The Flames of Chaos

[Butorega]

"Curse those Illia Dogs," shouted a young orange hair brigand as he fell to his knees . His eyes were filled with tears and his face shrouded with rage. Before him laid the corpses of his brethren burned and filled with holes from spear. Their bodies were heaped together like trash in a single pile in the middle of their own fortress. Feathers of Pegasus were scattered all around with a lone flag marked with the seal of Illia sat trampled in the mud.

Vengeance, the slow poison that corrodes even the purist hearts of man, began to burn like a raging inferno in his chest. Mournful and angry he picked up his axe. He knew he could not stay as Ilians would soon return. Dying a dog’s death would not avenge his brothers, but their deaths had to be atoned for. He would raise axe against their enemy and make Illia pay for their lives in blood.

[Butorega]

Anger and Rage, at one point in time Butorega thought they were the same thing, two words for one emotion, but now he knows there is a difference. Anger is only temporary and can be suppress, but rage is lasting and the feeling never dies. Rage simmers and burnes like an everlasting fire consuming ones sanity till they snap and go out of control.

Illia must pay, that one thing Butorega was clear on, but the true question was how. Butorega was skilled with his axe, but even his skill could not match up to the power of numbers and the might of Illia mercenaries. Even if he killed an equal number of soldiers in the Illia army to match those of his own brigade I would mean nothing. Illia would just simply swat it off as casualties of war and go about its business of ruling Bern. There would be no real damage no real atonement for the lives of his comrades.

No, killing soldiers would not be enough to satisfy his rage. It had be something bigger. Something that was irreplaceable. Something that Ilia would truly miss and hate him for take it from them as he hated them. If not soldiers than maybe a village thought the young brigand, but no that was not enough. That would not sate his rage. That would not satisfy the blood debt owed for the death of his comrades. That would not sate his revenge, nor would it truly wound Illa. It had to be a town. No it had to be city. A city filled with children, women, merchants, and soldiers. This town had to be their crown jewel of Illia. The one thing they cared for as much as he cared for his comrades. It had to be something truly at the heart of Ilia. It had to be Westernwind.

Yes, thought the young brigand as he pulled his thoughts together. Westernwind was the perfect location. It was at the base of the mountain and was the only spot for miles were one could travel back and forth from Bern to Illia on even ground. It truly was Illia’s crown jewel. During their occupation of Bern the civilians of Westernwind embraced their new Illian masters . They shops and their inns to their soldiers and praised them for bringing peace to Burn, and they came rich for it. Merchants and farmers pass through this town selling wears and supplying the Illia with supplies. Not only was it a base for supplies, but also was the home of many of Illia’s soldier’s families. It was the perfect place to leave a perfect wound.

But how thought Butorega, as he began to rationalize his plan? How could he take down Westernwind. It was a walled city and guarded at all hours of the day. The streets patrolled by not only mercenaries, but traitorous knights of Bern. His skies not only patrolled by Pegasus and Wyvern riders. Thieves and Assassins lurked in every dark corner always listen and always spying for Illian masters. Westernwind was the perfect location, but was the worst to tackle. It would take an army of three hundred brigand, no an army of five hundred brigands to take that city, and Butorega did not even have one.

The words of his grandfather began to flash in the young brigands mind. All war is deception. If force was impossible then deception was his only choice. To take down an entire city alone sound ludicrous, but with the right planning and enough luck it could be possible. None the less, time was against him and coin was not his side. If he was truly going to take down this city it would take more brains and knowledge than he currently had. Know your enemy and Know yourself, and you shall win many battles. He knew himself very well, but he did not know Westerwind. He would have to descend into belly of the beast before he could he could even prey for victory.

[Butorega]

Focused and undaunted Butorega descended from the mountain and made his way toward Westernwind. On his back was his axe and in his right pocket a single vulnerary. His goal was the destination of a major town. The number of men under his command was none, yet he still persisted on his journey and his quest to avenge his fallen comrades.

