The corridor was dark and cool. The torches that had once cheerfully lit the hall were now splintered on the floor. A dank, stagnant smell filled the air.
Varrus and his squad moved wearily down the passage. Outside, the clang of steel against steel and the inhuman shrieks indicated that the last few skirmishes in the town were almost over. Earlier that morning, the Confederation reclamation unit, "The Grey Griffons", engaged the Sythian defenses of the town. Without the Sythian magic to back them up, the enemy melted before the Confederate forces.
This was the last large structure to be cleared while the rest of the reclamation unit brought order to the occupied village. Varrus and his squad of ten men had been ordered to clear it out and report on the status of the building.
Varrus glanced to his side finding the familiar sight of his trusted Dwarven friend. Although the Sythian forces put up little resistance now that the Sythian Mages were driven from Thardferr, there was still the task of purging the land of the evil creatures tamed by the Sythians. Every man in the Confederation army had seen at least a few skirmishes. Varrus' own men were experienced.
The group emerged from the hallway into a ceremoniously large room. This was obviously a waiting room of some kind. Drapes and tapestries were torn and discarded throughout the room. Furniture was worn and unkempt. Small pools of water accumulated in places. The only light was that brought in by Varrus' troop. At the other end of the room, a dais raised into the darkness and shadows lined the walls.
Varrus bent low to the floor and surveyed the room. Oh, just to rest. So many days of travelling and fighting can take a toll. What am I doing here anyway? I'm too old for this sort of thing. If Emperor Brand hadn't commanded every soldier to help clear the remnants of the Sythian forces, I might be home enjoying the company of my family, a nice book and a mug of ale. Instead, here I am trudging through the...
Shadows! What was that?
"Sir! Watch out!", cried the dwarf. But Varrus' reflexes were faster and his shield went up just as a barrage of stones pelted the group. The warning came too late for a few of the men. Three soldiers let out a groan and went down. Kobold slingers!
What happened next was a blur as Varrus barked the command to charge and let his years of training and experience take control. Kobolds screamed as they were cut down without a chance to turn and run. In moments the room was secure, but reinforcements could be heard approaching from the dais.
Varrus continued the charge up the stairs, confident of his men's abilities. He left his age behind him as he flew up the stairs. Right behind him was his ever-faithful Dwarven friend, Bocer Bright. The rest of the men followed. In seconds they emerged into a dim-lit room. Then a figure appeared.
Whack! One of the men crumpled to the ground as his skull was cracked. Before the group stood a large ogre armed with a massive club. In the shadows behind him, the whir of Kobold slingers taking aim could be heard. The Confederation men knew what to do. In an instant, the remaining five men fanned out to engage the kobolds.
Varrus wasted no time and with a sweeping stroke of his broadsword, cut a huge gash in the chest of the ogre. It screamed it's pain and staggered back, but quickly regained it's ground. Infuriated that it had been hit, the ogre sent its club sailing straight for Varrus' head. Once again, his reflexes proved faster than his assailant and managed to avoid what would have most definitely caused a nasty headache. But the blow was not completely avoided as the ogre's club spun into Varrus' leg, sending him to the floor writhing in pain.
Although losing blood quickly, the ogre was determined and raised its club for a final blow. Then there were two flashes of steel and the ogre was less one arm and a leg. Blood ran from Bocer's axe blade while the ogre just stared in amazement. The Dwarf wasted little time in finishing the brute off.
Ahhhh! My leg! As the flashes of sharp pain slowly subsided into a dull, constant rhythm, Varrus opened up his eyes. Bocer's face was right there, as always. He closed his eyes again. After several minutes, he gathered the strength to rise. He was determined to be strong when men under his command had fallen. With the help of Bocer, he limped to his feet and surveyed the damage. Another of his command was slumped against the wall with a gash in his side. The others were nursing their minor wounds.
Varrus looked around. The ceiling was high, at least 5 meters. Empty shelves lined the walls and broken tables and chairs were strewn about. On the floor were stray parchments where the writing was blurred beyond recognition. Dominating the center of the room was a pile of char and half-burned books. Not another one...
Over the course of the past few months, Varrus had helped in liberating four large villages that contained personal and public libraries. While most of the towns had survived the Sythian occupation with relatively little damage, the libraries were always left in ruins. Now this one too. This village was rumored to have had a vast and varied collection of books and documents. Some of the oldest known records. Now they were gone. It was all gone.
Varrus breathed a deep sigh and, with the help of Bocer, limped back to make his final report...
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