners' masks, holding large axes, stood on either side of him. And two iron rods were heating in coals.
  
  "Look upon these faces." The Colonel who lead the King's Men began. He was a large lion with a predatory, cruel gaze. His footfalls had weight to them, every furre present felt each step like a kick. Slowly, he walked across the cobble, in front of the parade of hardened soldiers. His chainmail clinked, swaying in time with his movement. "These are not the faces of protectors, as they would have you believe. They are criminals, lawless thugs, and their defiance in this region is over. These are the last, take a long look. Tomorrow, they will away to Malgrave, where your King will judge their crimes." There was a long pause, and a malicious grin curled across the Colonel's face. "But first..." He nodded at the men on the scaffold. They pulled the gag from Narsuun's mouth, and the former Lord coughed blood onto the stage. There was an uneasy wave through the crowd. "Wings are said to be the gift of the Primes. Licharra's favour. This man is an abomination, and I cannot allow another moment of his heresy to stand. Do you have anything to say to them, Lord Narsuun? Your actions will cost each family a recruit for the King's army." The Colonel sneered. There was shuffling in the crowd, as herbivores tried to push their children away from the edges. Frightened glances revealed no escape, many soldiers had been kept out of the parade in order to control the crowd.
  
  Narsuun looked around, and all he saw was despair. For a moment guilt overtook him and tears welled in his eyes. Had he just been making things worse? His answer came with a shaky voice, though as he realized what was coming out of his mouth, he found resolution deep within, and poured it into his song.
  
  "We are the folk, And we have the right,
  To stand up and to fight for, An independant life!"
  
  The more he sang, the stronger the deep bass voice that reverberated about the square became. The Colonel was furious, and the last word turned into a scream as he ordered the men with the axes to set to their task. It was over quickly, with a stomach-churning wet thump, and loud crack. Narsuun's agonized scream froze the blood, as he fell onto the platform in front of him, face first. Two bloody stumps protruded from his shoulders, and the once beautiful feathered wings were still strapped to the scaffold. He wasn't even given time to recover, before each hooded man beside him picked up the iron rods, and pressed the red-hot ends to the new wounds, to cauterize and scar them. The square was once again filled with screaming. After many desperate seconds, the sound subsided, and though the wounds still smoked against the hot metal, Narsuun no longer made a sound. The stage was covered in blood. For a time all that could be heard was the sizzling of flesh. Then, with a croaking voice, Narsuun continued to sing.
  
  "We are the force..." One of the hooded men kicked him in the gut.
  
  "We are the might!" He spluttered. The other hooded man raised his iron rod. The Colonel nodded.
  
  "And we will -" The iron rod came crashing down, but Narsuun caught it in his shackled paws and sent the still hot spike into the side of the knee belonging to the first executioner. As the burly canine screeched and fell, Narsuun took satisfaction in the knowledge that he would never walk again.
  
  "And we will stand up!" The Catlord roared, as he got to his feet. His twenty remaining brothers in arms rose as well. The Colonel shouted "TAKE THEM!" but the crowd moved to block the rushing soldiers. Several villagers were killed before rocks, sticks, and anything within reach were used to beat back the smaller, if well armoured opposition.
  
  "For an independant life!" Several of the villagers shouted the last line, and began the verse again as the square was quickly thrown into a full scale riot.
  
  The last thing the Colonel saw was the bloody Catlord bursting out of the crowd flanked by several of his Knights, who quickly engaged the King's Men. Their shackles broken by the executioners' axes, even paw to paw the men were formidable opponents. "Do you hear them?" Narsuun snarled over the din, as he knocked the weapon from the stunned Colonel's grip. "Do you hear them singing?" He had to strain his voice to make himself heard over the dying screams, the clash of metal and stone, and the singing of those who could not fight. "Tell your King what you hear."
  
  When the Colonel woke, the village was deserted. It took a moment, but his nostrils inhaled the scent of death and he threw up on the ground. Even a hardened soldier, after waking from the concussion Narsuun gave him with the metal rod, with so many corpses of his own men piled around him, could not hold his stomach. He clambered over his dead soldiers and got up, feeling rage rise in his belly. "You have no army!" He shouted into the emptiness. "I killed them all! Your twenty men and rabble of whores and sickly! What can they do?!" He laughed, and spat on the ground. He did not have a prize to return to his King with, but the Raptor Knights were no more. The Hawkmage were no more. They were struggling children, and wherever they ran... "The revolution is over!"

• What's the difference

  between a broken man,

  

  and a dangerous one?