ARC 1
Arc Femhall looked out beyond the hills, to the burning village. He grinned as a warm breeze flowed past. He laughed eagerly. Food. For the first time in a long, long time, after being captured by those damned Jatu. All of his men had been ripped apart by spear, lance and sword. He himself had been knocked out by a great cavalry charge. It had given him a headache that lasted to this day, three days later.
The barbarian warrior pulled on the reins of his horse he had stolen from the Jatu camp, and aimed it onwards. The village was still burning. The dead were everywhere, their bodies just dumped on the side of the road to be fed upon by wolves and crows. Arc could barley look at the sights, as steel of a heart that he had. He saw a tiny cluster, of around four or five refugees not a mile from the charred buildings. They had the food. He licked his lips.
The first thing he did, after feeling the wind blow his long brown hair back as the Jatu horse began to charge, was pull his sword from its' sheath, and pull the shield on his back, holding it steady near him. The villagers were easy pray. He needed food, and he was an uncivilized man.
The horseman charged, and the nearest villager's head rolled off his shoulders as Arc streamed past. The other three in the group began to panic, pulling out sickles, picking up club-like sticks off of the ground, and chucking rocks at him. Another throwing rocks got his eye stabbed out, the steel biting through his brain and sending him down without agony. The third villager, a female, was the easiest. She was running for a tree. Arc had no mercy, if they were weak enough to defend their own village, and ran like cowards, they did not deserve mercy. He pulled out his two-handed battleaxe and chopped her arm off, sending her corpse into the mud and her soul to her god.
The final man was standing before him, a rusty dagger in hand. He ran at Arc. Arc laughed like a madman, and charged his horse. The beast plowed over him, producing a rather large bump on the refugee's head and knocking him unconscious. Arc dismounted, finding some bread, apples, and chicken in their baggage.
He set up camp at dusk, the tied-up refugee across the fire from him. He smiled, chewing on a chicken leg. Tonight he would dine well...