It took half a day for Butorega to reach the gates of Westernwin and by that time the sun had already set. The gates were closed and entrance to city was now denied. Outside the great stone wall stood two inn both on opposite sides of the road. The first read The Den of The Disturbed and was made entirely of black stones. The second inn was the Inn of Divine Hope. It was made entirely of wood. In front of each Inn sat three pairs of horses and songs of joyous cheer could be heard from within both Inns.

"The Den of The Disturbed", Butorega chuckled at the name. It reminded him of the gang and further poked at the scar in his heart.

"Might as well give it a try", spoke the young brigand as he began to walk toward the blacken doors. Drunken songs and the smell of vomit thicken in the air as he grew closer. Eventually the smell itself became overwhelming and the young bandit stomach started turn from the stench.

"Yuck", spoke Butorega as he stopped to cover his nose. Without any warining a man smashed through one of the winds of the establishment and landed face forward in the mud. A great celebration erupted from the inn as patrons rushed to the window. Butorega however had enough and turned his sights away from the inn. He forfeited his first choice and decided to pay his patronage to the Inn of Divine Hope.

[Butorega]

The young brigand walked across the street with all haste leaving the filth and drunken noise behind. As he walked he began to ponder his options. Even if he made it sucessfuly into the city it would still be troublesome to take down the town. Force was not an option as he was out maned and out powered.

As the young man walked up to the door he noticed a board erected next to the tavern. Etched into the wood was a notice posted by the town guard. Something on the board caught his attention. Casually he walked over to the board reading the notice in the dim light from a nearby lantern.

The notice read "Citizens of Westerwind be warned. Members of the black leather bandits may be amongst you. Their stronghold was destroyed and their leader beheaded, but not all members were captured. Some brigands may have escaped and may be loose in the nearby area. For this reason we are placing the city on high alert and all citizens of Westernwind will be searched and must prove evidence of their residency, or occupation."
"Curses", growled Butorega as he ripped the notice from the board. His great plan to burn the city was foiled before it even began. The Illians were cleaver to notice his and the other patrols absence. This new found information worried him. If they were smart enough to notice the absence of the patrols then the Illians might have posted troops in the inns. This did not bold well.

Without wasting another moment the young brigand began to walk away from the Inn. His steps were monitored and his actions were smooth. He did not want to let anyone know he was a brigand. The eyes of Illia were already on him and the captain of the guard must have read his intentions.

Boom! A loud sound caught Butorega's attention as he turned toward the Den of The Disturbed. Fifteen heavily armored guards burst through the door dragging along with them two former members of the Black Leather Brigands. There ancles and arms were clapped with steel. Fear and anger could be sceen in their eyes as they screamed and cursed their way to the gate. The two brigands had the same idea as Butorega, but scent of vomit and filthy did not drive them away.

"Oh hell", spoke Butorega as he stared at his once comrades vanished into the darkness of the night. It was time to go. Butorega picked up his paste and began to move like a ghoast. The young brigand was halfway up the path before he heard a voice ring out from behind him.

"Butorega", the voice rang over the night. The young brigand turned to see one of the captives struggling against the guards. His hand was stretched out begging the young brigand for aid. His eyes were filled with fear.

"Fool" shouted Butorega as he began to sprint up the path. The guards curious of the brigand’s plea for help began to shoat commands for him to halt, but the young brigand did not comply.
"He is a bandit", shouted one of the guards as the other began to blow on his horn. The alarm was sound and the young Butorega was now in trouble. It was now a race against time.
The young brigand would have to give up on his plans for vengeance settle with his life.

[Butorega]

"Damned you Bob", growled Butorega as he hid in a nearby cave. The Illians seemed to have lost his trail, but his plans to burn Westernwind were now gone. With little choice but to retreat Butorega began to walk deeper into the cave. Their was another opening to the cave that lead to the upper moutains. If he could reach there he could losse their troops.

The rough terrain would keep the knights out and the rocky terain would prove excellent cover for fighting the Whyrms. Without wasting another moment the young Brigand began transversing the cave moving to escape and leave his plans to set loose the flames of Chaos behind.

Thread End